Hello Muddah - Hello Faddah

The socks are done - I took the advice of a good few humans and one cat, and just followed my instincts. Horizontal grafting it is. The weather has let me down again so the picture was taken on a wet and windy doorstep. Cold enough for sock wearing at least and the garden is loving the rain.

Things could be worse - my mum and dad decided to go away for a few days in the Lake District. By the sounds of things, the weather hasn't been good to them either. We got an email from my dad last night. He doesn't really like holidays.


Hello Jeni and Archie

It rained yesterday, soft rain from a windless sky. We went for a sail on the lake in the morning and kept dry in the downstairs cabin.

Today it rained again, horizontal rain, with gale force wind to match, and no visibility. As I look out from the lounge I see upturned metal chairs on the patio, and leaves rushing past the window, and I hear the sound of the wind whistling through cracks somewhere. It is coming on for 2pm. I have finished the Sunday Times, and had a sandwich lunch. I have the Mail on Sunday to look forward to, and after that, God only knows.


Having a lovely time. Wish you were here.

Dad

Only one more sleep and he gets to come home!

The next sock's Kirkcaldy.

I had hoped to post a photo of the socks that are troubling me but the weather has turned nasty and I don't really want to get my feet/camera wet. So, if you can, imagine a pair of almost finished socks. One has been done all the way to the toes and has been kitchenered by grafting twelve stitches on each needle horizontally at the toe ( ie, if you can visualise the end of the sock, the grafting is straight along the top. ) Then I looked at the pattern instructions and from what I can make out, they want me to graft the stitches vertically, as if the sock knits flat to the toe and then the seam .........

You know what - the sun came out and I sat on a wet step to take some pictures. Much easier than trying to explain all of that horizontal and vertical nonesense.

Which is right? I obviously didn't pay attention to that part of the pattern when I made my one and only other socks so if anyone has a theory, please let me know. Bear in mind that I might have just totally misunderstood the pattern in the first place.

Talking of socks, I had a look at the new Berroco sock yarns and there is one called Kirkcaldy. Actually there are a lot of Scottish place names and themes in the Berroco yarns. I went to High School in Kirkcaldy and while it is famous for a couple of things - being the birthplace of Adam Smith for one, it is most famous for being a smelly place. The town was a big manufacturer of linoleum in years gone by and the air always carried a whiff of linseed oil. It was immortalised in a poem called The Boy in The Train which has the classic lines:

For I ken mysel' by the queer-like smell
That the next stop's Kirkcaddy!

Maybe not the best advert for sock yarn!



Thanks to all who have asked after Magnus, especially Emma, Milo and Tuna. He must be feeling better, I found a dead mouse in the hall this morning.

Hold on tight to the rest of your lives.

So, where were we? Ah yes, Magnus and recuperation. After all of our positive thinking about keeping the tail in it's entirety, events rather made that decision for us. And it all started with a fish.

Magnus is very fond of fish and tends to lie on the kitchen floor looking winsome as it is being cooked, then he wraps himself around the legs of any person holding a plate of the finished meal. So it was one evening when a member of the of the household ( to save his blushes he can remain anonymous, but his name rhymes with Archie ) was walking from the kitchen holding his plate of fish, Magnus following close at his heels. He closed a door and a yelp ensued. Magnus shot across the floor and hid under the sofa. We thought that maybe a paw had been stood on. Closer examination showed us that something was not right. To our horror, that something was Magnus' tail, half of which was still in the kitchen door. Poor old boy, there was no feeling in the top of his tail so he hadn't noticed that it was caught in the door and when he moved it had snapped, leaving him with a stumpy bit. The skin where the dislocation occurred had died although we couldn't see that through the fur and it broke when pulled. It looked awful but Magnus seemed relatively unfazed and he continued the quest for fish as we phoned the vet.

Two days later the mog went in to get the tail tidied up and bandaged. This meant going under anaesthetic and a day at the vets. Archie collected the boy and he seemed fine, albeit a little wobbly on the legs. An hour or two later though things were very different. Magnus suddenly changed, began to drool and make strange noises and then he collapsed. He lay on the floor for what seemed like ages, not moving at all, blank eyed and breathing weakly. I really thought that the stress of the tail saga had been too much and this was the end. Then, all of a sudden Magnus came to and made his wobbly way up the stairs. We scooped him into the cat basket and went back to the vet who checked him all over. The vital signs were fine and the conclusion was that the sedative had caused him to have something like an epileptic fit - hence the falling unconscious. We spent the rest of the night watching him very carefully and I've never been so glad to have him nip me on the ankle when I went into the kitchen the next morning.

All in all the Mog has been through it in these last weeks. The bandage is off his tail and the stitches come out in a week or so. He seems to be doing fine. Me? I'm a nervous wreck!

Next time, no cat talk and some knitting. Honest.

A Winner!

What fun it was doing the competition and thank you to all who joined in. Only one person got the answer right and I'm afraid I disqualified her as she is a real life chum who would have shocked me to the core if she didn't know the answer. Sorry Sammy Leigh, but worry not, I have a gift for you when we get together for the 40th birthday celebrations.

Magnus, you see, wasn't always known as such. When we chose him from the Cats' Protection League in Dundee, he was known as Beckham, after David Beckham the English footballer. He had been re-homed once already but had been sent back to the League after misbehaving. Before collecting him, Archie, myself and my big brother Tom got together at the Deep Sea, Dundee's premier fish and chip emporium and discussed names for our new pet-to-be over a tasty meal of tea and spam fritters. Tom favoured Brian, Archie in a fit of prescience thought that Satan might be a good name and I was set on calling the mog Magnus. You can guess who won.

The winner of this competition was drawn from my mum's floppy sun hat by Archie and it was Hockey Kitten. Congratulations Ms Kitten and I'll be in touch about sending some daft things off to you.

