The big news is that Franklin has a new Craftsy class — about colour. Not what I would have chosen, myself, from his remarkable repertoire, but since I would happily pay over the odds if he were teaching the Elements of Esperanto, I have signed up.
I didn’t do any knitting yesterday.
But I fished this sweater out of the drawer and took it to my husband. He can get into it, but without much to spare, and he wasn’t comfortable. He did better in a store-boughten one.
I must have knit this, many decades ago. Maybe I vaguely remember. It’s successful, in some respects, although it is difficult to believe that those armholes ever fitted properly. Now they buckle disagreeably. When I first fished it out, I thought that the pattern was unbroken over the shoulders which would be nearly impossible. (Meg might conceivably graft in two colours. Not me.) But that is an illusion.
It makes me all the more eager to get started on a new Fair Isle vest. Meanwhile this one might do for an adult-sized but still skinny grandson. I’ll see Mungo for a while today, on his way from his other grandmother’s 80th birthday party somewhere in England, to Strathardle. I’ll try him, to begin with.
This is what passes around here for an exciting day. Some removal men have come and removed a chest of drawers and a fire screen, on their way to James and Cathy in Sydenham. Mungo will appear in the early afternoon, and the rest of his family not long after. And an electrician is expected, to fix a fuse which he has already attended to once.
And I’m now off to the hospital.