Well it has been three weeks since I began the new job and it is wonderful – the people are great and the job is interesting and they have even let me share an office with people. But have I done any knitting? – hardly a stitch. I have done Birdie and finished a small scarf in Tilli Thomas 'Rock Star' - that’s about it. I can’t even claim any credit for Birdie as he (and I think he is a he) is designed by the sublime Lucinda Guy – her books are brilliant. I'm deeply tempted by knitting Foxy next – only as long as Foxy promises not to eat Birdie.
I still can't decide on the next project - if I could decide on colours I would be motoring through some log cabin as in Mason-Dixon, so in the mean time I have picked up the Jaeger Cashmere and am doing an absolutely plain cardigan (yes, that's right totally plain - with out tweaking / embellishment / fancy bits), my mother would be proud (and stunned). Mum, (and I love her dearly) is a woman of great taste and elegance, she is restrained and classical and would make Bree out of Desperate Housewives look like some slovenly, loose-living, hippy-slut, the great refrain of my upbringing was a plaintive "But, why can't you wear something nice?".
By that she meant plain and simple and smart (and tucked in, or ironed, or neat, or matching, or in quiet classy colours, and with no frou-frou bits and no shiny bits and no ladders in the tights and should a fat girl like me wear that?), sorry mum I did try but I was too easily lead from the path of sartorial righteousness by shiny/zingy tat. She would approve of the plain-knit but be horrified by the colour "But,... its so noticeable" yup, but it was a bargain on e-Bay. She wouldn't understand e-Bay - it would be associated with moral decline and a slide into the gutter for me and the children. Needless to say the reason I love my mother is because we are so un-alike. So in honour of my mother I am calling it a Nancy - and so far Nancy is progressing slowly but surely. I think despite the deviation into e-Bay, the kids and I will survive. For some reason I feel the need to tell you that the main body is knitted with 3 and 1/4mm needles.
The garden is looking a bit straggly and bleurgh at the moment – it is too late for the lushness of summer and too early for the final flourish of autumn. However it is very much the time for courgettes, this is the smaller of the plants and we are getting increasingly desperate. Every year we plant a couple with the same old refrain “Well, one won’t make it…” and every year so far, both of them have. We have had the courgettes in stir-frys, bakes, casseroles, gratins, kebabs, roasted, raw, raided the Moosewood cookbooks and have now reached that stage when we are actively avoiding the courgettes in the garden. This year, we hit on the bright idea of calling it things other than courgette to try and persuade ourselves we aren’t eating them. We have done Zuccini stir-frys, zuccini bakes, zuccini suprises and zuccini thingummys etc etc and now we have reached the stage of finding yet another new name as we are getting a bit jaded by zuccini as well as courgette. This meant going back to the cookbooks tucked further into the crevices in the bookshelves – many years ago (we are talking post war shortages well before I existed) the combination of odd things forcibly combined were given new names – tomato and egg was called mock-crab for instance (at least so my husband insists it was where he grew up). A quick scan of these trusty old books such as the Edmonds (one in every kiwi home surely) reveals “mock whitebait patties”, “mock pizza” and “mock chicken” – none of which are places you would want to go, trust me. However it has, suggested a new avenue to explore with the courgettes…. so with pride, I bring you the garden scallop.
And how about the wild land eel?
Or as number three suggested when presented with a bowl of courgette whizzed and pureed within an inch of itself, “Snot Soup”. I believe the compost heap is beckoning – just don’t tell the husband. Still onto happier thoughts, look what came in the mail from wonderful Jen at Fyberspates. I thought the ultimate and highest purpose for any fibre was to become yarn – like some sort of karmic progression up the ways. Now I have this, I am thrown. I mean look – isn’t that divine already? Can it really be improved upon and don’t you just want to roll in it? Despite that perfectness, Madam and I have plans.
