We like lichens

Still battling with the cold, and it's a good job it doesn't affect my typing. In reality, I'm only uttering pitiful squeaks. I felt reasonably human for most of the day, but I always seem to sink between about 6pm and 10am the next day. Not good.

However, I got quite a lot done today during the "good" hours. Firstly, a brief-ish stint staring out the French windows for the RSPB's Big Garden Birdwatch. Nothing too exciting but all the data is important. The boyfriend did his count yesterday in the park, which is allowed, but I'm not sure they were envisaging the type of park we're near, with a large lake. A little grebe is hardly a garden bird. But never mind.

Then we headed down south for some wildlife tuition at Sydenham Hill nature reserve. As you may be aware, there's a strong north-south divide in London, with closely held loyalties to one and deep mistrust of the other, generally based on where one first lives on moving here. I got a place in halls of residence in Hampstead when I came up to uni, and so have been a north London girl ever since and only go south of the river with a distinct sense of trepidation. We survived though, and even found some interesting statues at Brixton overground station - a life size bronze commuter on each platform. This woman was patiently waiting for a train on the southbound side:

Whilst this bloke lounged against the wall opposite, headed back up to London:

The purpose of our trip: a field session on lichens, courtesy of the London Wildlife Trust. Lichens are symbiotic organisms, effectively the bastard offspring of algae and fungi, an unholy inter-kingdom alliance that produces a vast range of bizarre scaly, warty, powdery or feathery growths on trees, rocks etc, eaten by very little apart from reindeer (and there aren't many of those in south London). Out of the UK's roughly 1,600 species, we were taught to recognise 10 or so. There are at least three of them on this stick:

It was a very interesting yomp through the forests, and I love learning about the more obscure flora and fauna out there - in future I'll notice them so much more. But, whilst the boyfriend was diligently making notes (it's his job), I was rather distracted by some startling knitwear at large amongst the decidedly nerdy lichen-spotting fraternity. I therefore missed some crucial details of lichen reproduction to surreptitiously take photos for your amusement. Firstly, a very bright pair of rainbow fingerless gloves, in some kind of reverse stocking stitch/stocking stitch horizontal rib, not handmade as I could see a maker's label:

(Glad I didn't get busted taking photos, essentially, of her crotch.)

Better still, a woman wearing a vast amount of crazy knitwear - she must be a knitter, right? From the top, a cream chunky knit hat with a pom-pom, an eye-watering intarsia jumper in neon colours, and, if you look very closely, red and white striped angora fingerless gloves. Whoa.

At a static point in the proceedings, I snuck a close-up of that jumper over the boyfriend's shoulder. My eyes!

Lichens, incidentally, are, according to Wikipedia, a source of natural dyes for yarn and fabric, so we should all love and respect them. And isn't "ethnolichenology" a great name for a scientific discipline?

After the lichen hunting had finished, I headed off to Ting's to celebrate her new arrival, the gorgeous Ewan, and coo over him as all good godmothers should do. I'm sure she'll be waxing lyrical about her bundle of joy on her blog soon enough, so I won't write too much, but maybe one day soon I'll be able to give him a little brother or sister?

But indisputably the most bizarre sighting of the day? This abandoned wig on the Victoria line:

Is there someone out there who got off the train and suddenly realised they were bald? If so, it's probably in lost property with the other weird stuff. Give them a call before I claim it and try to spin it...

Electric Badgerland

Ugh, I'm curled up on the sofa this evening with the lurgy, watching The Producers (the original one, can't abide remakes or indeed musicals) and eating Dairy Milk to make me feel better. I thought, therefore, that I'd cast my mind back to Thursday when I did more vaguely interesting things than are normally predicted for a weekday. It will make for better reading than the current state of my sinuses, at any rate.

Having been tipped off by the Urban Junkies mailing list (this and Daily Candy brighten up my mornings no end) I went for a lunchtime wander to the plaza outside The Economist's building on St James' Street to check out a temporary exhibition of sculptures by Laura Ford, called Rag and Bone. These are statues of woodland animals in the guise of poor, homeless or displaced people. They have lovely faces and are ever so touching, and are incredibly detailed. There is a badger scrabbling for scraps in a bin:

A fox, huddled on the floor in a blanket:

And a beshawled hedgehog, pushing all her worldly possessions along on a trolley:

Like the awful, unfeeling humans/westerners/bourgeoisie we are, having taken photos the need to go shopping and get lunch and dash back to work took over, but the point was made.

