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 The clocks have gone forward an hour, so I guess it must officially be Spring. It certainly feels like it, what with having the windows open and (reader, avert your maidenly gaze) flourishing my upper torso brazenly in a t-shirt. (One week a Fair Isle sweater, the next shirtsleeves – it’s all very confusing.) At the same time I feel like I’ve been strapped to the machine from The Princess Bride, and aged several decades overnight, all thanks to waking up an hour early.
What news from the front? (Incidentally, did you know that the use of the word “front” for describing a war only came in after meteorology caught on in the late 19th century? Previously soldiers called it a “line”.) Well, the news from the line is, I’ve finished the back and – wonderful to relate – the neck too.
I had another of my brainfade moments on the back, when I knit an extra half an inch. (I don’t know why – I was convinced without checking that it was right. If I hadn’t noticed, who knows what might not have happened? Odds are, I’d have kept on going until the cardigan developed a train as long as a royal wedding dress, and Margaret would have had to wear it accompanied by a troop of pages just to lift it out of the dirt. Not that I didn’t think of it.) So that had to be ripped out and re-done too.
 The back is joined to the front-plus-shoulder-straps by a 3 needle bind-off on the back. (The cast-off row on the back forms a ridge which equates to the ridge of 2 purl rows on the front. It’s not exactly the same, of course, but it’s close enough for jazz, as the saying goes.)
 The neck consists of 246 stitches in the round, including the 20 stitches for the steek. The ribbing is the basic knit 2/purl 2, and the neck is some 13 rows, or just over an inch high. The tricky part is picking up stitches along the edges of the shoulder straps and, especially, along the edges of the decreases on the front yoke, where I indented the neck for a more rounded effect, a total of 60 stitches per side. (This isn’t really hard, but you have to concentrate to make sure you’re picking up the whole stitch, as well as evenly distributing your stitches along the edge, while making sure you pick up the right number of stitches. I got one side wrong first time and had to do it again. Sigh.)
Since I’m in the process of printing out sample chapters and synopses and sending them off to literary agents, I’ve also been doing some research into the odds of getting published. Turns out the average agency receives over 200 submissions a month. Of these, perhaps 6 will be invited to send a full manuscript; and only 2 of them, on average, will be accepted. That’s a 1% chance of getting accepted, folks – and even then the agent still has to persuade a publisher to take you on.
I’m starting to think it will be simpler just to place the waste-paper basket behind the printer, so the paper slides into the basket as it emerges from the machine. Well, at least that way I’ll save on the postage. And if you know anyone who’s writing novels just now, perhaps you could ask them to take up fishing for a few months, to give us other fellows a chance…
No bread this week, as we’re still living off our supplies from last week, with all the fresh yeast baking I did. And after taking account of the various observations on classes, my current thinking is, I’ll hire Margaret out for £300 a day, since she’s the one with the expertise, with the option of an additional £150 for me to come along too and tell jokes over lunch. I think that way all bases are covered…
 Every now and again in the course of knitting a gansey I find I reach a point where it all comes together and I just get my head down and blitz it – usually when I’m in a mood to listen to music, too.
So it is now. I’ve been listening to Haydn’s marvellous “London” symphonies (numbers 93-104) and knitting a lot, while outside Spring tries to make up its mind which side of the lion/lamb dichotomy it’s going to settle on (right now lamb’s coming up trumps and I can finally peel off those winter long johns and think about finally taking my Spring bath to wash off the bear’s grease that’s kept me warm through the winter).
 Of course, it helps not having to knit those blasted extra steek stitches – the back is some 10% narrower than the front, so whereas a front row (230 stitches) took a little over a quarter of an hour to complete, the back row (210 stitches) takes just 12-13 minutes. It doesn’t sound much, but it all mounts up. Plus I’ve got the patterns in my fingers now and (unless my mind is wandering, where it will go) the stitches have positively flown off the needles.
One reason for the dramatic progress is that fact that I haven’t been doing any writing, of course. Though now the novel is finished I’ve been sketching out another one – all I need is some characters and a plot and I’m away – and I’ve also been knuckling down and trying to craft a synopsis for the last one to send to agents and publishers.
