Last week I was browsing ebay, as I sometimes do when bored out of my skull. Clicking 'watch' on shoes and clothes and yarn I like but will probably never come back and buy. If I wanted it that much I'd bid on it right there and then, wouldn't I? I clicked through to my watch list and spotted something I'd put on there months ago from a yarn store, now on sale. So I got over 2000 metres of cherry red Aran weight Araucania Nature Wool for about thirty quid. Then Mara and I went into our local yarn store and, oh look they're having a sale here too, and so I got 12 balls of black Rowan Classic Cashsoft Aran and 9 of maroon Rowan Classic Extra Fine Merino DK too. Oops. The cash card breathed in sharply, but it coped.
I have an ancient black hooded cardigan I was planning on knitting a replacement for, but there isn't really enough of the black for that so my new hoodie will be BRIGHT CHERRY RED and I think I will knit myself a sexy jumper by Ysolda Teague which has been queued for ages from the black. As for the maroon... inspiration will strike no doubt but it's beautifully soft and squishy and a very 'me' colour (and machine washable!).
It's funny, this yarn purchase has pulled me out of a knitting slump. I have things to knit, things I want to knit, things I want to own and therefore need to knit, but there was nothing exciting me. But buying yet more yarn I don't really need has given me a spark. Why does that happen? Is it some symptom of the materialistic culture I've internalised?
Last week MrK and I trundled off to Wales where my family had hired a cottage for the week. This cottage:
What do you mean 'what cottage?' The one snuggled in under the pine trees in the middle of the picture. That cottage. Behind the cottage can be seen the Glyderau, a group of mountains we conquered later in the week. Well, we didn't conquer them really, we got to the summit of one and between looking at wild flowers, collecting pretty stones, looking at the view, taking pictures, stopping to eat rhubarb&custards, not to mention my Dad's dodgy knees on the downwards path it took us about twice as long as it would take a group with good knees and bugger all interest in their surroundings. But what's the point of going up Glyder Fawr if you can't stop to collect quartz crystals and laugh at sheep on the way up?
My sister's an outdoors instructor. She's good at this stuff and kindly loaded her car up with five kayaks so we could all go kayaking and we spent two happy mornings drifting about on lakes saying 'why am I going in a circle AGAIN?' It was great fun. Pics later maybe if I can get them off my Sis who has a funky waterproof camera. I have to say - Kayaking gear is not the most flattering fashion wear ever although somehow MrK managed to look like a mafia hit man in a kayak. I understand how he looks like a mafia hit man any time he wears a DJ, but in a kayak? That's skill.
Between the mountains and the lakes we even had a little time to wander through the Gwydyr Forest:
In short we had a lovely time and I managed to finish MrK's socks on our very first evening there thanks to getting some serious knitting in during his share of the driving.
They're a mite short in the foot. He has broad and relatively short feet which make footprints exactly like yeti footprints and I overdid the shortness slightly, but not to an uncomfortable degree so he can put up with it. Also nothing, NOTHING would persuade me to work with that yarn again.