New Knits, New Ideas, New Chocolate Biscuits...

Good morning! Well it is morning here in Ireland, all bright and washed and clean after last night's rain. So many new ideas buzzing around waiting to be started, so many projects on the go. I really must try to fit a WIP section in my sidebar - I have no excuse, Rho sent me all the details, all I lack is the courage - and then see about putting in cunning little pictures of each project like some really techie knitters have done.

Until that happy condition is achieved, here's a brief run down on what's knitting, what's projected, what's still in the fantasy stage. The shepherd's vest is coming along delightfully. This Sirdar Denim chunky may not be pure wool but the blend of wool, cotton and some acrylic makes for a lovely feel and perfect stitch definition as well as QUICK WORK.



It's my own pattern, made up as I go along. What do you think about just increasing a few stitches either side at the sleeve stage, to give a bit of a cap effect? And I have this great idea for creating a tiny outline sheep in relief stitches in one plain panel on the front - of course I want to try it out now, not wait until I get there!

And, so enamoured am I of my glorious Interlacement socks (on my feet as I type and never have I worn a more comfortable snuggle) that I've cast on for the first of a new pair, in the bright Cherry Tree Hill Glitz yarn which will make the loveliest winter socks. Will, as before, work both at the same time on two sets of dpns - grateful acknowledgements once more to Grouchywif for that hint which avoids the risk of contracting the dreaded Second Sock Syndrome entirely.



I have to express a great big thank you to everyone who poured balm on my very hurt feelings after that fiasco at the weekend. It was so lovely to get all those messages of support that I felt tearful all day Monday. It was a very small petty affair, and I shouldn't have got so upset, but the love and friendship I got made me almost glad it happened. I think this weblogging comradeship must be a lifesaver for people with real worries challenging them and from now on I'm going to be in there with the rest of you, handing out strength and support to anyone in need. You can all get up RIGHT NOW and take a big bow (OK,Angie you can curtsey gracefully, I know you prefer the old-fashioned ways!) You are a collective sky of stars.

As if to emphasise the message that sunshine follows rain, Monday morning brought a couple more treats beside all your messages. I got a lovely new circular needle from Jenkins Woodworking plus Wanda's irresistible pattern for a spinner's walking pouch to be knitted from roving (never tried that) and then felted (never tried that either).



Two new craft methods to try - can't wait! And although you mightn't be able to make it out, Ed has put my name, Jo, on the top needle in the picture. Isn't that lovely and personal?

Every time I read someone else's weblog I discover yet another new wonderland, another temptation to indulge in serious retail therapy. This time it was an unbelievable range of handpainted sock yarns from Lisa Souza (thanks Cindy, did you have to throw in such a divine distraction for the rest of us in that deceptively casual way?). I mean, just look at these two:



This one's Electra



and this one is Earth Birth.

My credit card is already trying to crawl into a dark corner and hide.

And speaking of socks, did you see those beautiful grey knee -highs on Lene's site? Stunning. I think we're all moving back to the natural colours instinctively. I'd been longing for soft greys and browns and naturals for a little while and then realised from reading other weblogs that others felt the same too. And so I ordered sample cards from that great old Shetland firm, Jameson & Smith - can't wait for them to arrive. Have you seen the patterns they have on their website? I just lust after the Sheepsaver



And their shawls - you have to see them! Lovely to think of an old firm still surviving up there in Lerwick, facing into the Atlantic gales and buying up all the clip from tough little Shetland sheep. And speaking of sheep, I was furious to discover recently that there is a very rare and tiny breed on the island of Ouessant or Ushant off the northern French coast. Furious because I was actually on Ouessant a few years ago and didn't know at the time - I MISSED them. Will just have to go back. Not a particularly easy place to visit - the boat tosses and bounces quite a bit in the rough water and you can be marooned for weeks if the weather changes. Beautifully tranquil there, though - I have a lovely picture clipped from a magazine years ago of an old woman spinning fleece on a drop spindle - if I can find it I'll put it up for you to enjoy too.

Mary, I can't believe that you actually OWN a square foot of land in my neighbouring town of Macroom! Get in contact with me right away (you can do it easily by going to Knitter's Review Forum, joining up (it's a great place anyway and I've learned so much from it) and then sending me an email (I'm Celtic Memory there too). And you actually stayed on Dunmanus Bay. That is one of the most beautiful places on earth. I even designed a yarn colourway inspired by its sunsets. Here's a picture to remind you, and show everyone else (no, no, the bay, not the yarn!)



Cindy, Joanne and everyone else who asked: you can find that Ukrainian laceweight yarn from the very helpful Oleh on eBay. Let's see, I'll just check where. It's in yarn, obviously, and Lace-Weight Fine Wool Yarn is the description. He has an online shop called nicholas_progg and you can search for it that way too. If you can't find it, email me as above via Knitter's Review Forum .

Abby, you CAN get Irish bainin to knit a traditional Aran: Kerry Woollen Mills spins its own pure wool bainin and now at last you can buy it online (although it is admittedly more fun to bounce down potholed muddy lanes to the mill itself). You can get Tivoli Aran through online stores, but it isn't pure wool.

And everybody who wants to try knitting that Elann lace crop cardi, GO FOR IT! It's actually a free pattern downloadable from the Elann site. (Heavens above, just looked it up to check and the patterns available there at the click of a button - those shawls... those tops... WHOA!). It's not really that difficult - lace knitting isn't anything more demanding than yo's and k 2 togs - but keeping track of the increases does require shovelsful of stitch markers so be prepared! (And keeping the chocolate biscuits and coffee handy doesn't hurt either. Thornton's have just brought out a delectably sinful confection here, involving praline, soft sponge and layers of thick chocolate - but I'm dreadfully sorry, you certainly don't want to hear any more of that.)

Experience Is What You Find When You're Looking For Something Else

Well.

That was Bantry Show.

I don't know quite what to write and frankly I don't feel like writing anything, but I'd better get it over and done with.

I didn't get a first with that Elann lace crop cardi. Neither did I get a second, a third or even a fourth. Out of all the garments on display at the show, my lovely little jacket didn't get a mention.

Now please please don't think I'm one of those mean-minded bad losers. If I'd been pipped to the post by something even more spectacular I would have thought well done, and studied the opposition closely, to learn from it. But I didn't even have that small consolation.

I was too gutted to do anything but stare. DH took this picture of my entry next to the item that won first place in the section for which I'd entered the Elann.
















It was a shapeless plain sweater on big needles in acrylic multicoloured yarn. No pattern, no design, no special detail. Second place went to quite a well made Aran sweater. They didn't see fit to award third and fourth in this category on this occasion, although it's usual. I would somehow have felt better if the Aran had beaten me - at least I could have muttered about tradition winning out over new ideas. Hell, I'd have felt much better if I'd been beaten by something worth being beaten by.