Knitting - there has been some knitting in the summer sun. I've made one whole sock, sans grafting, a blanket square or two and a cowl. I was inspired by Orinda and Lolly who have been knitting lovely neck enhancers and it was a good way to use up the hand dyed yarn that Magnus had enjoyed playing with. Nothing fancy, just stocking stitch all the way for a rolled edge. There was no-one around to take a photo of me wearing it when I finished so I borrowed Archie's childhood friend, the grumpy looking bear. I think he looks like a Rowan magazine model - all rural and sulky and staring into space.

I was hoping that Magnus would be able to help with picking the winner of the competition but he was recuperating. From what? That's all whole other story!

100th Post! A tale and a tail.

Baxterknits suggested that it would be a good idea to celebrate my 100th post with a Magnus retrospective. How could I refuse?! While looking through the old pictures of the Mog, I came across a file labelled 'Magnus Identification' which reminded me that I had not told the story of Magnus' catnapping. Now seems like the ideal time........

A year or two ago, Magnus disappeared. After two nights without sight of him we began to get worried. After all, this is a beast who never misses a mealtime. Days passed, then weeks and I began to fear the worst. Archie checked the main road for a familiar body and we walked throught the village calling his name. I used to stand at the foot of Magnus' favourite tree, by the circle where he had trampled the long grass into a nest. Tears were shed and the Mog seemed to have gone forever.

Then one Friday morning I was reading the local paper and there amongst the public notices for Jumble Sales and Evenings of Clairvoyance was a thank you from a Cattery about ten miles away. A lost cat had been returned to them at about the same time Magnus went missing and it had been found in our village in a street near to our house. I called the Cattery who were sympathetic but no, it couldn't be Magnus as the cat in question was female. Anyhow, the owners had collected their cat and were overjoyed to have her back. Something didn't feel quite right and I visited the people who found the lost cat ( it's a small village and people are easy to find. ) When they saw pictures of Magnus they agreed that it could have been the same fellow. The Cattery were having none of it though and they wouldn't let us contact the owners of the cat who had stayed with them. The people had also moved house and were living in the next county.

Time to bring on the big guns. Constable Steve, the village policeman took up the case and the Cattery owner cracked. We got the phone number and called the lost cat's owners. A visit was arranged but I didn't get my hopes up, after all, as far as everyone was concerned the lost cat had been a lady, not a big bruiser like Magnus. That weekend Archie and I drove to the next county and there, in a complete stranger's house, lying on a beautiful pastel sofa, was Our Boy. Magnus was so overwhelmed by our efforts to find him that he ignored us completely and the man we were visiting was convinced that the Mog was actually his female. In fact he went as far as to say: "That cat has a vagina." Yikes! However, we had done some forward planning and brought a selection of photographs with us, the resemblance was unmistakeable. The man began to waver and we agreed that the Mog could stay with him till his partner returned from a business trip and then they could both decide what to do. As we left, he joked that we would get Magnus back sooner if he misbehaved.

Two days later the phone rang - it was the man from the next county. "I'm bringing your cat back." he said. " It's just attacked one of my dogs."

******

And that is the tale of the disappearing Magnus. His own tail has had a reprieve - the vet is holding off from amputating as it looks a good bit better and there is a chance that it will be alright unmolested. It will never be as good as new but good enough will do us.

A competition to celebrate the 100th Post. The prizes are slowly being gathered and so far I've got a lovely tea towel with roses on the front, some of the most unlikely vintage knitting patterns and a hank of handspun. All you have to do is answer this question:

We got Magnus from the Cats' Protection League in Dundee. Which British footballer was he originally named after?

Hint - he has a famous wife and American connections. If no right answers, or all right answers appear, I'll pull a winner out of the hat. If anyone has been reading the Mogblog without commenting, now is a great time to come out and say Hello.

Whisky Galore

We were toasting my mum's health this week as we sat in a lovely Speyside garden overlooking the Balvenie Distillery. Yet again she had managed to win us a fantastic prize - three nights in a lovely house filled with food and whisky and a tour of the distillery. Good company too as there was enough room for friends Sylvia and Rangercraig to come along as well as lovely Molly dog.

The Distillery tour was truly educational - not only the chance to see traditional crafts at work rather than in a museum , but also the whisky tasting that followed. I found out that I have expensive tastes after a sample of a 30 year old Single Malt ( only about £300 a bottle. ) If you think that whisky is all rough texture, peat and seaweed, have a go at the Speyside Malts. The Balvenie whiskies taste of vanilla and fruit with a little touch of coconut smelling gorse.

To top it all, there had been a slight change in our accomodation and by way of apology the distillery gave Archie a bottle of a limited edition Balvenie Rose. It is gorgeous, as long as you don't mix it with milk as Archie did having mistaken the milk jug for the water jug. Mind you that was after many hours of whisky tasting......

I've just realised that this is my 99th post. Any suggestions for a 100th post competition?

Knitting Bee Bounty.

Knitting Bee this month was at Marianne's house. Another chum, brought a bag of unwanted yarn with her in an attempt to increase her cupboard space. I managed to resist most of it except for some 4ply pure wool yarn in a colour I can only describe as Gentleman's Sock Grey. Enough however for many socks for me and a chance to practise my dyeing skills.

Here is the result, it was probably a mistake asking Magnus to model it for me. I'm beginning to understand how the pigeon felt. The nice thing is, I showed the yarn to Anne, the previous owner and she thought it was some exotic silky expensive stuff.

On the continuing saga of the tail, I'm afraid the vet has decreed that it has to come off - not the whole thing but definately the bit that doesn't work any more, ( see first picture for details. ) Archie is already sharpening the axe!