After work, I met up with the girls for drinks in the terribly decadent Electric Birdcage, a wildly pretentious bar on Haymarket down in tourist central. No scruffy animals allowed in here. I was most taken with the turquoise-lit sign:

And even more with the wall of wicker birdcages inside, not that I'd countenance keeping a bird in one (it was very dark in there so the photo is poor):

The dim sum was passable, the music was schizophrenic (Eminem to the kind of "cool" beats you get in any hip bar to Rick Astley) but the company of the lovely Lotta and Anna was, of course, wonderful and the mojito made with fresh coriander leaves instead of mint was inspired. One to try at home, for sure - I doubt I'll revisit the bar.

And all on a school night, naughty naughty.

Pleasingly, the spinning supplies that I have been ordering over the last couple of weeks have started to trickle through my door this morning, including a spindle from Butterfly Girl Designs and gorgeous batts from Copperpot Woolies. Hopefully tomorrow I will get a chance to practise a little, but until then, had better attempt to sleep off the rhinovirus. Goodnight!

Hooked

I've had a few enforced days off from blogging due to computer difficulties, but luckily I haven't been doing anything all that interesting anyway. But it's very remiss of me that I haven't yet written up Saturday's exploits in the world of crochet. When I mentioned to a colleague that I was doing this, he replied, "What, on a lawn?" That's croquet, dude. They also thought last week that when I said I was learning to spin, I was talking about those dreadful exercise bike classes. They'll learn eventually. 

I was delighted when the lovely Gail, our hostess, arranged a re-run of this class, as the previous one she'd held had filled up very quickly. Crochet is something I've never been able to learn successfully from a book, despite the promises of ones such as this:

"Instant expert" my arse.

So much better to have the very clever Emma Seddon to teach us instead. As I explained last week, I'm inept at this sort of thing - it's a wonder I can knit albeit slowly - and had never held a crochet hook in anger apart from to pick up dropped stitches in my knitting. So she had her work cut out.

To compress the day down to a bare minimum, I went from this sorry excuse for a chain in the morning:

To actual, proper circles and squares by 4pm:

However, these were only achieved when, after much bungling, I came up with an "alternative" method of crocheting. Apparently one is meant to hold the hook like a pencil or knife in one's right hand, hook opening upwards, holding the yarn and the work in one's left hand, tensioning the yarn around the left hand fingers, and wrapping the yarn over the hook from the top (anticlockwise as one looks down the shaft towards the hook). Whereas I can only crochet at all if I hold the hook more like an ice-cream scoop, hook opening downwards, yarn in my right hand and not really tensioned at all, and "throwing" it as I do when I knit, wrapping it clockwise around the hook. I'm not sure whether this means I'm crocheting backwards or upside down or what, but it seems to work although my gauge is fiendishly tight. Still, if I go up a few hook sizes, I'm sure it'll be fine.

I'd intended to learn this almost as a pure academic exercise, with perhaps the odd foray into a crochet edging on a knit piece or maybe even a small amigurumi. However, when looking at my small samplers when I got home, I was inspired by the shape of the stitches... those trebles* all long and thin, the doubles almost waffly... I am now making a giant cuddly tekka maki, with white trebles for the sushi rice, dark green doubles for the nori wrapping, and bright red half-trebles for the tuna core. Yum! It's going relatively quickly so hopefully will be done by the weekend for your delectation.

In other crafty news: I have been inspired to bring my giant green clap out of hibernation, although it may well go back in there soon as it's so long and boring. The rainbow socks are waiting for the weekend so that I can concentrate on getting the Sherman heel down. I haven't done much spinning as I am waiting for deliveries of roving and spindles. And the tiger socks have inexplicably grown in the wash - why? Sigh, they were big in the first place, I think they're house socks now. Is this normal for superwash merino?

*Note: this is English crochet terminology. Translation to American: double crochet = single crochet, half-treble = half-double, treble = double, god knows why that difference exists.