It didn't help either that people were stopped in their tracks by the Elann, pointing, taking pictures, openly admiring it and wondering how it was made. Nor that several of the officials congratulated me on it, assuming I'd won a first (evidently they hadn't noticed it was missing the essential credit).

I know it sounds like sour grapes. But I felt like someone had kicked me in the solar plexus. That lace crop is the best thing I've ever made and the original pattern was a work of genius. I know it's fit to take a prize anywhere. And it wasn't even considered worthy of a third or fourth place? They didn't even bother awarding these categories this time round?

I was pretty half-hearted about going to look for the socks, but DH insisted. I'd tied the sockblockers together with a crocheted string of the same yarn as the socks but someone had taken the trouble to untie that and turn them right around so that the blank insides of both sockblockers were outwards, and the painted Celtic motifs hidden on the inside. Then they'd been replaced on the display.




















Well, the plain socks were better made and probably deserved first prize. I didn't mind losing out to them. But why do that to the Celtic motifs? What had they done to deserve such bitchiness? Funnily enough, it was only as I was going out of the tent in a daze that I remembered Angeluna's query on my last posting about there being any local politics to beware of.

OK, OK, that's finished. Over. Done with. Experience, as I think Oscar Wilde once observed, is usually what you find when you're looking for something else. It took a bit of joy out of the day but there was still the rest of the fair to look at. Everybody was dressed up in Cork colours because of the hurling final.







As soon as the match started, the bar tent was packed to the roof, everybody cheering and shouting for the Cork team. DH (who's used to this sort of thing) slid in front and crouched down right underneath the huge television screen so he could capture the euphoria when Cork scored a goal.




Sadly, we lost by three points to Kilkenny. Gloom descended, but lifted almost immediately as everyone shrugged philosophically and headed out into the afternoon sunshine to enjoy the remainder of the day. There were horse and pony classes, superb examples of cattle, sideshows, set dancing on a platform. ..



Even the little ferryboat was busy, buzzing back and forth across the bay from Bantry town bringing visitors in by water. It was a lovely idea and a great way to arrive at the show.



On the way home we called in at Gougane Barra to photograph my latest Celtic Memory yarn in a suitable setting so that I can list it on eBay tomorrow. This time I've created one based on probably our best-loved legend, The Children of Lir. It's a beautiful story if a very sad one - in fact it's one of the Three Sorrows of Storytelling which every shanachie worth his or her salt must master effectively before being recognised as a true recounter of the old stories.



When we'd finally managed to wake up the resident swan to pose in the background (he'd had a hard day posing for visitors and wasn't in the mood for us at all), Breda came down from the hotel to invite us in for dinner. She has such a charmingly relaxed and genuine way with her that she made us feel we were doing them the favour not the other way round, so we accepted.

There can be few places more beautiful to dine than in the hotel at Gougane Barra, looking out over the lake at evening. It's a hauntingly lovely place, made even more so by the fact that it is utterly unspoiled and the family intend to keep it that way.



I don't intend to appal you with an account of what (or indeed how much) I enjoyed , but suffice it to say that the choleresterol level has probably gone up several points. Who cares. I needed the comfort. DH gave a good account of himself too (he's half French and always enjoys his food). Then we drove peacefully back through the gathering dusk and released the dogs who were not best pleased at being left alone since lunchtime. It was good to be home. And I hung up the Elann in a place of honour, laid the socks ceremoniously on a polished table, and told them both they had done credit to the household.

Finished, finished, FINISHED! And the knits are off to Bantry Show...

Yes, they're done, they're done, they're actually done at last. The last stitch had been put in the Elann lace crop cardi some days ago, and I'd attached the tiny beads on the points too, but still had to tidy up all the loose ends and scraps, which I finally did yesterday.



Do you know, I'm actually a bit shocked at how beautiful it looks. Whoever designed that had real vision. I just followed the pattern so can't take too much credit (and in fact any credit left over from the designer should without doubt go to YOU LOT who cajoled, encouraged, advised, threatened all the way to ensure I finished it!) I will wear it to the next posh function I have to attend and I don't really care if it doesn't win anything at Bantry - I think it's great.

And then, just when I was beginning to wonder if the nightmare would ever end, the socks too are FINISHED! Had enough yarn in the heel o' the hunt, and even a bit over. One reached the toe at midnight the night before last, and for a wonder I had the sense to wait until morning before doing the grafting; then took the second down to Cotter's Bar in Macroom, ordered coffee and said I wasn't leaving until I'd finished the toe on that one too. It was a bit nerve-racking grafting tiny stitches in a dim interior with several people watching interestedly, but got a cheer when I finished. With Anne's timely warning in mind, didn't wash them, simply blocked under a damp cloth, in case of any possible dye bleeding. The basic sock blockers for that were hastily cut out of a cornflake packet, and then I went hunting for stronger card to make the show ones (again thanks for that inspired suggestion on the Celtic motif, Angeluna!)



I have to admit I'm totally besotted with these. I slipped on the first completed one over my ordinary socks for a moment when I'd finished the grafting, and was amazed at how gloriously comfortable it was. They might be a tad too large, but although my original intention had been to get them to the show first, and hit the frogpond later, I might just leave them as they are. They are my firstborn socks and I love them in the way you can only love the firstborn. No, that tiny turndown on the cuff is intentional. Makes them look more cuddly, more judge-pleasing, I think. Me, I don't need persuading - they're perfect anyway.

This by the way was all fitted in between writing up a piece on the East Cork Early Music Festival (highlight is going to be American Benjamin Bagby reciting the entire Beowulf epic to the accompaniment of a lyre - you can't say we're lacking in culture here in Cork) and interviewing a choreographer who is staging a new dance production next week, entirely in the nude. Yes, it's going to be performed indoors, in a heated theatre, but the film which will play as backdrop was filmed out in the damp woods by a river near Bandon - sounds like her dancers are fairly enthusiastic or else she's pretty strong minded. . .

It's a wild windswept morning here - we could hear the rain all night and at one point a soft raindrop actually fell on my cheek from the slightly open window, which was rather nice. The trees are lashing their branches now and the little maple in the orchard is holding tightly to its orange and yellow autumn leaves. It will be a bumpy trip in the little jeep down to Bantry this afternoon, over the Coosane Gap, through the mountains and down to the sea. The fair is held right on the seashore, so fingers are crossed for good weather tomorrow.

But there's something else. As well Bantry Show, tomorrow is also the ALL IRELAND HURLING FINAL 'twixt Cork and Kilkenny. You'll remember maybe that I went up to Croke Park for the semi-final - those socks at an early stage of development on the sidelines, smuggled there in a lens box? That will have been nothing compared to the power of a final, and Cork and Kilkenny are old rivals, at level pegging for top honours over the centuries. There will be a gigantic television set (or perhaps more than one) in the bar tent at the show and I suspect that every single attendee will decamp there during the game to cheer, shout, roar advice, thump the table, and even, in the case of some of the older watchers, say the Rosary (yes, of course the Almighty is on Cork's side. Was there any doubt of that?). DH has managed to get himself put on show duty for the paper, so I will be able to provide front line pictures for you. I must crochet or knit a quick decorative scarf in Cork's colours of 'blood 'n bandages' - or red and white if you prefer.

