Just a short entry this week, as (a) it’s Easter holiday, and (b) I am rotten with cold and seem to have turned into the slime monster from a 1950s B-movie who sounds like the love child of Barry White and Darth Vader. Or maybe I’ve finally reached puberty and my voice has broken? Or else this is just what you get when you meddle in the affairs of Unitarians, like I rashly did last week.
In my drug-raddled, tissue-sodden, mucus-encrusted state I have still found time for a little knitting – so the epic descent down Sleeve 2 continues slowly. (No more cables! Yeay!) If I keep bending my double-pointed needles like this I’ll end up turning them circular, a sort of cross between my method and the circular method recommended by Lynne, Dave and SongBird last week. And I reckon at this rate I’ll finish sometime later next week. Then – out come the scissors!
If you saw the comments to last week’s blog you’ll have seen one from Michael Pearson (peace and blessings be upon him), saying that his book Traditional Knitting is being republished by Dover. Which is really excellent news, and may generate a bit of publicity for ganseys, too. Do you think ganseys are undergoing something of a revival? I’d like to think so – certainly the numbers of people visiting this website are slowly going up, not that that means anything. What we need is a famous TV detective to wear one, like Sarah Lund’s celebrated jumper in the cult Danish cop show The Killing (which for a time sold out at the company who supply them). Maybe someone could suggest that Matt Smith’s Doctor Who could wear one? (But then, since his fashion sense includes bow ties, fezzes and stetsons this may not have the desired effect…)
Had a jolly nice time in the Midlands, thanks – my parents live in a lovely ex-pub on the Grand Union Canal, near the town of Northampton, which is where I grew up. It was a great place to be a kid – I remember freaking my Mum out once by walking across the canal one winter when it froze over. The downstairs still has the original bar where the canal boat crews would drink, with a great inglenook fireplace, oak beams, and bundles of character. It’s a bit much for them to manage now, but my brother was there and we discussed the possibility of converting the place into a sort of residential workshop venue, for classes on crafts such as, as it might be, knitting… (Watch this space.)
It was unseasonably hot down south – a sticky 22 degrees. But coming back, once we crossed the border into Scotland we watched the temperature drop like an altimeter – in the space of about 50 miles it went down 10 degrees to a brisk 12. (Yet another reason why I love living in Scotland!)
Well, as I have a chocolate Easter Bunny fluttering its eyelashes at me across the room with those come-hither eyes I guess I’d better close. By this time next week I’ll be a whole year older, but with a slightly larger CD collection, so it’s swings and roundabouts. There’s also the small matter of a royal wedding, which will, apparently, lift the spirits of a nation just like the last one in 1981 – and that one worked out pretty well, didn’t it? (What? Oh…)
Here’s another “picking up stitches” tutorial, folks, and this time there’s good news and bad news.
The good news is, this time it’s got sound, so you get some commentary. The bad news is, ahem, this time it’s got sound… You see, there’s just one small thing I should warn you about: we don’t have an external microphone, so the words are kind of muffled. But that’s not all bad, when you consider that if you turn the volume up you get my prissy Anglo-New Zealand “anyone-for-tennis have-another-cucumber-sandwich-vicar” accent. (We tried to get Morgan Freeman, honest we did, but he only does Honiton lace voiceovers now.) Anyway, see what you think.
The first sleeve is successfully finished, including all six inches of cuff, and I’ve picked up the stitches round the armhole and embarked on the second sleeve. And as usual, I have no recollection what I did last time, and can’t make sense of my notes, so it’s rather more stressful than necessary!
In other news, I had a ghastly flashback to the disco scene of 1979 yesterday. We’ve been flirting with Unitarianism – the saucy little minx – and have gone along to a couple of services at St Mark’s church in Edinburgh near the Castle. (Margaret is Unitarian by inclination and while I regretfully reject religion I do accept the idea of the life of the spirit, as is apparent from my fiction, and Unitarianism seems as good a place to explore this as any.)
The services have been agreeable enough, so yesterday we thought we’d stay after for the “coffee and conversation”. But oh dear! It was essentially like being at a party when you don’t know anyone – and, like I said, brought back many happy memories of the discos of my student years (encapsulated brilliantly by The Smiths: “So you go on your own/ And you stand on your own/ And you go home and you cry/ And you want to die”). Lesson One: How To Stand and Nurse Your Coffee and Not Look As Though You Mind Being Utterly Ignored By Everyone in the Room.
Still, I’m not a shy 19 year-old any more, so I decided to be proactive and break the ice. Ah, when will I learn? There was only one person in view who didn’t have their back to us, a woman, so I went up and introduced myself. Alas! She turned out to be a former member, now a born-again atheist, who had only come this time to meet someone (who hadn’t showed up). She responded briefly to direct questions (rather like a spinster aunt who’s had the children dumped on her for the afternoon despite protesting vigorously, and it’s raining outside), preferring instead to stare past my right ear in silence. But like two colliding galaxies locked together in a death-grip by gravity, once we’d moved closer it seemed impossible to break free, held together by the recently-discovered force which binds the universe together, and which scientists have identified as Social Death – and so I gulped down my scalding coffee while she counted the cracks in the ceiling and so the long morning wore on, bringing the peace of the grave a crucial few minutes nearer.