Patience & Productivity

I am now back from yesterday's Mission: Faintly Ridiculous trip to Dublin, there and back in a day to deliver a document. Less said about the reasons the better, but who is more able to tolerate two stints in an airport in a day than a knitter?

I'd been slightly worried about getting the knitting through Heathrow, and very much more concerned about Dublin airport on the way back, which is notorious for not liking needles. Amazingly I had no problems with either of them. I'm working on another pair of socks and am using 6" 2.5mm bamboo DPNs so maybe not all that visible on the scanners, and I did have an umbrella in my bag which, according to Acechick's research, probably helped (I didn't pack the needles into the umbrella itself, as it was pissing it down in Dublin and the umbrella was wet). If you want proof, here's the sock airside in both airports, firstly joining me for breakfast in the Terminal 1 Wetherspoon's Express in Heathrow, and secondly accompanying me for a pint of the black stuff (my favourite alcoholic drink, as it happens) in Dublin airport:

The yarn is the Tofutsies that Denise sent me in my Ravelry Secret Santa package - thanks again hun!

It was a bloody good job that I had my knitting with me airside in Dublin, because I'd picked probably the worst day ever to fly back into Heathrow. As it began to dawn on me that, given the flights several hours ahead of mine hadn't even left yet, I wouldn't be getting home any time soon, at least I was able to plough on with the ribbing so there's much more of it now than in the pictures (it was a 3.5 hour delay in the end). But what a frustrating wait! I can't blame Aer Lingus of course, and the airport staff were charming in admitting they didn't know what was going on either, but something needs to be done about the systems there which carried on blithely showing normal boarding and departure of flights that were decidedly not boarding or going anywhere. Most confusing as we all trekked from gate to gate, subject to the whims of a computer that had somehow not been informed of the news situation. Sort it out! But hey, it was productive for me, less so for the drunken executives who'd clearly been on some kind of corporate jolly to Ireland and who made various sarky remarks about the knitting - yes I could hear you - but doubtless only had hangovers to show for it this morning, whereas I have half a sock.

During the very brief time I spent in Dublin outwith the confines of an airport, I was taken to lunch at L'Gueuleton, a lovely little French restaurant on Fade Street, near Dublin Castle and Temple Bar. There I had food of quite remarkable quality for its price. I had the plat du jour which was some beautifully cooked gurnard, sauteed and just salty enough to complement the fish, with sauce vierge, capers, new potatoes and a peppery watercress salad. This was just under €15, which included a glass of sauvignon blanc. For pudding I chose the jelly and ice cream for pure nostalgia value, although it was nothing like what I used to get at my grandma's on a Sunday teatime. There were three scoops of home-made ice cream in intense flavours, including a very dark chocolate with I think a hint of orange, cubic inch blocks of various wobbly jellies, fresh fruit and a divine home-baked cookie studded with whole raspberries. Lovely. Apparently they don't take bookings so we were lucky to get a table, but I shall be hoping to get in again next time I'm there.

Clearly I didn't get to see much else, other than a lot of nuns, but that's OK as I only last went for pleasure back in June/July, and I'm sure we'll be going again this year as R.E.M. have a new album due out in April, and going to see them in concert is my normal reason for going to Ireland. That and the Guinness, of course.

Tonight I have been performing the exciting task of putting away all my sock yarn, which was still on display after last weekend's photo session. I've now got it all in individual Ziploc bags (is there a generic, non-branded word for these?) as I am becoming more and more paranoid about moths, particularly with spring on the way. They'll not get my yarn, the little flappy bastards!

Crochet tomorrow! 

Frailty, thy name is snowman

Before I write about this evening's entertainment, some electioneering. Ravelry is currently taking votes for the first annual "Bobbys", celebratory awards for the best of 2007's knitting achievements. The fabulous Knitterrooney is up for "Most Unusual Project 2007" with her incredible Yarngina. And if that's not Most Unusual, I don't know what is. It's on Ravelry here, and the voting thread is here - there are some crazy other projects on there, but (trying to be unbiased here) nothing quite as surprising as a human-sized vagina costume. There's YouTube footage here and here. So if you're on Ravelry, go and vote by clicking "agree" to post 28 of that thread, and if you're not on Ravelry, why the hell not?

