28 April: And the felt slippers -

Just in case you thought the felt slippers were a figment of my imagination, here's the story so far.

The 2 pieces of felt were made, with much exertion and sweating - sorry, glowing. The sole pattern was made by the simple method of putting my foot on a sheet of paper and drawing round it; the uppers were drawn by the *place paper over foot, hold down, draw round* method.


It took a while to summon the nerve to cut into the felt. After all, it's quite thick and solid enough to make a yurt out of, and it took me 2 days to make and another day to dye.


Then the only thing left to do was stitch it together. They are just a little bit gently lop-sided, but then probably my feet are too.


And here are said feet in their new slippers. They are warm and soft, but need something on the soles to prevent Orville and Bean impressions on the tiled floors. And they need some sort of decoration. I had planned to do that before sewing them together, but I didn't want to waste effort if they didn't work out OK. I think they are working out OK.


While I was pausing in mid-slipper production, I spun up some yarn from a mixture of Blue Faced Leicester and soy fibre.


The soy is very silk-like, and the yarn is soft. The dyeing process has very slightly felted the BFL, but that will perhaps forestall any felting when it is worn and washed. Dyed in yellow, mustard and brown, it will make an interesting pair of socks.

25 April: Felt, hat, and a star

I made the second piece of felt. Then I couldn't decide what colour to dye it. A couple of things I've made recently have had dye problems - aaargh! The orange and purple socks lost dye when they were washed, and the red/pink dye ran on a hat in white and raspberry Shetland wool, to the same pattern as this one, also in Shetland wool -

It's slightly adapted from the one in Elaine Eskesen's book Dyeing to Knit. Not quite a tam, and very easy to knit.

I cast on a scarf and knitted nearly a foot before I frogged it; decided it wasn't drapey enough.

Then today I decided that I would dye the felt green, and got the dye stuff out. There was a lovely sage green in the box, but I thought it should be a bit darker, so in went a bit of charcoal. (You'll notice the accuracy with which these chemicals are measured - in "bits") That was a little too dark, but there was no more sage left. Try a touch of jade, which is a ferociously strong and lurid shade. That looked good in the pan on the stove, so in went the felt and on went the gas.

Then I settled down to read my current book - The Ode Less Travelled, by Stephen Fry (I just couldn't pass by a book with a title like that, now could I?). Meanwhile the felt simmered away, and when I looked at it after half an hour or so, most of the dye had been absorbed, so in went a bit of vinegar to encourage it to soak up the rest, and a few minutes later it was Done. A quick spin in the washing machine, and now it's drying. Next the process of cutting and sewing - and perhaps a bit of embroidery.

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I have always known that DH is a Top Class, All Round Good Egg, excellent at his job; now it seems that his line manager has discovered this, and deemed him to be Outstanding.

Am I too cynical, or do I suspect that this is a pre-cursor to his being expected to do even more of the difficult work, with more responsibility and stress but without any extra recognition?

22 April: Overdoing it

I've been trying to find a new pair of slippers for a while. The current substitute, some canvas beach shoes, are falling to bits.

It's not Christmas, but a few shops do have slippers. Only not in my size. Unless they are men's leather ones, or sheepskin ones (no thanks), or those check woollen ones with a zip up the front.

So I decided that I would make some, out of felt. Some Internet research gave me some ideas, and when I was in town I found a pair of shoe insoles which will make good non-slip soles. (Don't want to go and slip in your slippers, do you?)

Yesterday I wasted several sheets of paper drawing up a satisfactory pattern. And I planned to make the felt this morning.

So as I was getting dressed, DH suggested we go for a bike ride. It was overcast, with rain forecast for later, so it seemed sensible to go out during the better part of the day.

We ended up cycling about twice as far as any ride we have done recently. And this poor OAP had 2 asthma episodes on the hills. My knees were very wobbly when we got home.

A shower and some lunch, then I got out the felt-making stuff. It needed to be good and thick for slippers, so I made as large a piece as I could lay out, and used plenty of wool.

Hard work, making felt, all that rubbing and rolling and kneading. But the final felt looks good, nice and thick, fairly even and flat. I can dye it any colour I choose.

The only snag is that it's not quite big enough to cut out all the pieces for both slippers - I'll have to make another piece tomorrow!

Think I'll go and have a lie down.

19 April: Bluebells! - oh, and socks.

Yesterday I went to the bluebell woods.


