I'm in a bad way this morning, for some reason – panic. Recent events in Paris are singularly depressing – more so, in a way, even than 9/11 or the bombs in the London underground. That doesn't seem much of an explanation.
Nor is there anything to report. Half a scallop yesterday, on the edging of the Unst Bridal Shawl.
I have been thinking on the same lines, Cam – what shall I buy with my (tax-free) £50 if I win my political bet (yesterday)? It won't be enough for a full-scale Wonderful Knitting Project, but something will be required to mark the occasion.
And, Ellen, Snap! on the signed first edition of Kaffe's Glorious Knitting. I've got one too. I remember buying the book. Money was tighter then, but I remember thinking as I held it in the bookstore, that it was a book I was going to have to have one day, so I might as well get it now.
My encounter with the Great Man was nothing so much fun as a class. He came along, some years later, to the big Birmingham department store to give a little talk. I think Brandon M. was there too. It was a glum November evening and only half a dozen or so had turned out. He might have sulked, but he didn't. He talked enthusiastically for a while about the design inspiration to be found in things like a near-by display of striped towels. He left us talking happily to each other, as if we had been guests at a little party.
And I took my Glorious Knitting along and asked him to sign it.
Well, I'd better get on with Sunday, hoping for more cheerfulness and energy tomorrow. It's time to take the income tax back in hand and get the return filed.