Back to blogging. More alternative theatre tonight - we aren't usually this cultured. Lotta, finger on the pulse as ever, found out before Christmas about a theatre troop called The Factory, who perform semi-secret shows, only letting people know about upcoming performances a couple of days in advance as communicated via their Facebook group, and only selling tickets on a first-come-first-served basis on the night. The actors only find out which part they're going to act immediately before the performance, based on the results of audience-participation Scissors Paper Stone. The only props they are allowed are those that the audience bring, no matter how silly. They are currently doing Hamlet, and when we found out there were performances this week, we had to go see.

The show was at the tiny Pacific Playhouse in Southwark, possibly slightly smaller than my lounge. We gathered there early, so early in fact that we were the first ones there to put our names on the list. Lotta was props mistress, which is clearly her calling in life as she had some inspired items for us to take in - loo rolls, silly sunglasses, a plastic bead necklace, a Santa hat, and a cuddly toy snowman. We were instructed to take folding chairs and sit anywhere in the room, including right in the middle. After character assignment, we were asked to hold our props in the air so the actors could make a mental note of them in order to grab them off our laps as required, then the play began.

Much to my cynical surprise, they were brilliant. Just really really good. I'd imagined that it would be enough of a feat to learn multiple parts for this (being Shakespeare's longest play), let alone deliver them well, not even factoring in the random props. They did it perfectly, with so much life. The actors were all in casual clothes but performed with such passion, and the glory of the language just shone through. I hate the fact that we make schoolchildren study the written text of Shakespeare's plays, they are so dry and dusty on the page, with the archaic spellings setting such a high mental barrier (and not one that isn't worth overcoming, of course, but I'm talking about making children interested in the first place). Performed, the plays are so beautifully written, so vivid, with such linguistic joy. If only we could make people come and see this kind of performance, as some kind of educational rite of passage. Added to which, the cast were right there walking amongst us in our chairs, which, incidentally, we moved around into different formations between acts, including a foray into the alley outside for Act III. Their use of the props was inventive and genuinely funny, such tricks as having Horatio and Marcellus swear their oath of secrecy to Hamlet after he first sees his father's ghost by rubbing a balloon against their hair and making it stick to a wall to show their fidelity. Genius.

I really hope these actors get whatever breaks they want, they are all ace. I'd have been genuinely impressed with this performance even without the randomised nature. Given the circumstances, they were just incredible. Compared to the only other Hamlet I've seen, a formal version in the open air at Opera Holland Park (all champagne picnics in the park during the interval, dressing up, and peacocks calling) which was declaimed in true stuffy thespian style, this was a breath of fresh air and hugely enjoyable.

One minor star of the show was Lotta's snowman, who ended up "playing" the image of the dead King Hamlet, and so appeared on and off through most of the play, looking most cute indeed. Here he is, still just about willing to pose with his fans after the show. He won't deign to speak to us later, I'm sure.

Remember, we knew him before he was famous.

Sock it to me

DRUM ROLL PLEASE...

I have finished my first socks!

Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you my Toe-Up Tiger socks, as I have been calling them:

They are plain stocking stitch socks, toe-up with short row toes and heels, and a 2x2 rib cuff, made from Middlearthknitter sock yarn in Tiger Feet.

I am just unbelievably excited about these. I have made socks! I know obviously I set out to make socks, but I am still on some level surprised that it actually worked. I've never made an actual garment before, in the sense of everyday clothing, rather than scarves, hats, gloves etc. I am extremely proud of myself. I am knitter, hear me roar. Also, some completely non-feminist part of myself feels rather fulfilled, in an "I can clothe my family" kind of way, not that any of them are getting socks from me in the near future. These are all for me.