No stitchwort or red campion to be seen yet, though there were carpets of celandines and wood anemones as well as the bluebells. And further on -


There is a "Discovery Trail" through here. A large notice tells the visitor that only a small part of the wood, which was given to the University in 1836 by the Bishop, has ever been in private ownership since the 12th century; and goes on to say how remarkable it is to have such an asset within a mile of the City centre.

It was a glorious morning. It was good to be alive and among these friends.

I even found some wool-bearing friends, Jacob sheep that belong to a Guild member. This ewe has twins.


And let's not forget the socks. Terribly un-subversive ones, these, but just the ticket for the nippy wind today. And yes, although knitted from the same ball of wool, they seem to be slightly different colours, but not quite as markedly as in the picture.

(Fancied a bit of a change in the Bag's appearance. Everything changes, remember.)

17 April: Swallows and a Bishop

As I walked past the farm, something swooped past the barn and low over the field. Familiar flight. Another one, perched on the wire overhead. The swallows have arrived! Just two of them so far, sitting and sorting out the feathers from the long journey. It won't be long before the house martins will be zooming about outside our windows.

It was a beautiful morning for a walk, so I went all the way into Bishop Auckland. Along the path which used to be the railway line there are several bridges, taking lanes and farm tracks across the cuttings.

One bridge is quite peculiar; it has trees growing on it. It is also more than twice as wide as the other bridges.


Here are views from both sides.

This is what it looks like on the bridge; trees growing close to the stonework of the parapet -


And what used to be the roadway, now part of a field - this morning full of sheep and small lambs shouting for their 10 o'clock -


I've been told that the reason for this strange bridge is that this used to be a main approach to the Bishop of Durham's Palace at Bishop Auckland. When the railway was going to be constructed, cutting through the Bishop's land, the then Bishop didn't want to see the railway or the trains from his driveway, and so trees were planted on the bridge to hide the railway from his view. Whether this is true or not, I don't know, but it explains the curious bridge quite nicely.

Nowadays Auckland Castle, the Bishop's Palace, is approached from the end of the Market Place, past raised flower beds not yet planted up, under the arch with the clock -

Along a wide tree-lined gravel driveway, and round through the gate in the wall -


I think he must be having some friends round, as there was a gigantic marquee on the lawn over to the right through the gates.

15 April: Stitchwort

The stitchwort surprised me yesterday as we walked along the old railway line.

Last year I posted a picture of it on 5 May, when the bluebells were out. No sign of bluebells here yet.

Perhaps stitchwort flowers according to the temperature, and bluebells according to the light levels.

Anyone know?

11 April: The aforementioned socks

The Toast socks are finished -


And here they are, modelled by my feet, although they are for DH and rather big for me -


You will note that they are Subversive Socks, in that when worn with ordinary shoes and trousers, they will appear to be dull old charcoal socks, whereas Really they are Toast and Marmalade Socks!

(DH doesn't wear open-toad sandals with socks, so we don't need to even think about that.)

And here is the first of the 'new design' socks in progress; just past the heel shaping and now galloping up the leg -


This yarn was dyed with purple and orange, and where the two dyes have merged, there are some wonderful intermediate colours, lilac-chocolate, pink-tan, steel-mauve. I love those subtle and unexpected colours that come when you're not trying for them.


I like the way hand-dyed yarn is not the same colour all over - the marmalade goes from yellow through several shades to strong orange, and the charcoal varies too. It makes the colour much more alive, in the same way that flowers are not the same colour all over.

Happiness is a ball of hand-dyed wool. Definitely.

9 April: Socks

The charcoal and marmalade socks are finished and are drying in the bathroom. Even though the skein of wool was rinsing clear when I dyed it, some dye came off on my fingers while I was knitting, so I've given the finished socks a couple of good hot washes to get rid of any remaining loose dye. Photo to follow.

So pleased with those socks that I have started another pair. The pattern I usually use for socks is designed for a thinner yarn than my handspun, so I have dug out a different pattern and swatched to get a gauge. And as I've never made socks starting at the toe, I've turned the pattern upside down and cast on at the toe - having changed the pattern already before I started as I didn't like the slope of the toe shaping. Oh, and I'm trying out knitting them on 2 circular needles too, as I've never done socks on circs before.