Actually that’s not quite the ghastliest social occasion in my portfolio – in fact, there are surprisingly many to choose from. Pride of place goes to the Society of Archivists function when I sat down to dinner next to an intimidating-looking woman. The conversation went as follows:
The Intimidating-Looking Woman: Hello, I’m Clare.
Me (relieved, thinking, maybe this isn’t going to be so bad): Oh, hello, I’m Gordon.
The Intimidating-Looking Woman (crushingly): No, I mean I’m the archivist of Clare College, Cambridge.
By which point she’d obviously written me off as a total loss and didn’t speak to me again throughout the meal. And after a social annihilation on that scale there was nothing for me to do but resign from all my clubs and go and join the Foreign Legion, a crushed and broken man.
Well, this wasn’t as bad as that, but it definitely goes in the memoirs. (I mean to say, I already knew that we live in an indifferent universe, but I hadn’t realised that this was now church policy…)
Never mind! The sun is shining and in a few days it will be Easter. And if I can’t find solace in religion, I can at least turn to the greatest balm and comfort known to man, chocolate Easter eggs. And I think we can all find it in our hearts to say, Amen to that!
A very Happy Easter from Gordon and Margaret to all.
I came across an interesting definition of magic the other day: “effects without causes”. Which has got me thinking. You see, I’ve tentatively started another novel (just 3,000 words so far), and I’ve decided I want it to be a proper fantasy – not set in the real world, but in a wholly fictitious world, as you’d expect from a fantasy novel.
Now, one of the key elements of a fantasy story is magic. This ranges from the tantalisingly low key (Gandalf in Lord of the Rings using his staff like an electric torch or setting pine cones on fire to drop onto prowling wolves) to the rather overdone (Steven Erikson’s mages operating in barrages like heavy artillery in World War 1). In fact, I think one of the most appealing aspects of the Lord of the Rings – and one that few of its imitators have taken on board – is that magic is at its most magical when it is used sparingly.
Interestingly, two of the best children’s authors who write about magicians – JK Rowling and Ursula le Guin – both just use magic as a backdrop, and their stories are character-led – so the magic remains, I suppose, magical. (Hmm. I think there’s an interesting question to be pursued here – all I need is a research grant and some grad students…)
So anyway, my challenge to myself is to come up with a form of “magic” that I can justify in terms of what I know about about the way our universe works (pretty limited, actually, based almost entirely on Brian Cox’s “Wonders of the Universe” but with a less bombastic soundtrack). But which is still magical.
Speaking of magic, it’s almost Easter, and that means lots of big pieces of classical music to listen to – Bach’s St John and St Matthew Passions, Wagner’s Parsifal (ah, you ask, but which version?). And that, in turn, means lots of time for knitting. So, as you can see, I’ve almost finished the first sleeve; I did wonder for a while if I’d actually manage to get it done, but then fortunately my sanity cut-off switch intervened! (I’m pleased to note that I’ve got my knitting callus back, just above the first joint on the ring finger of my right hand; all I need to do now is develop a martial art based around knitting in which you can deliver a lethal blow with one flick of your fingers…)
I decreased at a rate of 2 stitches every 6 rows all the way down the sleeve (one stitch either side of the seam), so I was left with 118 stitches immediately before the cuff. I decreased that by 10 stitches (approximately 10% of the total) to 108. The advantage of 108 is that it is divisible by 4, so it gives me exactly 28 ribs in the cuff (each rib consisting of 4 stitches in the usual way, k-k-p-p). As is my custom these days, I shall – eheu – knit a 6-inch cuff, so the wearer can adjust the length to suit (and on cold days can unroll it all the way down to make a sort of fingerless mitten).
This weeks’ bread is Richard Bertinet’s Ale and Yeast bread. Basically, you replace some of the water with ale (or in my case, Mexican beer) and the result is a nice, yeasty, slightly bitter tasting bread which is particularly toothsome dunked in a hearty soup. And you get to drink the rest of the beer after – it’s a win-win!
Going back to magic, I think there’s something interesting too in the thought that we seem to have a particular hunger for marvels – look at the success of Harry Potter, fantasy in general, and even “magic realism” in literary fiction; and yet when you think about it, we actually live in an age of marvels – iPads, iPods, digital cameras, even the fact that you are reading this now – all of which were, I guess, fantasy when I was growing up. So why aren’t we satisfied? What are we missing?