I did enjoy the process, which was easier than I thought - probably because they are toe-up, and I have no intention of making any top-down socks ever again (my grandpa's socks, still a WIP, are toe-down and I hate them). It's just better doing it this way: a one-stage heel, no danger of running out of yarn, easily tried on as you go. But they are not perfect, and I have made some important learnings from the process, to be corrected next time:

1. The gauge is too loose. This is because when I first cast on for these (in September, on my holiday to Tobago, they then hibernated until Christmas) I hadn't yet discovered that my gauge in the round is a lot looser than my gauge knitting flat. Evidently I purl tighter than I knit. Not a problem for hats and the like, but the slightly drapey fabric I've produced here is not going to wear at all well as socks, especially as they're pure merino. I'll have to treat these very nicely - no long walks. Next time, I need to go down a couple of needle sizes. These were on 3mm so I have bought a couple of pairs of 2.5mm and 2.75mm for future use.

2. The socks are too big. Partly this stems from the above, but I rectified it somewhat by baulking initially at the number of stitches my flat gauge said to cast on, so I cast on less anyway (I'm not sure how I rationalised this but it worked out well). This means the socks are pretty much exactly the size of my foot, or slightly larger. Socks are, apparently, meant to have negative ease, or they become baggy and irritating in the shoe. Still, going down a needle size whilst maintaining a 60 stitch cast on will probably sort that out.

3. The cast off is a little tight. I tried to do this loosely over a 4mm needle, but it is still a little firm - not uncomfortable at all, but if I rectify (1) and (2) it would certainly be too tight. So I need to come up with a way of dealing with this for next time. Perhaps casting off over an even bigger needle, or doing some increases in the last row. I'll think about this.

4. Slight holeyness along the length of the short row heel join, especially at the very top. This isn't too bad, but that's probably because the sock isn't stretched on my foot. The boyfriend asked why there were holes in my socks, so evidently it is visible. I'm going to use the Sherman heel next time, which promises no holes - method here and here. We'll see. Otherwise I'll have to do more research on the hole issue. Incidentally, I was following the instructions from Sensational Knitted Socks, which has an error in the short row method - the errata are here.

5. I could have made them slightly longer. I don't normally wear a long sock, so this is fine, but I had some yarn left over as I was being conservative and overestimated how much the ribbing would take. I don't like the fact that I have lovely yarn left over, but I can't be doing with ripping back. But if I make my gauge smaller, I'll need more rows to get the same length, so there should be less wastage next time.

6. I need some sock blockers. Particularly for future socks where I won't have a relevant cuddly toy to make the pictures more amusing.

All in all, I'm pleased with my first effort, and there's nothing in that list that I can't work on for next time. Hooray for socks!

And indeed, hooray for sock yarn. Tash made some comment on Wednesday night about how she found it funny that I'd said I had too much sock yarn to be able to play with it properly - she said she'd had various mental images of what that meant - acting out little scenarios, making the sock yarns talk to each other? Rolling around in it? Well, seeing as the boyfriend is off snowboarding, getting it all out and playing with it is exactly what I chose to do this afternoon. Tash, for your information, it just involved laying it all out nicely and looking at it. And here's a photo of the beautiousness:

That's a lot of socks to make.

Finally, as promised, here's the fibre I bought yesterday for spinning purposes, and the lovely wooden spindle:

Yet more leisure time I have to find...

Spinderella

Today was the first of our Exceedingly Crafty January Saturdays (TM). Gail, Ting, Caroline and I braved the mean streets of Walthamstow (I keep expecting East 17 to jump out and mug me) for a day-long course on handspinning at The Handweaver's Studio. I had no idea what to expect or whether I'd actually be able to do it, but figured it would be an interesting background to the properties of yarn, and that might help with my knitting if nothing else. Although having read this analogy of spinning the night before, I was, well, dubious and not a little inclined to clench.

So we pitched up just before 10am, wearing old clothes as instructed. The class was taken by Nancy, the shop owner, and what a riot she is, very funny and extremely patient. I had assumed that the course would mainly involve spinning from prepared roving, but no, this was in depth baby, the whole nine yards. Nancy started by explaining the anatomy of a sheep's fleece, and where the best yarn is found (withers and sides), the mediocre bits (the back, all dry), right down to the horrible bits (the skirt that trails along the ground getting felted, the winnet-encrusted britch). To our townie shock, she then unfurled a dirty (literally) great fleece on the table and encouraged us to get stuck in. Interestingly, this first one was shown as an example of what not to buy - felting, double cuts and too much vegetable matter. A horrifying discourse on moths followed (I still shudder to think of it), and then we met Skippy:

Or rather, Skippy's beautiful fleece (thank you Skippy, wherever you are). Still rather pungent from all the lanolin, and full of bits of hay, but glorious nevertheless. Here it is, our working material for the rest of the day:

We were started off on drop spindles. I'd been fairly apprehensive about the concept, not having a clue how they worked, but it was easy! Lots of fun, like playing with a top.