 I don’t know if you’ve ever tried this, but pick a novel you’ve read and try to summarise it in 500-1,000 words, in such a way that a stranger will want to read it, and which at the same time manages to capture the quality of the prose. Take it from me, it’s tricky. It’s the same with the covering letter – you basically have to write your own blurb for the back cover. Very hard not to sound like a cheesy movie trailer (“Gordon Reid’s latest novel A Stitch in Time features a time-travelling gansey knitter who travels back in time to knit up the ravelled sleeve of care, aware that the fate of the universe may hang on a dropped stitch…” Hey. Maybe I should write that one instead?)
Mind you, I don’t feel much pressure, because I haven’t really a hope in hell of getting it accepted by agent or publisher. These days you either have to have a recommendation from someone inside the publishing industry, or have incredible luck. (I have no contacts, and as for my luck…). Still, faint heart ne’er won fair publishing contract, etc.
 Bread. After dallying with all this fancy foreign muck – baguettes and ciabatta, and so on – I’ve felt a hankering for some good, old-fashioned, no-nonsense, soft white bread. So I got some fresh yeast from the health food shop round the corner and knocked up a batch. I love working with fresh yeast – it’s much more responsive than instant (as you can see by the vast wobbling bubble that erupted from the dough like something you’d find in a book depicting the illnesses of sheep); though I couldn’t resist doctoring the recipe with a slug of olive oil and honey and a dash of sourdough starter. The bread is soft and chewy, with a crisp crust, and was made for strawberry jam. Literally.
Finally, I’ve been thinking about Leigh’s idea of doing some classes. Or rather, Margaret’s been trying to persuade me that it’s worth considering, while I, on the other hand, fear being revealed as the Wizard-of-Oz-like charlatan that I really am. The debate still rages, but I mention this just to show that it’s still out there as a possibility. Perhaps those if you who’ve had some experience of knitting classes could let me know what form they take, what sort of thing they consist of, whether in your experience the tutor has ever been pelted with eggs or rotten tomatoes, that kind of thing…?
 After getting the first draft of the novel out of the way last week, this week has felt like being on holiday. No slogging away at the computer until my 2,000 words were done – or, as it usually worked out, 1,500 words and then having to go back later to make up the difference. (For those who’re interested, 9.00-10.30, cup of tea, 11.00-12.00, take a break, then usually a couple of hours later in the day to go over previous chapters and revise.)
Instead I’ve been able to relax, read, go for walks, and generally bask in the golden glow of a blooming early spring. What? Oh, right.
 Edinburgh’s been basking in an Indian Winter, temperatures around freezing, strong winds, rain, sleet and snow. (Just after we’d returned the huskies to the rental shop, too.) At one point the flat was so cold I dug out my old heavy wool genuine policeman’s cape (bought decades ago for keeping warm between Morris dances) and huddled on the sofa like a collapsed marquee, fighting the urge to patrol the streets making citizen’s arrests with a novelty squeaking truncheon.
 It was cold enough that my legs felt the chill whenever I lifted the body of the gansey to turn it over to knit a reverse row. (And no, I wasn’t wearing shorts. The court order was very clear about that…)
As you’ll see from the pictures, all this leisure time has brought on the cardigan a treat – the front is finished, including the shoulders, and I’ve started the back. The shaped neck went perfectly to order; I decreased 16 stitches over 32 rows on each side, a decrease rate of 1:2. The trouble started when I got to the shoulders.
Because this is being done to a Scottish pattern, we’ve opted for Scottish shoulders – panels based on the centre chevron design, knitted in full from the front, to be joined onto the back after the back body is finished (like the Hebridean gansey in the gallery). Fair enough, you think. Nothing complicated there. Unless – and this is a valuable lesson, so I recommend you pay attention – you attempt it with a migraine.
 One panel went fine. The other… Lord knows what was going on. No matter what I tried I knitted when I should have purled, got confused between obverse and reverse rows, tried to correct the mistakes and made it worse, ending up with something like a printout of a transmission of deep space radiation. I tried ripping it out and dropped stitches. Picked up those stitches and somehow added a few that weren’t there when I started, thus defying several laws of basic physics. In the end Margaret just took it out of my hands and ripped the whole lot out while I had took some pills and lay down in a darkened room. When I awoke I redid the whole shoulder panel from scratch. (And just when you’d think it couldn’t get any worse, England beat Scotland at the rugby. Some days you should just stay in bed.)
Something else that didn’t quite go to plan – this week’s bread. It’s supposed to be a version of Iranian barbari – a kind of flatbread, with olive oil and honey. Except mine came out as a kind of roundbread. (Still tastes fine, though.)