Do I know what I'm doing? Well, sort of. It's fun using the *what if* approach, and so far it looks good. The cast on came from the latest issue of Spin Off magazine, and worked very well. The wool is purple and orange, with some interesting shades where the dyes merge. And if it goes wrong, or I don't like it, I can always frog it.

7 April: Easter holiday

DH has had a week off work, so I haven't had time to sit and compose my usual literary gems - well, postings. But I'll make up for it this morning.

We've been going out on day trips and local outings. One morning we went over to Gibside for a walk; the house is ruined, the stables have been restored and the orangery is in the process of restoration, and the chapel is very tiny. When we go there, it is for a walk along the river and up through the woods, and then a coffee and cake in the tea-room.

The woods were particularly lovely in the sunshine, but sadly Blogger will only upload the beautiful photo sideways, so we shall move on.

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Washington Old Hall is another NT property quite near, and somehow we have never got round to visiting it until this week. It is a small house, furnished in a 17th century style, and has been extensively restored after being divide into tenements in the 20th century, It trades on the George Washington connection, which is in fact extremely tenuous - the family originated in Washington, from which they took their name, but George's branch of the family had moved to Lancashire centuries before his ancestor went to America, and he was the second or third generation born in America.

The main hall of the house is large, and the kitchen is reached through two pointed stone archways from one end of the hall - looks as if it was an early version of open-plan living. At the other end of the hall is a wonderful oak-panelled parlour, with some very handsome furniture. And there's another storey, with another large and well-windowed room, given over to the American connection. There are also bedrooms, one converted into a display of photos of the house before restoration, and the stories of the people who used to live in it; another bedroom is now a small tea-room.

The gardens are not extensive, but I found a view of an interesting knot garden -


Entrelac?
And there were stone eagles (Sam, the American Eagle, probably) at the top of a flight of steps -
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Then one day we spent walking in the Yorkshire Dales. The weather was perfect for walking, the lambs were gambolling in the fields (even though the spell checker thinks they should gamble), and there were primroses and violets on the extremely steep banks as we climbed down into Arncliffe.

Here's one of DH's photos, showing the rest of us after climbing out of Kettlewell and pausing to remove jerseys, catch our breath, and admire the view.

I discovered that I am still frightened of falling on rocky bits. Still, better to be slow than having to wait for the Mountain Rescue team.

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And yesterday we planted 2 apple trees in our new border in the back garden (photo in earlier posting); one is Fiesta and the other is Ashmead's Kernel. Then in the empty bit in the middle we planted the potatoes that have been chitting in the conservatory (also earlier photo). I was particularly pleased to be able to plant them on Good Friday, the traditional day for planting potatoes, though that was probably because it was the only holiday people used to have in the days when traditions were made.

4.15 p.m. Spent the afternoon in the garden, spinning some black Shetland; lovely and peaceful. Lots of bees in the borders. But where are all the neighbours? The MetroCentre or Disneyland, probably.

3 April: Congratulations and comments

Congratulations to the British team, particularly Victoria Pendleton and Chris Hoy, on their wonderful performances at the World Track Cycling Championships! Heroes, every one.
(Google for full information, if you don't know.)

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Blog-visitors and their comments seem to have been a recent theme on several blogs. Naturally this leads to musings on one's own blog, its visitors, and what everyone wants from a blog.

My StatCounter tells me how many people have come to The String Bag, and what their search (if any) has been for. It tells me where they are, more or less, and also purports to show how long they spend here.

So I know there are a number of visitors from the UK and the US, and one regular from New Zealand, and one I think of as my Spanish stalker*. And the last few days have brought another flurry of visitors, this time from Denmark, looking for information on Fred Knit*le - they must have had the Young@H*art film screened on their TV.

Most of these people don't leave any comment, though there seems no way of connecting the StatCounter information to a specific commenter. There may be nothing in particular they want to say, of course. They may be copying my knitted hats, or avidly following the progress of my garden. They may enjoy the photos of places I've been to, or agree with my occasional rants. Imagining is usually more fun than knowing (think of Christmas presents).

What sort of comment to leave on someone's blog? There's the "me, too", which doesn't take anything further on, though it can be reassuring to have sympathy or whatever. There's the "aren't you wonderful", which gives a short glow, followed by embarrassment. There's a sensible question, or an answer to a question - practical and helpful. And there's the amusing comment, the sideways look at a topic, the pun, the joke between friends.