Socks and cardi on their first show outing, The Rebel County playing the Kilkenny Cats - life doesn't get more stressful. Yesterday evening, when the show stars were finally tidied up and having a nice early night, I wearily went to my stash and looked for something really really relaxing to knit, as a winding-down exercise. You know how you fantasise when finishing something interminable about other things you could knit, other projects you'd love to start? I have a whole line of those waiting, but last night I was too tired. That gorgeous hunk of manhood, the Sirdar Denim Chunky, put a comforting warm hand on mine and said, 'Let me look after you.' I yielded - how could I do otherwise? - and let him make the running. Whatever he suggested, I'd go along.

He calmly and gently led me into a really simple shepherd's vest in a patchwork pattern of stocking stitch and double moss stitch which was so easy to knit that I could do it with my eyes closed. (In fact I discovered with a start that that was exactly what I was doing, and that I would have to frog back some of the moss stitch.)



It's proceeding at a comfortably slow pace and I'm enjoying every minute of it. Next week, though, I'm going to swatch up some really beautiful Cheviot yarn in a fine weight, for a thoroughly complicated Aran design... Can't afford to let this sudden space in a knit-obsessed month close up through lack of use!

Kathy, you were asking for the link to the acorn-tipped handmade knitting needles that Angeluna told me about. Hope you can find it this time. If not, email me via Knitter's Review Forum (Celtic Memory Yarns there too) and we'll work something out. They're worth hunting for.

Mary tells me she stayed at Dunmanus Bay years ago, and also actually owns a square foot of Macroom! Mary, get in touch with me through Knitter's Review Forum (you don't seem to have a weblog), give me the details and I'll find those few precious inches and photograph them for you, promise! And tomorrow I'll put on a picture of Dunmanus especially for you - it's one of my favourite places.

Now a few more pieces to write up, and then it will be time to take my precious babies down to Bantry. They have to be into the craft barn (a genuine huge old corrugated-iron-roofed barn) before 5.30 pm, as the judging takes place at 6.30. If I get there fairly late, they'll have set up most of the entries, so I might be able to hang my own pieces to their best advantage (did that before with quilts, in another existence, so I know it's possible). Then I'll have to leave them there overnight! Hope they'll be OK, what with the wind and rain and all. After that it's wait and see. I don't care really about winning (don't we always say that?) 'cause I know they're unique and special and lovely, and I'll tell them so as I leave them and head home.

Is There Enough Yarn To Finish The Socks?

Flemisa, Sharon, Julia and everyone else who rowed in with the sock advice, THANK YOU! It's so much simpler when you finally are able to work it out for yourself. Now I know what it actually is I'm doing, I'm on my way. Trouble was, because of that error in the pattern, I had no choice but to frog right back to the heel flap on both socks.



This is not a happy picture. It shows two socks, both well down the foot, in the process of being frogged. Once that unpleasant process had been endured, there was the picking up to do, necessitating the introduction of The Four Cs until well after midnight (crochet hook, Calvados, chocolate and cursing).

There was a soft rain falling this morning and once the most urgent writing jobs had been finished and sent off, I headed for Macroom with sock bag in tow (only two and a half more working days before show entries). Since the introduction of the smoking ban in public places over a year ago, our bars have become very pleasant places to take coffee, and Cotter's (established 1905) is all that a pub should be: dimly lit, cosy, and with a fire in the winter months. Today when Geraldine brought my coffee and scone, she picked up the knitting and admired the yarn colours. 'You've dropped a couple of stitches off those tiny needles,' she observed and straight away, to my amazement, quickly and competently picked them up on the tiny toothpicks which masquerade as rosewood dpns.



She declined all offers of needles and yarn for herself though, saying she'd done enough of it in her time and didn't see the point now when yarn was so expensive and shop sweaters so reasonable. I'll convert her another day - maybe when I've got a really irresistible soft yarn and a delectable pattern on the go.

I've been getting a bit of totally undeserved praise for some of the pictures that appear on this website. I need to emphasise again for anyone who doesn't know, that DH takes all the better shots. He is a professional and specialises in wildlife. I'm adequate when recording a half-finished sock but when it comes to capturing the look in the eye of an animal, the exact turn of the head, then there's no-one can beat DH. I stick to the words mostly, and let him practise the gifts the gods gave him.

The Ukrainian wool saga is ongoing. You may remember that I ordered some very fine silvery-white laceweight yarn but that when it arrived it was brown. Emails were exchanged, I sent it back, and yesterday got the replacement - this time dark grey. More emails and a heartrending reply from Oleh in furthest Ukraine. He wants to please me, he writes sadly, but if the next batch doesn't suit, he will just have to refund my money. I feel so guilty! But I really didn't want the dark brown or the dark grey. For safety I tucked in a few strands of various creamy white yarns I had around the place, and asked him to match those. Perhaps 'silver' is a very variable colour to interpret after all. Bless him, he even sent a picture of all the colours they have in stock over there.



I'll just have to order some more, if only in the interests of furthering East-West relationships, shan't I?

Oh the distractions that throw themselves in your path when you have so little time left to finish urgent projects. The latest golden apple to roll in front of my feet is that utterly amazing St. Brigid design from Alice Starmore's Aran Knitting. I saw a superb example knitted up by Francesca. Oh me oh my I want to work that pattern! And I really thought, being Irish and all, and raised on the darn things, I knew it all on Arans. It's the finer yarn she uses , I think, that enables her to work out such incredibly interlaced designs. Beautiful.

(By the way, St. Brigid was originally one of our powerful Irish goddesses, Brid. When Christianity reached the island, she was downgraded to gentle little interceding saint instead of all-powerful hell-raiser in her own right. Just so you know we didn't always have a patriarchal society.)

Angeluna, thank you for that link to the wonderful site for making your own knitting needles! Don't you love the acorn-topped ones? I really like the idea of using something from nature to finish them off. Yet
another project for the dark evenings (roll on dark evenings, the jobs are piling up...)

I was working away on those socks today when Patrick (the neighbouring farmer) and his son went out for a spot of rabbit shooting in the woods (well, I suppose if the little pests were eating all my crops I might feel belligerent too). Although Tasha and Muffy don't even notice the shots, Sophie gets terrified out of all reason, even though she is safely in the house. She comes bolting in, eyes wild and ears back, and launches herself at whoever is sitting down, from about twenty feet away, landing in a lap with force, no matter what else may be there at the time. She seriously affected the number of stitches on each needle several times until I gave in and let her stay there, pretending to be fast asleep, while I tried to get on with the socks.



