In which we meet Geraldine. Oh, and knitting

I am a knitter, ladies and gentlemen.

I wear that particular badge with pride. I am hoping to every listening deity that it’s not a phase, like things (friendship bracelet making, drawing, general artiness, cooking) sometimes are. Because I do do that. A lot. An embarrassing amount.

To me, it feels like reading and writing and cloud-watching, so I’m hoping it’s pretty permanent. Mainly because it’s fun! And because I can’t do so much of the reading and writing now (I get the feeling I’ll LOVE the schedule blog feature on this, so I can write on my good days and I’m covered for my bad days. It’s like a plasterer, sorting out all the cracks and making the place look smooth, while wise-cracking about Billy accidentally doing something funky to the electrics. Yes, I may be basing this analogy on DIY SOS. No, I will not apologise for it,) I’m covered for the knitting. Reading a pattern has not so much of a storyline to follow, and a lot of it is repeats, so I can watch House at the same time! And I’ve become obsessed with Julie and Julia. The film, the book is on it’s way, but the film… I will admit a lot of this is anxiety related, but I adore it. It works. It seems real(ish) and although I can never cook any of the recipes involved, (at least, unless I don’t know about it or I’ve already done so,) in case it cracks my dreaminess up.

What? I like my dream world! It gives me something to hang on to!

So far I’ve knitted two cardigans for me, a secret thing for my sister’s Christmas present (wish me luck! Here’s hoping she’ll like it,) and roughly eleventy squares. I’m also halfway through a teddy bear that’s more like a pillow, and will end with a heck of a lot of weaving in. It’s fair isle, you see. I love fair isle knitting! Not the overcrowded, overzealous ones, the nice modernish but awesome ones. Like the Selbu modern hat (If you have a ravelry account, you probably know what that is) and a pair of socks from brave new knits.

Although there is one thing:

Starting a new pattern is hell.

First of all, you need SUPPLIES. Because, and this is one reason Stash grows so quickly, you will not have suitable wool. Ever.

In all my projects I don’t think I’ve knit with the same kind of wool twice. It’s like some kind of conspiracy! They’re making up new types just for me, I swear. Or else the House Hippos: Wool Division, come and eat it, or use it to insulate walls in a subversive attempt to make the planet greener, or swap it secretly into Other Stashes.

(By the way, when I say wool I mean yarn. I am allergic to wool, the sort that comes off sheep, because my skin is more deranged than I am. I am also allergic to merino, angora, alpaca, bison, mohair, yak (yes, seriously), and salamander. Whether I’m allergic to the wool or the lanolin in the wool is academic as far as I’m concerned, the fact is this: I so much as brush by it I itch for weeks until all my skin has gone and I look like the people at that body show thing. The one you can donate your corpse to. And that is a bad idea. Because right now I have the most revolting infected patch on my leg that’s merited penicillin four times a day as well as a cream due to being kept awake by itching at 2am. And a foot file. But mostly the itching.)

Then you need needles. If you need straight needles, all is good. You can hop off, get some, and start knitting a-line dog dresses and phallic chapstick cosies (again I say: Yes, seriously). If you need double pointed needles, or DPNs, the outcome is similar: You get to rock on with the awesomeness.

If you need circular knitting needles, maude be with you.

Today I needed a circular knitting needle. It’s for a jumper, so it can’t be 40cm long like the one I bought without thinking. It needs BIGGER.

We went to THREE wool shops. And then we (by we I mean my mum) phoned three more.

Not a single one had the needle I need(le).

And this was not unexpected. Not because I needed a needle that was unbeknown to human kind or made out of ferret thoughts or gold plated. (It was 2.5mm, if that helps). But because every pattern I do, I run up against some seemingly insurmountable obstacle before I’ve even got to the swatching. Because the pattern will require a kind of wool that spontaneously combusts if it leaves America, or has somehow translated itself into Swedish.

There is only one explanation. I am cursed. The gerbils in my brain have clearly offended a knitting related warlord and this means I must lose my mind an enormous amount of times in order to pass the vicious (but not viscous) hazing ritual. (can you imagine a viscous hazing ritual? It’d be something like “THOU SHALT HAVE HONEY IN YOUR SHOES” or something! It would be awesome. Sticky, but awesome.) As such I will be sitting down to have some Words with Geraldine.

Geraldine is the head of my brain gerbils, and in charge of my balance. She is…

More suited to a different job. One that doesn’t involve humans. Or other gerbils. Or responsibility. Or… anything. I’d suggest we send her on a mission to mars, but I’m sure she’d gang up with every living creature out there and then we’d really be in trouble. That’s the sort of gerbil Geraldine is. Although she does help keep me in me-land, by making sure I fall over any time I might possibly want to look a little bit grown up or have knees that don’t look like they belong to a clumsy six year old.

So: Humans, Geraldine. Geraldine, humans.

…oh dear maude, she’s eyeing you up. RUN! I’LL HOLD HER OFF!

OUAGOF*9wnh

Hello humans. You can run… but you can’t hide.