And that's really how I see the blog, as a sort of conversation in the cyber-pub. You drop in, listen to a few people, have a brief chat with one or two, find out how they are and what's happening with them, you amuse each other, and enjoy the different characters. Sometimes you pop into the cyber-pub down the super-highway, and enjoy a different crowd; you may join in the conversation or not. You may even become a regular.

So, let's go and see who's in the bar today.

*No, I know you aren't really stalking, it's the alliteration....

31 March: Current productions

Knitting alert!
Leave blog now if you don't want to read about more knitting.

A couple of finished items this week - firstly a large stocking cap (suitable for a pirate or fisherman in touch with his feminine side?) -

And another, medium sized, cap, this time in patterned stripes. Both these caps mix Manx Loghtan with some unknown wools, spun from a big bag of fibre that was given to me last year.

The colours of those mixed wools are not what I would choose to dye myself, but they make some nice colour combinations.

And here is a picture of the sock currently in progress. This is being knitted in the wool I dyed on Tuesday, and wound while sitting in the garden on Thursday.


This wool is supposed to be machine washable - we'll see.

29 March: Nature and stuff

Yesterday, after a misty and chilly start, it became sunny and warm enough to sit out in the garden to wind some wool that was dyed on Tuesday.

The recently emerged bumble bees are still making good use of the hellebores to feed - and the hellebores have been good this year, with plenty of flowers and colour. The big one, H. Argutifolius (I think), near the house, provides an attractive evergreen to look at from the kitchen window, with the earliest flowers of the year. Down at the end of the garden, under the birch tree, are a group of varied hellebores, dark purple, reddish, and pale with purplish patches. They have all flourished, but so far have not provided the expected masses of seedlings.

Over in the side border, in the "herby" section, is a clump of what was labelled as comfrey when I bought it. But it's not the anticipated tall plant with curls of purple flowers that adorns some roadsides and hedges (the one I really wanted). It has similar flowers and leaves, but much smaller and the flowers are pinker, and the whole plant is only about 9 - 12 inches high. The initial disappointment with it has been more than offset, however, by the fact that it is irresistible to the local wren.

Yesterday, while checking the plants for progress, I noticed a number of ladybirds on this comfrey. And as I looked, there was a lot more movement, which turned out to be loads and loads of spiders, all scooting about on the leaves and on the soil round about. So I wonder if the spiders are what the wren comes for?

While I sat on the bench winding wool from skein to ball, a sparrow flew down to drink from the birdbath. I warned him that DH's cat was in the garden, but he took no notice, and flew up to the hanging seed feeder on the far side of the pergola. After taking lots of seeds from that, he moved to the big feeder on the near side of the pergola, only about 6 feet from where I was sitting. My presence, and the fact that I was moving about, and occasionally speaking to him, didn't seem to bother him at all, and he was there for several minutes, until the cat approached and finally spotted him, whereupon he flew up to the top of the birch tree and annoyed the cat by being totally out of reach but still plainly visible.

Actually, it's fairly unusual to see only one sparrow - they normally live in flocks, but it's been a funny spring for avian visitors.

And today is Peanut Yorkie's birthday - hope you enjoy it, don't overdo the sangria (or sweet sherry?) and have Many Happy Returns!

25 March: Gardens, mine and theirs

The Met office promised us a fine weekend - well at least it didn't rain, but it's been overcast and chilly yesterday and today, with brief spells of sun just to rub it in.

Yesterday DH and I at last got our new rain water butts connected up to the downpipes. First we did the small one, placed to gather the rain from the conservatory. The placing of the cut into the downpipe was critical, the instructions told us. Careful work with a spirit level was totally negated by my inability to saw straight, but the botch job turned out to be very effective in practice.

On to the big butt (if you'll pardon the expression) to take the water from the back roof. As the downpipe is in an awkward place by the kitchen door, where there is only a narrow path to the back garden, we wanted to site the butt just round the corner. The connecting hose wasn't long enough, but a search of B&Q produced a washing machine hose that was just the right diameter and length. Only one extra trip to the shops to get a jubilee clip the right size, and we were ready to go.

Again the proof that I can't cut straight, and the fiddly job to insert the diverter into the gap in the downpipe. This was unexpectedly easy, then I saw why - the pipe had become detached from the gutter. Right up there at the house eaves. About 17 feet off the ground.