A few people asked if I could speak Gaelic. I'm reasonably articulate, but it's my second rather than my first language. The people in the Gaeltacht areas speak it as their first choice with English coming in second. In really rural Gaeltachts (like the Aran Islands) this can result in a beautifully careful form of English. I remember one old man on Inisheer (the smallest of the Aran islands) looking at my mutts and saying politely, 'I am thinking that those would be little holiday dogs.' I thought it was a lovely way of expressing it.

Down in the orchard yesterday evening I noticed that the surrounding trees had got a bit high and some of the little apple saplings weren't getting any light. Seized the extending pruners and got to work as quickly as possible. Eventually, just as the sun was sinking, I was able to see its rays gilding one of the saplings and felt so pleased.



It's not a very good picture but I felt so happy I'd done something to help the little tree that I wanted you to share it. The branches on the left are in the shade, but those on the right are catching the setting sun, and I swear it took a deep breath and held up its face in delight. It's quite a rare Irish variety called Summer John. I also have Ardcairn Russet, Irish Peach, James Grieve, Cox's Orange Pippin, and Scarlet Crofton. The Grieve and Cox are common enough, the others are all rarities now and only available from the Seed Savers Society up in the Midlands. Cox, I have to say, though it is my favourite eating apple, is a real whinger and sulkyboots, needing constant encouragement and assistance, whereas the others get on with life by themselves most of the time, pleased to get the occasional feed or mulch, but otherwise coping admirably. One day soon I may even be able to pick apples from them (if the summer isn't too dry, then it's too wet, never quite right, apparently.) The only tree which regularly bears a heavy crop is an unidentified cooker around the back which bends its branches every autumn with huge fruits that cook down beautifully to a frothy white sweetness.

Wednesday evening here now. Thursday and Friday to go (both with quite a lot of my journalistic workload to be attended to as well, I have to say) and then Saturday morning is the final deadline for finishing both socks and Elann lace crop cardi. The latter is actually complete, all but the trying bit of tidying up loose ends and tucking away those irritating loops of glitter which created themselves unnoticed while I was struggling with the pattern. It just needs to be mounted prettily on a hanger, with a high-necked, long-sleeved blouse tucked inside to show it off properly. The socks? My main worry now, once I've finally managed to clear the hazards of heel and instep, is whether there will be ENOUGH YARN TO FINISH. The two balls are looking quite soft (I've been working from the inside out) and it is getting stressful. There is the maddest urge to knit even faster, to get there before the yarn runs out. Don't know what I'll do if it does. Make socks for exceptionally short feet, I imagine. No time for any other alternative at this stage.

Pickin' Up Stitches, Wonderin' Why It Don't Add Up Right, dum de dee...

The last days of August and all the signs of autumn are here. Patrick, our neighbouring organic farmer (and believe me I thank our good luck every day of the year that he is so minded and doesn't spray his fields constantly with heaven-knows-what in the way of toxic substances) started cutting his cornfield last night, chuntering slowly all around the perimeter first, then gradually into the centre. Now just the bright golden straw is left lying to dry before being baled to provide winter cosiness for his stock.



The birds have finally decided that the rowan berries are ripe enough and are descending in flocks. When I go out with the dogs in the early morning, they fly off frantically, dropping scraps of bright red berry as they make their escape. This morning we watched two blackbirds picking and popping like kids with peanuts; then they scrambled in terror as a mistle thrush bombed low across the garden to take over.



And yesterday was Ballingeary Show (no, no relation to Bantry) which is always on the last Sunday in August. It's a very small local show, but endearing in its homely atmosphere. The craft entries were sparse, and displayed so half-heartedly at least twenty feet away behind a barrier that they couldn't even be photographed for you (yes, I commented, to many officials, again and again. Next year may well be different. On the other hand, it may not. If I heard 'Well that's the way we've always done it' once, I heard it a dozen times.). However, the baking section was as hotly contested as ever.



Just thought I'd give your diets something to think about.

I also met the most charming Irish-speaking dog at the show.



His name, unfortunately, is Poxy. His owner explained that she'd rescued him as a stray on Tenerife and had paid over €600 to get him back safely to West Cork. Apparently the locals on Tenerife used to refer to him as 'that poxy stray', hence the name. Me, I might have gone for something more mellifluous. However, since Ballingeary is a Gaeltacht (an area where the residents still speak Irish as their first language), the first thing Poxy had to do was learn the vernacular. And he has done pretty well, responding instantly to 'Suig sios' (sit down) as well as 'Ar mhaith leath beagainin ciste?' (would you perhaps like a small piece of cake?).

I've been working pretty hard on the Interlacement socks which are headed for Bantry Show next weekend. Getting to the heel flap, I tried to find straight needles in the same gauge as the tiny rosewood dpns but discovered that, surprise surprise, an old UK 12 (don't ask, OK?) is not quite the same. Nor is a size 13. I know this because most of one heel flap had been worked on the needles I thought would do (they looked identical, for heaven's sake, and almost fitted the same holes on my Susan Bates) before a long hard look at the resultant (admittedly very nice and smooth) stocking stitch forced an admittance that it was not the same tension. Eventually found a fine circular that was doing something else at the time but was persuaded (fairly forcibly, I admit) to drop that and come right over to help in the present crisis. Nothing for it. Frog, swear, pick up. Miss one that had sneaked off to have a word with its friends several rows back. Go hunt for fine crochet hook. Pick up truant stitch. Start the heel flap again. Repeat some (but thankfully not all) of the above with second sock.



Here they are with the heel flaps done, and shown with the purl side outwards just to give you a thrill.

Turning the heel was actually quite fun once you see the commonsense and reasoning behind it. The confidence engendered by this, however, was soon dissipated when I started picking up along the heel flap and getting back into the round. The number of stitches required to be picked up was far less than I would have thought and resulted in a rather gathered effect. Still, I followed the pattern assiduously, reasoning that the designer probably KNEW WHAT SHE WAS DOING and had a GRAND PLAN in mind.

Then discovered that the number of stitches I had ended up with was far greater than that indicated in the pattern. Went back over the instructions. Checked my knitting minutely. Did some maths. Yep, I was right. There was no way I could have followed those instructions and come up with the laughably small number of stitches they said I should have. In fact if I'd followed eye and instinct I'd have had even more (along that heel flap).

What do you do in cases like this? (Unfortunately the most popular one, featuring a trashcan, a gallon of paraffin and a box of matches, isn't an option right now as I have already completed the entry form for the show.) Having checked another half dozen times, gone over my abstruse mathematical calculations, and held up the sock at all angles, I decided to go ahead and hope for the best. There is provision for some reduction in stitches as the foot proceeds downward towards the toe, so I'll use that little window of opportunity to get back on the correct count.

