Home again -- although in fact I never got very far. The weather on Saturday morning was appalling, and I feared that appalling might = snow in Strathardle. I didn't feel strong enough for snow. So I spent the weekend in Helen's and David's lovely, comfortable flat on Windsor Street, while they went away to Strathardle.
Helen says that the pipes are OK and the mice haven’t been in and it was bitter cold. They meant to stay another day, but the weather got too much even for them, and they’re safely back here this evening.
I spent much of the time in bed. Very little knitting. I re-watched two Craftsy favourites, Stephen West "Shawlscapes" (delightful) and Franklin on Heirloom Lace Edgings. The former may have provided some suggestions for EYF yarn-buying, and the latter could be very useful when it comes to sewing up the open corner of Mrs Hunter's shawl.
Or what if I just slid needles through the chained edgings on either side of that opening and did a three-needle bind-off on the inside?
I think Perdita was glad to see me back, but it's hard to tell with a cat. My husband did well with his carer, so future escapes are a possibility.
One thing I think I have partially learned in extreme old age, is that length can be a more useful measurement than weight in yarn substitutions. A skein of the yarn I’m using for Mrs Hunter is 940 yards long. So at the moment I know what it means, to knit 940 yards. And other shawl patterns which define their requirements in yards, can be judged accordingly.
Today’s pattern for KD's "Inspired by Islay" club is a pretty yolk sweater which would be a good use for a set of gradient yarns.
And have you seen her sad blog post, asking for suggestions as to what to knit? "Inspired by Islay" has gone to the printer. Suddenly she has time. She thought she had a kit, laid aside for this very moment, but she can't find it. She doesn't have much of a stash. What an organised woman! And what a dreadful situation!
I did get out of bed long enough to watch the rugby on both days. Scotland lost to France, and far, far worse, we lost our captain to an ankle injury at the end of the first half-hour. We don't know yet how bad it is, but it doesn’t sound good. With him off the field, there was no hope. I watched the rest of the match in glum misery. He is the best captain we've had since Gavin Hastings in the last millennium, cool under fire and also, incidentally, brilliant at kicking goals.