Well I didn’t finish the cowl in time to give to my grandmother, but she received it a few days after Christmas and reports are that she likes it. I wasn’t very happy with it: I made a mistake with the leaf pattern and couldn’t do the crochet bind off required to make the pretty scalloped edge.
But I was so fed up with ripping it back and re-starting I decided to just live with the errors.
I made another little owl hat with the leftover yarn- it’s Debbie Bliss cashmerino so it’s perfect for little baby heads.
I’ve moved on now to a hat for Sol, just a larger, green version of the one he currently has, and then I will have to tackle the tidal wave of babies and baby presents that looms large ahead of me- both knitted and sewn.
It was with some trepidation that we approached our little cottage on the hill after being away for so long. An old, exposed cottage with no landlord to call makes for a slightly nervy homecoming, but luckily all was fine. The weather this winter has been extreme, but not in the usual, snowy sense. At night, up with Otis and listening to the wind, I’m reminded of a large rock at sea being battered again and again by the crashing waves. The storms and gales this small stone building has withstood over the years have taken their toll, but remarkably the house still stands. I can’t help but yearn for a crisp, cold, snow-sparkling day, without a breath of breeze and icy blue skies. The sort of cold, cold air that hurts when you breathe in deeply. Instead we have mild, wild, rain and mud. Be careful what you wish for, of course. But it’s the British way, isn’t it, to obsess over and moan about our erratic, capricious weather?