Unless of course the designer (or indeed the printer, why blame it on the designer? And come to that, why do I presuppose it was a female? Just like a male to gloss loftily over the minor details, reasoning that they didn't really matter all that much) got it wrong, and I SHOULD have the larger number of stitches. Advice please, and quickly too. What number of stitches do you normally end up with when you get past the heel and start down the foot? Same as before the heel? Less? More? Let's hear from the experts (and cut out the snarfling laughter, right?)

An update on Muffy and her shrubbery-guarding. This morning I was working on some deadline copy (it's always on deadline, can't work any other way) when I glanced out and saw Muffy in the middle of the lawn apparently wrestling with a black shape almost as big as herself. You don't stop to think at times like this - I was downstairs and out the front door before I even registered what I was doing.

It was a very large rabbit. A very large dead rabbit. A very large dead rabbit that had popped its clogs, handed in its notice, retired from public life, some considerable time ago. You don't want to know the details but if I briefly allude to many many smaller creatures which had in the interim taken up occupancy within said rabbit... yes, I thought you wouldn't want to know. And my killer Pekingese was standing triumphantly over this prize, making little darts at it and beaming all over her face. All by herself this small dog (who a year ago was so weak she couldn't get out of bed) had dragged this precious loot through the brambles and tangled branches of the shrubbery, down a slope and out across the lawn to where she had deposited it to await congratulation and proper accolade.

NO I DO NOT HAVE A PHOTOGRAPH OF THE INCIDENT! WHAT DO YOU THINK?

Of course DH (who didn't hear about it until it was all over) said I should have gone calmly back to the house, found a camera, and photographed the hideous object from all angles (omitting none of the wriggling tiny residents). What I actually did was grab a garden spade, hoist the horrible shape on to it, and rush down to the boundary fence where there is a drop to an impenetrable thicket some six feet below.

Ever since, Muffy has been prowling around the lawn looking furious. 'How could it have escaped?', she is muttering to herself. 'I'd beaten it into submission, I'd told it not to dare move. Where's it got to now?'

I'm sorry to disappoint you on the gory shot, but here's a (fairly) peaceful one of the said disgruntled Muffy in the spot where she was discovered in flagrante rabbito this morning.



(I have to admit that I can't help a sneaking feeling of pride, though. You know, she's such a little dog really, and there still isn't much padding on those fragile bones. It must have taken quite a bit of effort and doggy planning to work out a route through the tangle of the shrubbery and out into the light of day, not to mention serious puffing effort. I might give her a little medal after all. It's a bit like that fairy tale 'Seven At A Blow', isn't it? The tailor who swiped several flies and then made himself a belt with that statement on, whereupon everyone worshipped him as a hero. Yeah, good on you, Muffy. I know what you were saying as you reached the designated show-off spot at last. 'That'll show 'em!')

Beads, Lollipops, Lace Points and Shrubberies.

In order to even get at the keyboard, it is necessary to sweep half a dozen books to the floor. Plenty more down there already. Lyn said she likes the idea of my library but says she has books in every room. Oh Lyn, believe me, so do we! The library is just for the main body of volumes. What can't fit in there is in the living room, the bedroom, the kitchen, the bathroom, and on the stairs. Was it A. L. Rowse, the eminent historian, who once said he never trusted a house that didn't have piles of books all the way up the stairs? (Wonder how he felt about bungalows?)

(And Rho, Sophie was genuinely asleep in that last posting's picture, with her head on Irish Trees: Myths, Legends and Folklore, which was honestly on its way back to my study shelves. But of course when I went back for the camera, she woke up to see if there was any cuddling to be had and wouldn't put her head down again. Now Tasha will pose the second she sees a camera...) And now you've got a Turkish spindle from Jenkins Woodworkingtoo, Rho! May you have happy years together and so much pleasure using it. Isn't it wonderful to have something made by a craftsman by the banks of a creek in Oregon? Everybody should have some of Ed's stuff. I'm going back right now to look at his circular needles. Apparently he'll put your name on if you want. In an age of standardisation and bulk manufacture, someone like Ed is to be treasured.

Rachel, you wicked creature, telling me about the Dremel tool. I looked it up immediately and want it NOW. It's just the kind of thing for us girls who have small jobs to do, but want to do them well and properly (and not have to haul out DH's beloved, big clunky, awkward stuff). Asked DH's advice and he tactfully asked when my birthday was, knowing full well it was three weeks ago (the day before his). That's why I love him. I said early September of course...

Spent most of this morning trying to get the edging right on the Elann lace crop cardi. It is not an easy task.



Normally when faced with a simple instruction like 'work a row of single crochet up one front, round the neck and down the other side' my instinct is to gallop straight ahead, get it done as quickly as possible, and move on to something more interesting. But coming a cropper over the Anny Blatt (still languishing in the WIP basket whence I hurled it in a fit of rage) has made me more cautious. A measuring tape was found (no matter how many are known to be in the house, they all manage to hide themselves when really needed). The fronts were measured. Several times. Pins were inserted at one-inch intervals. Several fell out again and had to be located seconds before questing furry paws came by. Deep breath. Start to work up one side. Stop every few minutes to check. Lose some more pins. Discover at least two caught up in other parts of the cardi. Wonder briefly how judges at show would feel if discovering sharp objects rather more suddenly. Would this prejudice chances? Probably.

Now quite ready to work down the other front, keeping in mind all those carefully counted single crochets between pin markers (such as still remained) but couldn't, because the neck needed to be worked first. Now the neck of this Elann pattern has a very pretty set of points, created by the lace repeat. The idea was to emphasise the shape of each point with the crochet work. But would they be emphasised? They would not.



They look fine here, but as soon as any pressure at all is put on the neck (like wearing it, for example), the points flatten out and disappear. The lowest point was tightened, the upper point gathered, but they still wouldn't stay pointed. Will have to try blocking under a damp cloth. That or crocheting a linking chain from point to point all around the neck.

This pattern calls for a small bead to hang from each point at the bottom. No suitable beads to be found anywhere in Cork. Decided to empty cupboards, old sewing boxes, button collections. Still nothing. In despair, hauled out rather nice little carved jewellery box which was sadly overcrowded anyway, and went through that.



Here it is on the window sill, minus much of its contents. It has a bit of history this box. I found it in Eastern Europe over thirty years ago, before the Iron Curtain had creaked open. I think it may once have been a lady's dressing box - there are some ancient stains of make-up on its mirror. But it is beautifully carved and redolent of another, more gracious age. Over the years broken necklaces, unwanted bracelets, bits of this and that had been shoved in and forgotten. It needed a good clean out and tidy up, and it got it today, although that wasn't the original intention. I even found a necklace with beads of about the right size and shade.



Once that's done, it will be time to get moving sharpish on the socks. One needs a good deal of quiet time alone to tackle the heel-turning, undistracted by television, dogs, even DHs.