Finally I leave you with a rather disturbing thought. Google “policemen’s truncheon” and the chances are most of the hits will be for adult novelty items, in which the words, hen, chocolate, party and bondage will appear. Which may go some way to explaining the latest crime figures…
 My knitting’s had a sudden growth spurt, like a teenager who’s outgrown his elder brother’s pyjamas, or a tree that’s had its fertiliser augmented with amphetamines. As you will see from the pictures, I’ve reached the point on the front where I divide for the shaped neck/collar, and it’s ho for the straight needles and on to Can-a-di-i-o, me hearties.
Usually when I knit a gansey I do the back first, so I can make sure everything’s fine and iron out any kinks before I turn my attention to the front (identical to the back but more visible, except to the people standing behind you in the queue at the post office). I’d like to pretend that I chose to start with the front this time as part of a subtle plan, but the sad truth is, I just wasn’t paying attention. Again. So I’ve had to work the new pattern around the cardigan’s central steek, and fit it into my calculations for dividing at the neck too. Only time will tell if I’ve got it right!
I still – can you believe this? – still haven’t reached the end of my first cone of Frangipani wool. I was beginning to wonder if I’ve discovered the Zeno’s paradox of knitting, where no matter how much yarn you use there’s always a little more to go. But I see little patches of cardboard showing under the yarn on the cone for the first time, like my scalp when the barber holds the mirror up to the back of my head and I can see how much hair I’ve lost since last time. So we’re almost at the bitter end, and I can confidently predict that next week will feature a big fat new cone.
Fireworks and celebrations – I’ve finished the first draft of my latest novel. It clocks in at a trim 74,500 words (the equivalent of just under 300 pages in paperback). Time to start sending it off to publishers (you can never have too much rejection in your life!). I won’t be posting it to the website this time, or at least not yet, mostly because it’s not had time to bed in yet. But if anyone would like to read it while the paint’s still wet and let me have your comments – act as a sort of focus group – just drop me a line in the comments box and I’ll cheerfully send you a copy (just let me know if you prefer it in e-book or pdf format).
I’ve been making baguettes again, and also some rolls for a change. I’ve been experimenting with a new recipe, basically the traditional baguette dough with a dollop of sourdough, but made 50-50 with plain flour and white bread flour. It makes the texture slightly lighter (unless it’s all in my imagination…).
It’s almost time to plan out the shoulder strap now. Must be spring – suddenly everything’s coming on fast!
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The clocks have gone forward an hour, so I guess it must officially be Spring. It certainly feels like it, what with having the windows open and (reader, avert your maidenly gaze) flourishing my upper torso brazenly in a t-shirt. (One week a Fair Isle sweater, the next shirtsleeves – it’s all very confusing.) At the same time I feel like I’ve been strapped to the machine from The Princess Bride, and aged several decades overnight, all thanks to waking up an hour early.
The back is joined to the front-plus-shoulder-straps by a 3 needle bind-off on the back. (The cast-off row on the back forms a ridge which equates to the ridge of 2 purl rows on the front. It’s not exactly the same, of course, but it’s close enough for jazz, as the saying goes.)
The neck consists of 246 stitches in the round, including the 20 stitches for the steek. The ribbing is the basic knit 2/purl 2, and the neck is some 13 rows, or just over an inch high. The tricky part is picking up stitches along the edges of the shoulder straps and, especially, along the edges of the decreases on the front yoke, where I indented the neck for a more rounded effect, a total of 60 stitches per side. (This isn’t really hard, but you have to concentrate to make sure you’re picking up the whole stitch, as well as evenly distributing your stitches along the edge, while making sure you pick up the right number of stitches. I got one side wrong first time and had to do it again. Sigh.)
My knitting’s had a sudden growth spurt, like a teenager who’s outgrown his elder brother’s pyjamas, or a tree that’s had its fertiliser augmented with amphetamines. As you will see from the pictures, I’ve reached the point on the front where I divide for the shaped neck/collar, and it’s ho for the straight needles and on to Can-a-di-i-o, me hearties.
I still – can you believe this? – still haven’t reached the end of my first cone of Frangipani wool. I was beginning to wonder if I’ve discovered the Zeno’s paradox of knitting, where no matter how much yarn you use there’s always a little more to go. But I see little patches of cardboard showing under the yarn on the cone for the first time, like my scalp when the barber holds the mirror up to the back of my head and I can see how much hair I’ve lost since last time. So we’re almost at the bitter end, and I can confidently predict that next week will feature a big fat new cone.