And, wonder of wonders, it made yarn! Here's my first handspun singles:

You'll see it's a dark grey-brown colour at this point, it reminded me of the grubby little mice that live on the Tube. More on that later.

A good portion of the morning was spent mastering the drop spindles in the woollen method, with us just grabbing bits of Skippy's fleece from off the table and spinning them in. A bit rough and ready. So just before lunch, Nancy taught us how to card the fleece into nice rolags (or "rollmops" as I kept thinking) with all the fibres nicely fluffed and lined up, ready to spin smoothly. Much easier. I was, for some reason, really good at this bit, and made loads of them in preparation for the next event: spinning wheels.

Reader, I was terrible. Seriously. This shouldn't have surprised me, as whilst I have an excellent grasp of the laws of physics, as soon as I'm required to do anything mechanical with moving parts, especially fast moving parts, I go to pieces. This is why I can't drive, or even ride a bike. Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to intellectually understand exactly what it is you're supposed to be doing, but have no way to translate that to actual physical movements? I'm also terribly clumsy, though it was Gail who broke her spinning wheel, not me. I just swore at mine quite a lot.

Eventually I managed to produce a meagre amount of spun yarn, and here is my teeny weeny yarn cake, desperately irregular and still full of bits of stick (Noro-esque, I'd like to think):

Caroline and Ting were, of course, brilliant. Look at their serene expressions. I hate you both.

So I returned to the drop spindle towards the end of the afternoon, and learned how to ply my yarn, and how to do worsted method. From my morning's efforts, I made a little skein of plied yarn, yes, actual yarn! I washed it out with some detergent, and you wouldn't believe the colour change as all the lanolin, dirt and sheepshit (hence the old clothes requirement) came out. It's now a dark steely grey with lighter slate bits - no hint of brown. It's currently drying and I will show it off when it's properly skeined, but here's a picture of it wet:

It still reeks of the farmyard (as do I, but my hands are lovely and soft). I think it will need another wash in something scented. Not that I mind the countryside smell as such, but perhaps not in a small flat like ours.

We then raided the shop for things to use at home. I'd already decided that roving is not yarn and therefore buying it did not contravene my yarn diet. Some say this is a matter of semantics, but I am sticking to my story. Besides, how could I not buy materials to practise what I'd just learned? So I picked up a lovely walnut and sycamore drop spindle, black and white merino tops for my first practice run, a truly lovely bagful of brown and cream BFL roving for when I'm a little better, and, oh my, lots of stunning silk roving for when I'm a lot, lot better. I'll photograph the woolly goodies tomorrow when there's light, but I'm not even going to try with the silk. Go take a look at the manufacturer's website: Treetops Colour Harmonies. Glorious. I bought 100g of bombyx silk tops in Sea Lavender for actual spinning purposes. I then bought eight more 10g packets in various colourways of the bombyx tops and tussah tops, just to have around me, as beautiful objects of inspiration. I love them, truly madly deeply.

Of course there was cake afterwards back at mine:

That's a Sticky Peanut Butter Cake from the Divine book that Lotta gave me for Christmas. Yum! The cake itself is just chocolate sponge, but the icing (not yet set in the photo so shinier than it was by the time we ate it) is made of melted chocolate and peanut butter. It adds a lovely saltiness to the cake. I'll be doing this again.

In a fit of enthusiasm I've just bought some wonderful roving from here. I'm justifying this as they are completely different to the more natural toned stuff I bought at the shop. I don't feel that roving is going to become a stash issue as such - I have no desire to collect more than what I've now got, which is for fun experimentation but not as a main craft. I have been coveting batts from this seller for ages though (since I bought this beautiful handspun) so am mightily pleased to have a reason to do so.

Next Saturday: crochet!