Speaking of DH, he cleared his car out yesterday and left all the detritus of months in a neat heap in the garage. Sophie got in and found a toffee lollipop, leftover from some kids' event he'd been photographing. By the time we discovered the larceny, she was in puppy heaven on the lawn, holding the stick firmly between her paws and slurping the ball of toffee with her pink tongue.



I was worried that the toffee might stick her teeth together but she disposed of it no problem.

Muffy on the other hand has been behaving rather oddly lately. She's spending a lot of time in the shrubbery and we hear the occasional roar out of her from time to time, deep in the bushes. Every time we bring her in, she heads out again, back to that shrubbery.




The others aren't too worried so I suspect it may be a twig that looks like a rat. Or perhaps a rabbit went in there a week ago and she assumes it's still there. Muffy's body weight is fine now, after that dreadful time when she just wouldn't eat, but the brain power isn't at quite the same level. She wouldn't even come in when it
was bucketing with rain the other evening; just lay doggo under the car, keeping an eye on that there shrubbery...



After all, she's probably reasoning, if she doesn't protect house and home against dangerous invaders, who will? (The other two of course were lounging inside, watching her amusedly through the French windows). I wonder what is keeping her so enthralled that she has to guard it at all hours and in all weathers?

In what remains of the evening, is it to be the beads on the bottom of the Elann cardi or turning the first heel on the Interlacement socks? Probably better to leave the socks until tomorrow. They need a morning brain. Sewing on beads, however, is reasonably safe even at this late hour (and a statement like that is certainly asking for trouble.)

How Do You Solve A Problem Like No Needles?

Had to do an early telephone interview this morning with an Irish girl who is in the running for the role of Maria in a huge new production of The Sound of Music in London. Andrew Lloyd Webber is behind it, and he, together with the BBC, has organised a marathon television programme around the casting, called - wait for it - How Do You Solve A Problem Like Maria? Aoife has survived the early rounds (they are on BBC1 every Saturday and the viewers get to vote) and is now in the final 8. She's finding it just about the most demanding audition she's ever had and I'm not surprised. Several months of Big Brother-type television, with cameras recording you day and night (all the hopefuls are living together in the aptly-named Maria House) would have me opting out pretty quick. Still, I hope she makes it.



She's a pretty girl and would look perfect as Maria. I'll keep you posted. For anyone who can get BBC1, the final is on September 16, I understand.

And it is nearly September. Where did August go? I really must get started on the new designer yarns
for autumn. This weblogging and emailing new friends thereby made is so absorbing, and the knitting projects are so all-consuming, that the design side has been almost forgotten lately. Celtic legends I think this time - The Children of Lir is in my mind - and of course Samhain, since that's coming up in October. It's the first festival of the Celtic New Year, and we still have more than you might think of those ancient traditions in our blood. Even the most commercialised Hallow-E'en customs have their roots in something far deeper and
older. Will try to get going on the preliminary stages next week (that involves hauling everything out and up to the sunny drawing room, locking all doors, and hurling yarns around the place searching for the perfect blend, combination, twist, merge). Then I let myself out, lock the door after me, and let it all stew for a day or so. It has usually sorted itself out by the time I go back in (unless one of the dogs has been in there first). Peg drew my attention to a posting on Knitter's Review Forum where a cat had got at a skein of Seasilk (calm down now, calm down) and the writer had found it strangely calming to work for several nights carefully untangling the resultant chaos. I actually know what she means: I've had to do the same when Muffy had been in action (or taking therapy, whichever you prefer) and did find it strangely relaxing - I was almost (but not quite) sad when it was done. Is untangling good for the soul? Is it a metaphor for what we wish we could do with life?

Enough philosophy. I unearthed a wonderful book today when I was vacuuming the library (from the number of dead flies, I calculate it hasn't been done for a year or so, but libraries aren't exactly heavy usage areas, or so I tell myself). It's Jan Messent's Wool n'Magic and it is absolutely incredible. I remember buying it years ago, not quite sure why I had but knowing I had to, and now I know why. I've grown to the stage where I can really take it all in and leap even further. Do you ever find you acquire things before you know that you're going to need them? I was collecting strange fibres and odd enhancing yarns like very thin glitters and shiny threads, long before I realised that I wanted to create my own skein compositions. Anyway, the pictures in this book are enough to set your heart going pit-a-pat. Look at this handspun shawl:



What I love about Messent's designs is that she has no problems mixing crochet and knitting, embroidery and canvaswork, whatever she thinks will look best on her design. In this shawl she's used knitted diagonal squares, crochet squares, bands of garter stitch, bands of trebles, everything and anything, in different shades of fine handspun yarn. And some of the other designs are even more dramatic (there's a simply gorgeous mermaid that I know you'd love,Angie ). This one is called Stalactite Cave and uses wire mesh, dowels, cardboard, all sorts as base for her knitting and crochet freeform.



I must look up Messent's other books - she's done several, I gather. I love people who seem to be able to leap outside the usual and have no limits to their imagination.

Charity thank you so much for the link to that adorable amulet pouch. The bargain I'd struck with myself was that if progress was good on Elann and Interlacement socks, a little time out could be taken today to make my own version of said little amulet pouch. Accordingly, once work was out of the way this morning, there was a hunt for fine dpns. Ah! The rosewoods are still in use on the socks. Can't possibly disturb them - these are show material, after all. Down to the basement (disturbing Sophie who was reading Irish Trees on the stairs).



Found a very long, extremely thin pair of straights (old UK 12s, metric 2.75, US 2, ok?) Into the vice with them. Off with their 'eads (getting good at this. I now have a row of little heads on the shelf above the vice, for all the world like Traitors' Gate at the Tower of London.)



You can see the two little red heads resting on the vice in front of the needles.

Grab the fretsaw.

SK-R-E-E-E-E-K

Ah. Not plastic then. So where's the hacksaw?

Metal needles do not cut neatly or smoothly. A file was needed. Several files of varying roughness were needed.



It took a bit of work (and took up quite a bit of my precious out-time from show projects) but eventually some reasonable points were fashioned on the cut ends.

Now I do not recommend that you try this at home. Metal needles hacked in half and roughly filed do not in any way resemble polished little rosewoods or even common-or-garden plastics. We're talking rough trade here. But they did the job. I used a fairly smooth sock yarn for the amulet pouch, so that there wouldn't be too much catching of fine fibres on the unsmoothed bits. When it was past that exasperatingly fiddly beginning bit, I took it out to the garden to have its picture taken.



It didn't take long to make at all. By mid-afternoon (life, as it tends to, intervened once or twice and delayed the process), the baby amulet pouch was finished, and ready to meet the world.



Isn't it lovely? I'm going to tuck some of my favourite scented herbs into it tonight (lemon verbena, southernwood) and then tomorrow put all my stitch markers safely inside. Charity, you are a pet for introducing me to this. Wouldn't they make perfect little gifts for friends, with sugared almonds or herbs or anything inside?