In an exciting development, Ganseys.com has gone multimedia. Or at least dipped its toe in the water and found it – well, perhaps a bit chilly, but bracing.
In response to popular demand – if one request counts – asking for more information about picking up stitches round the armhole, we’ve recorded a couple of brief video clips to demonstrate the technique I use. (Now, I dare say there will be those of you who have better ways of doing this – if so, please share them below, or on the appropriate web page in the “How To…” section, where we hope to add more of these instructional videos over time – some may even have sound! – covering all aspects of gansey knitting in due course.)
This is very much a trial, I should emphasise – there’s no sound for starters (as it was recorded while the washing machine was on its spin cycle). But we thought we’d share it with you, and take suggestions on what we might incorporate in future, what you’d find helpful. The plan is to do it for real on the other sleeve.
Before we go any further, I have to stress one important point – the video is just to demonstrate how I pick up stitches, so in it I pick up a whole bunch of them, one after the other. But remember, you knit more rows to the inch (vertically) than you do stitches to the inch (horizontally) – in my case I knit about 12 rows vertically, but only about 9.25 horizontally. That’s a ratio of c.12:9, or 4:3. In other words, if I picked up a stitch for every single row around the armhole I’d end up with far too many stitches, and the sleeve would balloon out like Hamlet’s, if the prince of Denmark ever wore ganseys (under his cloak, probably).
So you have to be careful, and not get carried away. Only pick up about 3 stitches for every 4 rows. (I usually break the armhole into sections, taking my cues from the yoke pattern. So in this case the armhole is 9.5 inches from gusset to the top of the shoulder, or about 90 stitches. You can see that the yoke is divided into 3 panels. So I made sure I didn’t pick up more than 27 or so stitches to each panel.)
Incidentally, I apologise for the chapped condition of my fingers in the close-ups – are these the hands of a gentleman, I hear you cry? – it’s hard to say which are more worn, the needles or my poor finger-ends. In future I’ll either get some lotion, or else see if we can employ a “finger double” like movie stars do for nude scenes. (Reading that sentence again I think it’s time to move on hastily. Ahem.)
Lots of progress this week, and hardly any mistakes. So I’ve finished the gusset (it wasn’t very large in any case) and am well launched on the sleeve.
Normally when knitting the sleeve on a gansey which is patterned all over I’d make the top panel (or “sleeve yoke”) some 5-6 inches: long enough to show but not so long it creeps over the elbow, which I try to avoid. In this case, I decided to leave the yoke patterns alone, as I like the proportions as they are. The only downside is they’re too short on their own – but adding another panel would make them too long. Still, with the chevron (which I did resize to a compact, petite 19 stitches excluding the border) the sleeve yoke is just under 5 inches, which is just about long enough.
Bread again. As I enjoyed working with fresh yeast so much the other week I decided to have another bash. This time I’ve been using recipes from Richard Bertinet’s “Crust” book, which I’ve tended to avoid in the past because his recipes make quite a lot. But there’s plenty of room in the freezer just now – or there was – so I knocked up a batch of his baguettes made with a poolish ferment (a poolish is just a wet dough that you start the day before and add to the rest of your recipe when you’re ready). But as it makes so much I used half of it for dough and made the other half into rustic loaves.
But in order to use up the block of yeast before it loses its zip, I’ve got a lot more baking to do. (I would include video clips of the baking process, but as that would mostly consist of me slicing bits off myself with the bread knife, burning my fingers on the hot oven, spraying the kitchen with flecks of dough like a controlled explosion in a cement factory and scalding my hands with boiling water, perhaps, in retrospect, not…)
Just a short entry this week, as (a) it’s Easter holiday, and (b) I am rotten with cold and seem to have turned into the slime monster from a 1950s B-movie who sounds like the love child of Barry White and Darth Vader. Or maybe I’ve finally reached puberty and my voice has broken? Or else this is just what you get when you meddle in the affairs of Unitarians, like I rashly did last week.
In my drug-raddled, tissue-sodden, mucus-encrusted state I have still found time for a little knitting – so the epic descent down Sleeve 2 continues slowly. (No more cables! Yeay!) If I keep bending my double-pointed needles like this I’ll end up turning them circular, a sort of cross between my method and the circular method recommended by Lynne, Dave and SongBird last week. And I reckon at this rate I’ll finish sometime later next week. Then – out come the scissors!
Had a jolly nice time in the Midlands, thanks – my parents live in a lovely ex-pub on the Grand Union Canal, near the town of Northampton, which is where I grew up. It was a great place to be a kid – I remember freaking my Mum out once by walking across the canal one winter when it froze over. The downstairs still has the original bar where the canal boat crews would drink, with a great inglenook fireplace, oak beams, and bundles of character. It’s a bit much for them to manage now, but my brother was there and we discussed the possibility of converting the place into a sort of residential workshop venue, for classes on crafts such as, as it might be, knitting… (Watch this space.)