Faced with the alternative of getting *a little man* to fix it, I went up the ladder and fixed it myself. And those who know my feelings about heights will be marvelling. (And yes, I was wearing brown trousers.)

No photos of all that, but we both took lots of photos when we went to the RHS garden at Harlow Carr today. DH is still getting the hang of downloading and printing from his New Camera, but I have whizzed these through just for you.

Most of the gardens are still dormant, but here and there things are coming along nicely. This gets my vote as the best ever use of dogwood -


As a support for peonies. And this is a view of the trees and containers near the alpine house -


Elsewhere, there were several willow sculptures - it looks as though these two will support some plants later in the year -


Most of the colour was in the conservatory and alpine house. This is a double daffodil, I think, with what looks like a lettuce behind it (but it isn't) -


Then these hyacinths were bonny -


And I love the colour of this primula -


The sun did come out as we walked round the arboretum. And just look at this sofa we found among the trees!

23 March: Some I made earlier

These are knits I made between 1997 and about 2000, using 2-ply Shetland wool spun and dyed by Jamieson and Smith of Lerwick. They are all my own designs.

The first one is a slipover (OK, a tank top) stranded with 2 colours in a row. The edgings are knitted.

The next one is a waistcoat; this one is knitted with 2 strands together, using the purple heather yarn all the times, and changing the second colour from stripe to stripe.

It was knitted in strips, which were then crocheted together on the outside. The bottom edge is a self-hem and the other edgings are crocheted.

And the third one, a tunic sort of thing, is knitted with brown yarn constantly and another (changing every stripe) colour knitted alternately - there's a name for this stitch pattern, but it escapes me at the moment.
This was knitted in one piece to the armholes, sideways and grafted into a tube. The upper part was also knitted sideways in one piece, and crocheted to the lower body on the inside. Then, having made the body with only one seam, I went and put 2 seams in each sleeve, knitting one straight piece and one shaped piece for each. these were crocheted to the body, and the edgings crocheted.


The balls of leftover wool are coyly hiding my *designer* labels. Poser or what? Actually, when I used to make loads of hand-stitched quilts and give them away, I bought some labels from a firm in Berwickshire, enough for a life-time for about £12 - and it seems a shame not to use them. They are hidden because they have my non-blogging name on. (I nearly put "my real name" there, but then began to wonder what my real name is.....)

21 March: And here it is!

At last the brown waistcoat!

It's made of Manx Loghtan wool (hand spun, designed and hand knitted by me, of course) - the colour is not quite as grey as it looks in the photo. All finished, washed and carefully dried, and now on my back. After struggling with various bits of it, I am now very pleased with it, and it will probably get worn lots and lots, as brown goes with most of my clothes.

In designing it, I referred to Beth Brown-Reinsel's "Knitting Ganseys", and Montse Stanley's "Knitter's Handbook".

And as a special extra treat for you, since you waited so patiently for the final denouement of the waistcoat, here's some yarn I spun yesterday morning.

At the Guild workshop last week I used the drum carder to blend together some alpaca and some merino fibre. Although I thought I'd divided it neatly into 2, to make two bobbins of singles to ply together, it ended up with far more on one bobbin than the other. (Got the arithmetic right on all the fiddly bits of the waistcoat, then can't split something tidily in half!) So what was left over got plyed with an all-merino single - that's the brown and white skein.

I wonder if this is read by anyone who is in the slightest bit interested in wool, spinning , dyeing, and knitting. Do tell me if you are. And don't bother if you're not - I shall still go on wittering on about it.

P.S. I've removed the word verification from the comments. It will go back if spam arrives.

20 March: Back at court

The shoulder is now OK, and we have a stockpile of surplus painkillers - probably more than all the hospitals in Iraq....

Anyway, kaz has a photo of some aspiring politician on her blog, and in the photo is also a youth waving one hand about, and with the other down his track suit bottoms. It takes me back to working at the courts.

Tracksuit bottoms are the garb of choice for most young offenders. Not only easy to pleasure yourself while waiting interminably for your turn at court, or easy access for the girlfriend, but also swift access to a good hiding place for your drugs if the police arrive.

I remember listening to a Crown prosecutor reading out in court the statement of a police officer who witnessed exactly this method of hiding drugs when he and a colleague interrupted a deal in a local car park. Slightly surreal to hear a frightfully-nicely-brought-up middle aged lady describing this, and the subsequent rubber-gloved retrieval of said drugs at the police station. The defendant was quite unperturbed, but I had a sudden fit of the giggles when I caught the eye of one of the magistrates - I was able to leave court, but the magistrate had to stay.