In the meantime - BACK to the slaughterhouse - I mean the Elann lace crop cardi!

Can't You Hear The Wild - It's Calling You!

I can't believe how all of you are so supportive on this insane idea of mine to enter two items (as yet nowhere near finished) for Bantry Show (deadline Sept. 2). It's a lovely warm feeling to get all those positive messages. It's two-way, you know - any daft notion you have in mind, let me know and I'll be right there backing you. Angeluna, thank you so much for the link to sockblockers on eBay - I love them, especially the drop spindle design and the moose. But thanks also for your brilliant idea re making my own and stencilling on a Celtic motif. You're a genius! As you say, presentation is all. A large piece of cardboard has been located and earmarked for making a preliminary template. When it looks about right, I'll get something stronger and more durable. And Anne, I am more than grateful for the timely warning about the possible bleeding of that Interlacements yarn. I think I'll take your advice and just steam and block for the show, and worry about washing afterwards.

Peg of course it's a huge prize at Bantry, why else would I be bothering? The first prize in each category is - wait for it - €12!!! (Tthe entry fee was €2, and if you take into account the petrol for driving down and back... )Well of course it's worth it. All of you know perfectly well why we put ourselves through these tortuous hoops.

The socks, by the way, found their rightful place right down at the bottom of the craft list in the show programme, tucked away in a little category of their own - a cap OR gloves OR socks. I am almost certain that nobody else in Ireland will enter socks. Caps yes, maybe even mittens, but I think socks are a definite no-no in a country where up to only too recently knitting them was a compulsory chore in any family. I might be wrong, though. We have quite a few recent settlers from Germany and Holland who are very keen knitters, so my LYSO tells me.

Now - everyone who wanted the pattern for that wedding coat (see earlier posting, Newsflash! Other Crafts Claim Equal Rights With Knitting!) I've recalled the foolproof and safe way to exchange email addresses if you're shy about that. Register on Knitter's Review Forum, find me (Celtic Memory) and you can send me an email to which I can reply with the images and pattern. There may well be a nice complicated Blogger way to post the pattern, involving lots of codes and adjustments, but this way is far simpler. Besides which, Knitters' Review Forum is a fantastic site and service if you don't know it already. It is run so really really well. I pop in there every time I have what I regard as a difficult problem and somebody solves it within minutes. Plus when I'm travelling to an as yet undiscovered (yarnwise) corner of the globe, I put a query in there and have a list (usually plus introductions, reviews, the lot) in no time. What a great facility. Take a bow, organisers of KRF! (No, they didn't pay me to say that. It comes from the heart of someone who, in rural Ireland, felt rather marooned until broadband changed everything. Just don't cut off my link, nice helpful Irish telephone controllers, please!)

The Seasilk yarn has arrived from friendly helpful Evelyn at Knitty-Noddy and it is so heartstoppingly beautiful. I could never have imagined any yarn looking and feeling so lovely. I find myself picking it up and holding it against my neck or face several times a day.



So often you find that a yarn (or even the label in a sweater or blouse) is scratchy or a little irritating. I'd like to make everything I wear next to my skin from Seasilk from now on. The dilemma facing me right now is what on earth (in heaven?) to make with these two skeins that will do honour to their beauty and glorious combination of silk and seaweed? A shawl of course is the first choice - but I am wondering about a fine ribbed sweater - even a polo neck. (They do a superb colourway in ivory shades as I recall). That would take time and lots of stitches (not to mention more yarn - well why should anyone else have it? They don't deserve it, wouldn't appreciate it like I would), but it would feel so divine that it would be worth the epic task. Still, NOTHING, but NOTHING gets even looked at until both the Elann and the socks are finished, tidied, blocked, and off to aforesaid Bantry Show. No, I really mean it this time. I don't have any other choice (well there is the one of making a cup of coffee, putting my feet up, saying, 'What's the point, life's too short,' and opening a trashy novel, and don't think I haven't considered that option. but this is a path on which I have set myself and I have to complete the journey or face the conclusion that I'm one of life's failures.)

Wouldn't you love to live next door to Fleece Artist/Handmaiden? Get to work there? Get to take secretive sacks home after hours when no-one is looking.... No, no, no, scrub that thought. But have you seen their merino sock yarn?



This is the Autumn colourway on my other favourite yarn site, Simply Socks operated by the lovely Allison. There is already a glorious skein of Cherry Tree Hill awaiting my winter attention in the stash, not to mention the Interlacements on the tiny rosewood dpns, awaiting their hour at Bantry, so I shouldn't really be considering more, but this interpretation of autumn's colours (why is there an n
in autumn? Doesn't seem any need for it really - how come you New Worlders haven't got rid of it? Oh you have - you call it fall, don't you?) is almost impossible to resist.

We're definitely getting towards autumn here now, notwithstanding that we're not finished with August yet. I was down in Gougane Barra the other day when the mists were low on the surrounding hills. The montbretia was flowering in swathes along the road verges, damp with moisture and enjoying itself thoroughly.



Hey, all of these are in the same sort of colourway, aren't they? Hadn't planned it like that. Been in a blue mood all summer with the Elann lace crop and the Interlacement socks, but now the call of autumn is hard to resist.

I have heard the beat of the offshore wind
And the thresh of the deep sea rain.
I have heard the song, How long, how long?
Pull out on the trail again.

What is it about September that makes us want to up sticks and go travelling? Show me a harbour or an airport and the urge is there again, insistent, pulling, demanding.



I know the airport hassle is going to be worse than ever, the baggage restrictions don't bear thinking about, the jetlag - but if you're born with the wanderlust, you can't do much about it, other than follow the call.

Here's another quote from a favourite poet of mine (I make no apology for preferring writers who are actually understandable):

They have cradled you in custom, they have primed you with their preaching,
They have steeped you in convention through and through.
They have put you in a glass case, you're a credit to their teaching,
But can't you hear the Wild - it's calling you!

Let's hear some of your favourites.

Patience my foot, I'm gonna MURDER this knitting!

Charity, thank you so much for the link to that site for making stitch markers. It is so clear and helpful that I couldn't believe it. No missing bits of vital information at ALL. Gosh, I wish the sites with instructions for Figure 8 Cast On were as clear! Can't wait to get started on some stitch markers. Which is ironic now that I come to think about it, because those early sessions on the Elann cardi, where stitch markers and I first became acquainted, were so traumatic that I still get tremors when I think about them. But I do feel quite an urge to create some little beady dangly things myself now. I owe you a skein of bainin wool, Charity - I'll drop it in at your LYS, shall I, when I'm coming through your neck of the woods in September?

Karen has asked if I can post the instructions for that devastating wedding coat. Delighted to do so, Karen: I'm asking DH for advice on the best way to do this, but any hints from the rest of you would be welcomed (It's a fairly long and detailed pattern as you'd imagine). Post really big images? Email them to you? Whatever. I'm new at this aspect but most willing to cooperate.

