Vote Magnusmog!!

Someone, my mum actually, has nominated me for a blog award with a breakfast cereal company.
Scroll down the page to the Blog competition and add your vote if you fancy.
I'm in there somewhere under the Lifestyle blogs. If I win I'll let you share my mueseli!

Dizzy, Grumpy and Puggled.

Is a description of the state of me, rather than the names of Santa's new reindeer. Too much excitement has taken its toll and my energy reserves have run out. I've been confined to barracks for most of the week, bumbling around the house like a bee with a defective flight plan.

When not lying on the sofa playing a furry game of Russian Roulette with Magnus ( he sleeps on my chest, I try not twitch in my sleep and cause him to strike with all claws ) I have been knitting simple things to keep me sane. Two scarves of the Baktus persuasion have been finished off and the sainted Mary Jane came to my rescue with her Cabled Chullo pattern which is super easy but looks really impressive. It is finished and blocking on a balloon in my window, much to the confusion of the neighbours who mistook it for me when they walked past. I say the hat is finished but in reality I have still to rustle up the energy to make two pom poms. Any day now.

I have been entertaining myself by taking pictures of the cat 'helping' with my craft endeavours. Here are some of my favourites. The project on the ironing board is in fact my very first ever patchwork quilt made from rectangles of denim. It has been sent upstairs to Knitting Headquarters for Christmas and I confidently anticipate that it will be finished in January just as soon as I have taught myself how to make a border.

Winter sunlight on my toes.

Time for a fibre update. The cold weather has made the knitting of bedsocks imperative and I used my beautiful Fyberspates green to make these chaps. I had thought of teaming the green up with some hand dyed purple yarn but the more I knitted the less the sock looked like a chic take on the urban goth look and more like the work of a knitter who was colourblind. Or completely lacking in taste. Thankfully I had an emergency supply of sensible white yarn which did the trick.

Our little weeping willow tree gets pruned every six months or so otherwise the branches get so thick that they deny light to the surrounding plant life. Last pruning I rescued the trimmings and soaked them in a bucket of water till they grew mouldy and fragrant. The resulting dye is a subtle warm peach, spun into a thick-ish single ply. Imagine my smugness, fibre spun on a Friday, yarn washed and dried over the weekend and a shawl knitted by Thursday night. Only the yarn was too thick for the pattern and there really wasn't enough of it. The teeny shawl that was the result of all that effort made me look like Jemima Puddleduck
This afternoon I will be listening to the football on Radio Scotland and turning a too small shawl into a just right scarf using only some 5mm needles and a strong sense of hubris.

New Views of London

View number one: Distinguished artist Grayson Perry, view obscured by fawning fan who had made him some hand-spun wrist warmers and was in the process of handing them over. Mr Perry kindly noted that he looked forward to having warm wrists.

View number two: Empty plate, Carluccio's restuarant, Richmond. Very fine food and good company.


View number three: The view from our first hotel, the Euston Travelodge. It is fair to say that the Travelodge chain is not renowned for its love of the picturesque.


View number four: Knitter near Euston Square finds that pointy sticks are no match for urban flying monsters. Subject is relieved to look slightly less like the back of a ( London ) bus than in view number one.

Thank you to Archie for taking views one and four.

Rain warming.

Its raining today. It rained yesterday. There's fair chance that it will rain tomorrow. The builders working on the roof across the road are wearing oilskins and every photo I take is edged with grey. A person has to try hard to find colour in this dripping world.

But I am trying. A chum brought me some of her Japanese Quinces, enough to fill one and a half tiny jars with jelly. As a time and motion exercise it fails at every turn but the smell of the kitchen and the pale orange glow of the jelly, shining like a weak winter sun made every minute count.

It was raining on Monday morning when I walked to the Doctors to get my (not swine) flu injection and as I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my coat I found two ear plugs and a crumpled gathering of paper streamers. The reason? A Sunday night adventure with The Flaming Lips. Joyous, openhearted and absolutely colourful. Have a look at the little Youtube clip for details. The sound quality is rough but the images are perfect.

Imagine.

In between Soctoberfest and Mousecapades, I went on a trip.

First of all was a visit to London and the delights of Bethnal Green
( thank you very much Sammy Leigh.) I visited Grayson Perry's tapestry which was an overwhelming delight. Next to be seen were Anish Kapoor's grey worm casts and red wax cannons. It was half term and the gallery was filled with children trying to get their hands on the red goo.

The BFI film festival was on at the Southbank and I spent hours in darkened rooms watching films. The absolute highlight was nearly three hours long, black and white and silent. It was also set in Norway and filmed in 1929. If you ever get the chance to see Laila, grab it, especially if there is a real silent film pianist to help you along.

I was thrilled to find Prick Your Finger, a yarn and spinning emporium which sells all sorts of glorious things. When I visited the fibre being prepared in the shop was given the title Paris Hilton and it was as pink and sparkling as it's namesake.

Off I went to Kent for the weekend and the company of two small girls and their lovely mum. I learned all about High School Musical and the potential perils of chicken flying into beds. It was fabulous to spend time with small people whose every sentence begins with; " Imagine if....."

* embiggen the pictures of Grayon Perry's tapestry to enjoy the detailed beauty and Anish Kapoor's shiny sculpture to see the wee face peering out of the bottom layer.

Sometimes it is better if the cat loses.

Rescued.

Refuelled.

Rested.

Released.

I wish I could have kept him.