It's also bizarre to hear solicitors and barristers with Oxbridge accents reading out interviews, when the interviewee has a limited vocabulary, and "know wh' Ah mean" and "fucking" are pretty well all he can manage.

But my favourite was always the statements of police officers who had witnessed some bloke urinating in public. There seems to be a poetic standard to attain, and some of them wax quite lyrical.

Mind you, working in HMCS isn't all fun; such entertaining moments have to be balanced against interminable hearings about council tax, parking fines, and fishing without a licence.

16 March: A course of treatment

It's not a strained muscle, it's tendinosis calcarea, according to my GP. (Little calcified bits getting in the workings of my shoulder joint.)

A night of little sleep, but plenty of pain in the *I'm going to be sick* range, drove me to the surgery. An examination (in the same pain range), and a brief explanation. I was amused by the GP's protective gloves, even though there was a stout layer of cloth between my skin and his gloved hand. And why do all GPs seem to have a sports bag full of rubbish flung casually in the middle of the consulting room floor? But I digress.

Prescriptions led to a carrier bag full of tablets, plus a sling.

I now have enough painkillers for at least 6 suicides - no wonder the NHS's budget is enormous. Let's hope the anti-inflammatory tablets do the trick; GP said it should clear up in about a week, come back on Monday.

As it's difficult to knit, I'm hoping for lots of entertaining posts to read on all my favourite blogs. Failing that, I'll have to select one of the hundreds of books in the house...

On the bright side, feeling sick with pain means I haven't eaten all day, which can only be good for the waist-line, or at any rate where the waist-line ought to be.

14 March: Pride goes before

Well, that serves me right!

After boasting yesterday about being able to deal with heavy bags of sand, I've gone and strained a muscle in my arm. It wasn't the sand, though - it was dragging out a raspberry root that had gone under the fence into the next door garden.

And the current knitting has been 2 steps forward and one back. Since I am making it up as I go along, it isn't really surprising that it doesn't always go well, and it's no great hardship to pull out a few rows out and re-do it. They do say that the best way to learn how to do something right is to get it wrong first. Or did I just make that up, too?

It'll soon be at the stage of auditioning buttons, preparatory to knitting the front band. Then tidying the loose ends, and blocking. Bet you can't wait for the photo.

13 March: Old?

I suppose it started when the checkout person at B&Q asked if I needed a man to help me with the bags of sharp sand I'd just bought.

As the men in the store seem to be either under 18 and built like a yard and a half of pump water, or over 75 and built like pumpkins, I declined. I may be in receipt of the Old Age Pension, but I can still deal with a couple of half-hundredweight plastic sackfuls of sand.

But it's been nagging at me. Do I look frail? My hair's not grey or permed, I wasn't wearing a beige car coat, and at 5 foot 10, I seldom get people offering help. The slight frown caused by concentration and short sight frightens most strangers.

I've also recently been reading a few blogs by older people - by coincidence, not because I've been looking for them. And last night's knitting was accompanied by some talking heads on the TV twittering on about *baby boomers*. I was concentrating on the pattern, as I had to work out some shaping, and I'd already had to unpick one area where I'd found a mistake 9 rows earlier, so I wasn't really listening properly, but they seemed to be complaining on the one hand that old folk were spending all their pensions and capital on themselves instead of leaving it to their children, and on the other hand that old folk were a drain on the economy and the NHS.

Now, come on - if us oldies are spending all our money on kite-surfing and facials, that is providing a rich living for the providers of those services. We are still paying for our cars, fuel, food and clothes, and helping to keep those businesses going. When we go on outings we support the visitor attractions or cafes we go to. We are still paying our Council Tax and Income Tax.

And we all know that the NHS can damage your health if you get near it. Lots of us work quite hard at keeping ourselves fit and well without bothering with doctors. Without the old, there wouldn't be much call for consultants in geriatrics, or hip replacement surgeons.

It's all relative anyway - when my Dad was 80, he used to go down to the local club to help out with the old folks - the Over 60s.

Why do we all have to be labelled and pigeon-holed? My age is not the most important thing about me, nor is it about anyone else - unless they choose to be a *rebellious teenager*, *just a housewife*, a *little old lady*, or whatever. (Men can play this game too, if they want.)