That Elann lace crop cardi. (Should I just call it the ELCC?) The sleeve was just not working for me. There was no smoothness, no sense of moving along in a natural way, as by this stage any pattern should be. On the sleeve being worked with the four bamboo dpns, stitches were being lost at every corner. The needles were really too short, too clunky, and, due to my hurried cutting and paring, didn't have that polish either, so the stitches dragged (when they weren't leaping off into oblivion) and trying to insert one blunt point into a difficult yo from the previous row was enough to drive anyone to drink. I lost count of the times I discovered half the correct number of stitches on the row I was working. Words the dogs hadn't heard in really ages were flying. DH asked only once if I was actually enjoying what I was doing, and then retired to his den.

The sleeve being worked on two circulars wasn't any better, although I really thought it would have been. The circulars, contrary to their usual impeccable behaviour, pulled and yanked and were constantly straining at the lace fabric, opening very large ladder-like gaps that I wasn't at all sure would heal afterwards. Plus it proved even more impossible to keep count of the stitches. Every row was a lottery, with me never picking the winning number.

I have to admit I came so close to throwing it all in the dustbin. Do you know that feeling when you're trembling on the brink of exploding? My fingers were actually twitching to wrench the whole horrible heap apart, and stuff it into the nicely sooty woodburning stove. Even my pulse rate was rising, ready for the anticipated action.

It was only the thought of confessing failure on this page that stopped me, I swear it. I tried to take a deep breath. Tried again. Then the thought struck me that perhaps slightly longer dpns would do. No, no been there, done that, got the amused negatives. No 6mm dpns to be found anywhere. Rush out, drive a 60 mile round trip to Cork, purchase not one but two more sets of bamboos? No, it's Sunday. All day. Few enough yarn stores on weekdays, none at all today.

All right, let's take this calmly. Let's get all Little House on the Prairie. What do we have that would do? How about all those discarded plastic straights, relegated to a box in the basement? Thunder downstairs, scattering dogs asleep on the landing (all banished from the knitting room during the present crisis). Search through the needle box. Yo, size 6! And TWO pairs, yay! Slam 'em into the vice, grab the little fretsaw.

HOLD IT THERE, RIGHT NOW!

I so nearly did it. I forgot, didn't I, that these were old size 6. That's UK size 6 to you New Worlders. You might think you're really trendy if you've come to terms with European versus US, but over here we have a triple problem: most of us intelligent older folk think in old UK sizings, buy in metric, and use patterns designed for US needles. I kid you not, I keep a handwritten chart underneath my keyboard - yes it's right here - with all three listed for comparison. Let's see - the old UK size 6 is... uh huh, a metric 5, which is - oh, an 8 in the US (or size H if you're using a crochet hook).

Where was I? Oh yes, that means I was just about to cut up four innocent and totally inappropriate needles. Back to the box. What I actually needed was the old UK 4 - that's a 10 to you (oh for heaven's sake, a J hook, haven't you been listening? We're not using hooks here. We're talking dpns. We're talking rubbish! We're babbling. That's what stress does to you.)

One pair of the right size (I'm not going into that again). But not long enough to make four dpns longer than the ones I already have which are manifestly too short. Surely there's another pair the same size? Nope. Despair. Eye sooty woodburning stove yearningly. Hang on - wasn't there a vast mohair project once, abandoned in a basket behind a chair somewhere? That used big needles. Thunder upstairs. Dogs, just settled comfortably, disturbed again. Haul out basket. YESSS! Another pair of the same. Down to basement. Needles into vice. Heads twisted off (sorry if this is getting a bit brutal, it's hard reality time). Cut to decent length. Where's the pencil sharpener? Create reasonable points. File with gentle side of emery board.



There. What do you think? Nice, aren't they? What are the little rings? Ah those are my special invention. Individual garters for my new dpns. I have had it up to HERE with stitches slipping off unnoticed until I find to my horror that I'm short a dozen or more, and there are wretched little ladders working their way down my precious lace project. No MORE they won't. I fashioned the little garters out of scraps of elastic and kept them in place with a few stitches.

Now you may have been laughing all the way along and thinking that I've re-invented the wheel. That you have been recycling your old knitting needles for years, and have always known about garters for dpns. Well I don't care, you hear? I thought these ideas up for myself, dragged them out of my despair and found the solutions in my own backyard (well, my own basement). I may even patent my little dpns garters - I was thinking of cute little red ones with black rosettes?

The thing is - THEY WORKED! Suddenly the block was gone, the logjam freed. The sleeve absolutely blossomed under the new needles. Mind you, it still took me half an hour to work a ten-row repeat of the Milanese Lace pattern, but that was one heck of a lot better than half a day per pattern repeat. I kept working. I didn't dare stop in case I lost my place. At one minute to midnight I got to the required length on Sleeve 1 and sailed straight into the Picot Bind Off. I'd had my doubts about that along the way, but by now, having survived the worst that lace knitting could throw at me, the picot edging was an absolute doddle. No trouble at all. (How many times have you dreaded something that's coming up, only to find when it arrives that there is nothing to it? Me too.)



Look at that sleeve! To see its innocent beauty, you wouldn't believe the tears, the heartache, the swearwords that have gone into it. I've tucked a blouse sleeve inside so you can see it better.

It's been going well ever since. This morning I took up the second sleeve, somehow sorted out the missing stitches (by dint of the occasional crafty k1 when it should have been k 2 tog) and started steaming down the straight on that one. Should get through it tonight, and then start on the rest of the body tomorrow. I think we just might make Bantry Show after all.

So this afternoon, in celebration, I drove down to Bantry and formally submitted my entry forms for the show. The finished projects have to be delivered to the showground before 5 pm on Saturday September 2. FormS? ProjectS? Yes - in a fit of temporary insanity and over-confidence, brought on by the hysterical delight of having finally finished that b-y sleeve, I threw caution to the winds, and entered the socks as well. You remember, the brightly coloured little Interlacements socks? The ones that haven't started on their heel turning yet?



Well, one way or another, those little socks have to be completed, washed, blocked and ready for the party on September 2. Don't bother with the recriminations. Just give me some good advice on the washing and blocking bit. Do they need shaping? How do I make them look really good when they're finished?

(By the way I'm assuming that this Kitchener stitch you all keep talking about is the old-fashioned grafting, right? Working from one raw stitch over to the other, that sort of thing? Haven't done it in a while, but it can't have changed that much. Anyway, for now getting the heel turned will be the main interest. OK, OK, not until the Elann jacket is finished. )

After all that, I thought you might like something calming. So here's Bantry Bay as it looked around 5 pm Irish time this evening, with Hungry Hill rising in the background (remember your Daphne du Maurier?)



It was worth the drive down just for that.