So the knitting continues apace. I can knit and purl now. After a few disastrous first-trys where stichest kept vanishing into the ether and reappearing in just as random a fashion.
I have jazzy red needles.
So now I’m ready to try my first actual pattern, and seeing as I need something basic, and can do something good at the same time, I’ve picked the Innocent Big Knit. It’s fairly straightforward, it seems, and what's the point of knitting if you can't feel warm and fuzzy on the inside*. How far wrong can I go??
So obviously I need some more wool. And where does a debonair young metrosexualalist** such as myself go shopping for wool. WE GO TO LIBERTYS OF COURSE. High class haberdashery.
Knitting Teacher, who was raised by a woman who owned her own knitting shop, led me around the shelves of coloured balls. Pattern books were legion.
He surveyed the neatly arranged kingdom of buttons and riboons and fabric.
Knitting teacher: “This is just what home was like. Except there was a box of toys for kids. And the shelves were not quite as classy. I could spend a lot of time here,” (he said, while flicking through a knitting pattern catalogue that was trying very hard to make perfectly nice jumpers look unnecessarily sexy.)
Let's hope it doesn't all go a bit weird. Um. Yes. That is truly odd. And I bet that little girl was a right Madam...
Today I have busily been joining lots of knitting e-newsletter mailing lists.
In other home imporovement news, flatmate bought and had delivered last night a MOST SPLENDID coffee table. From this place here. It was laser cut or something on the day it was delivered, which is well-flashy in my world.
It is clearly the nicest thing by far in our flat. We looked at it for a while. Then tried puttiing different coloured objects on it to see how they looked. And then looked at at it in awe for some more. IS NICE.
Boz: “I feel a little as if we’ve had a baby.”
Flatmate: “Only more fun. And better looking.”
* Without having to actually interact with any smelly old people (sorry Gran).
** We’re probably not supposed to be metrosexuals anymore. I just don’t know what the next thing I’m supposed to be is. Emo-ette? Urban gay? Trouser Enthusiast? Style Emoticon?