People's passions and open minds are far more interesting.

That reminds me - labels. I've been trying to label the old posts on the blog, so that if you really want to you can look at all the knitting related bits. The labelling is probably as patchy and rambling as this post.

11 March: The Botanic Garden

There was an e-mail from the Botanic Garden. So we went to have a look. In the hot-house there were flowers on the Strongylodon Macrobotrys.


Someone has sensibly called it the Jade Vine. That is in the wet part of the hot-house. In the dry part are lots of cactuses. This one was a particularly interesting pattern -


Sorry, I forgot to read the label.

Strolling round the Garden, we saw tubs full of crocuses and irises; daffodils are beginning to open; the first cherry blossom is out; the Hebridean sheep have been joined by some Manx sheep (though we saw them only on a notice); primroses are flowering on a bank behind the still-dormant gunnera, and the flowers on one of the rhododendrons were actually fading.

Returning to the cafe - excellent coffee and food, plus an exhibition of water-colour paintings - we spotted a few purple crocuses under a tree -


And the colour and texture both came out in the photo. DH took a photo too -

8 March: A local walk

Dear thoughts are in my mind,
And my soul it soars enchanted,
As I hear the sweet lark sing
In the clear air of the day *

The larks were singing in the fields on both sides as I walked down the lane. No coat needed today, and even the jumper (hand-knitted, of course) had to be removed later.

Away to the west over the hills a weather front promised a change later -


Further along, with trees in both hedges, there were many small birds. This tree looks like an ideal nesting place -


There were sheep in the field next to the farm, with plenty of hay. They must be needing extra rations in the weeks before lambing.

Celandines on the bank were lifting their shiny faces to the sun. I crossed the stream and went up the lane to the path along the old railway line. A jay flew into the wood where we once saw a deer.

Water was still lying on the surface of the worst-drained fields, and by the path the ditch was full - it was truly February Filldyke this year.


* From The lark in the clear air, a traditional English song.

7 March: Gaviscon again

Do you get bored with the adverts on TV?

It gets quite exciting when there's a new one - is it a car (special effects), perfume (monochrome orgasms), washing powder (improbable story), or another poor soul with inexplicable rust in the W.C. pan?

Why do they advertise something to soften stools at tea-time? And those bloody women with their digestive discomfort - they need a good slap and being told to eat less, and more slowly.

And what do "pre-biotic" and "pro-biotic" mean, anyway?
*rustling of dictionary pages*
"Pre" means before; ignoring the meaning of "pro" as professional or a prostitute, the other meanings are in favour of, acting as a substitute for, forwards, or in front of. Then "biotic" means relating to life or living things, or of biological origin.

So put together, we get pre-biotic = before relating to life. And pro-biotic = acting as a substitute for relating to living things.

Not something I would want to eat.

Especially as pro-biotic is almost certainly the opposite of anti-biotic.

5 March: Time to go shopping

Thanks to all those who commented on the socks in the last posting.

It's been a hectic weekend, with no time to fetch the groceries.

There was a dyeing workshop, in which I discovered the smell of an indigo dye bath makes me feel ill. I did, however, manage to dye 2 pieces of cloth which were stitched in different ways to (perhaps) produce interesting patterns. When these are fully dry, I'll take out the stitches and see what sort of pattern remains. And eventually the blue will fade from my fingers....

At Throssel Hole Abbey there was the festival of Achalanatha. This is the Boddhisattva representing steadfastness; as usual, Rev. Master Daishin gave an excellent dharma talk, and, again as usual, the lunch afterwards was excellent.

And I managed to fit in a walk with my sister in law. We set off from Hamsterley village, went across very muddy fields up to Black Banks woods, and returned along tracks and lanes. Here S-I-L models the footbridge over the Bedburn Beck -

And here is a flock of sheep which thought we were bringing their lunch, and followed us up the track at Shipley Moss -


Among all the black faced ewes were 2 Blue Faced Leicesters - they are the ones with pale faces and no horns. And beautiful fleeces.

1 March: For a change, socks

Just in case you thought I'd been neglecting the knitting lately, here's the latest pair of socks.

At the last Guild workshop, a friend was knitting some self-striping socks, and wondering what to do with the leftovers. Well, this is what I've done with my leftovers. Makes a change from mittens.