Support Gansey Nation -


Buy Gordon a cuppa!


Many, many thanks to those of you who have already contributed!





Wick (John More): Week 11 – 26 December

Well, we hope you all had a very happy Christmas. And now it’s time to ask the landlord to fill the flowing bowl until it doth run over, for tonight we’ll merry merry be, tomorrow we’ll be hungover: yes, it’s time for the traditional Gansey Nation Christmas Singalong—

Good King Wenceslas was sad,
In fact he felt quite miffed –
He hadn’t any Christmas cards,
Outside the snow did drift.
Brightly shone the moon that night
Upon a shadowy form,
A Royal Mail postie was on strike,
Sheltering from the storm.

“Come hither page, and stand by me
And tell me, if thou know’st,
What that poor man his grievance be,
And first class stamps, the cost?”
He waited there impatiently
But answer came there none,
His courtiers all looked vacantly
For that good page was gone.

Rain-heavy clouds approaching the Castle of Old Wick

“Go search for him in pool and mere
I fear he may have drowned.”
“No, sire, we’ve looked everywhere –
404, page not found.”
The postie then approached the king,
“Improve our pay thou sluggard,
Unless more money thou canst bring,
The public sector’s buggered.

“I can’t afford to heat my home,
The barometer is falling,
While it’s colder than a catacomb,
No posties will come calling.”
King Wenceslas was sore dismayed
And said he’d make things better,
Resolved to see him better paid,
And knit the man a sweater.

Signs of Spring – daffodil shoots

“Bring me yarn and bring me light,
And bring this man a heater,
Bring me needles sized just right:
2.25 millimetre.”
And now the moral’s plain to say
As they trudged through the blizzard:
Give your posties decent pay
If you want your mail delivered…

Signs of Spring – willow buds

And we wish all our readers a very Happy New Year!

Wick (John More): Week 10 – 19 December

It’s shameless self-promotion time, for I have just self-published a collection of my poems on Amazon. (Or rather, my dear friend Song has formatted and published it for me.) It’s print-on-demand only at the moment, but a Kindle version should be available soon. And why am I launching them on an unsuspecting world? To quote the Old English proverb: Ciggendra gehwelc wile þœt hine man gehere, “Everyone who cries out wants to be heard.”

Snow falling at sunset

Though if you are thinking of buying a copy (and all receipts will go towards running the blog) I should offer a word of caution. You remember The Picture of Dorian Gray? The one where the hero lives a life of carefree debauchery and stays eternally young and debonair, while his portrait ages in his stead and becomes bloated and diseased? Well, if this gansey’s blog is my Dorian Gray, the poems are the equivalent of his portrait. They’re the other side of me, the side that exists so the me who writes this blog can function. They’re just not necessarily what you might call cheerful, so caveat emptor and all that.

Still, just think what a perfect last-minute Christmas present they will make. Imagine the delight on the faces of your children as they go to unwrap that Lego Hogwarts castle they asked for—a little anxious as to the small size of the present, but still hopeful—only to find instead a collection of poetry filled with bleak, existential despair. If that doesn’t set them up nicely for the crushing disappointments of adulthood I don’t know what will. Are the poems any good? The flickers of pain that cross the faces of my poetical friends when they read them suggest not. But they’re out there now, and must take their chance. As the composer Ralph Vaughan Williams said, when asked about his fourth symphony, “I don’t know whether I like it, but it’s what I meant”. Me too, Ralph, me too.

Pancake ice heading out to sea

And now we wish all our readers a very merry, safe and warm Christmas. Next week, join us if you can for the traditional Gansey Nation Christmas singalong.

=======================

TECHNICAL STUFF

Pattern for top of sleeve

It’s amazing how quickly things come together at this stage after such a long haul. So in the last week I’ve finished the front, joined the shoulders, knit the collar, and picked up stitches round the armhole and started the first sleeve. Suddenly it looks like a gansey-to-be.

I picked up 136 stitches around the armhole, or 68 stitches per side. I’ve noticed that my stitch gauge is a little bigger knitting sleeves on double-pointed needles than knitting the body on circular needles. I don’t know why this should be, but it’s not much and it doesn’t bother me enough to experiment with smaller needles. In a pattern with cables, you’d never notice. But in a sleeve like this with plain knitting there’s a risk the top of the sleeve balloons out widely like the puffy sleeves of Hamlet’s shirt. So I cast on slightly fewer stitches—136 instead of 144—and it seems to work out.

 

Wick (John More): Week 9 – 12 December

I was away last week at a workshop on nuclear records. This took place in Lancashire, or what I like to call “the south” to annoy Lancastrians, and Margaret came with me to share the driving (public transport in the UK just now not being what you’d call dependable). With perfect timing, this coincided with a sudden and dramatic plunge in temperature to several degrees below freezing. (Despite what the Met Office says, from my detailed knowledge of Disney movies I presume this is because the Queen has lost control of her powers and accidentally created an eternal winter, which only strengthens the argument for Britain being a republic.) It was pretty to look at, all frosted fields and trees covered in snow and ice, but not so much fun to drive in, especially as the cold seemed to push our hire car—a little sensitive at the best of times—into panic attacks.

10 AM on the Moray Firth

Windscreen wiper fluid nozzles can ice over and get jammed, for sure—but after every use? Driving back up the M6 was challenging, as we only had one shot at cleaning the windscreen between motorway service areas. One time I just held the button down in the hopes that something might happen. It did: eventually the passenger-side nozzle freed itself, sending the equivalent of an ice bullet into the windscreen where it exploded rather terrifyingly; meanwhile the other remained jammed, so that the driver-side wiper just smeared the crud across the screen in a hopeless sort of way, like Santa waving goodbye to his reindeer on Boxing Day morning. A lot of the electronics in the car operate by bluetooth, apparently, which works about as well as I do in cold weather. Occasionally we’d get random error messages or the sat-nav would freeze up, so we had to turn the engine off and on again to reboot it. And this was in Lancashire; if I were Captain Kirk I’d be asking some pretty searching questions about the bluetooth capabilities of the Starship Enterprise, travelling as it does through the freezing vacuum of space.

Waiting for the train

Well, we made it back safely, though the last twenty miles were in pitch darkness and heavy snow. Driving up the A99 into a snowstorm and watching the flakes streak towards you is not unlike being in the Enterprise travelling at warp speed while trying to navigate an obstacle course at the same time (hmm: how exactly did Mr Sulu steer that ship?). And so we’re home in Caithness, where the sun barely has the energy to rise above the treetops, and where at this time of year we get just over six hours of what they laughingly call daylight. But there’s only a couple of weeks to go to Christmas, the most wonderful time of the year, and we’re past the solstice when everything will start to change, even if we don’t notice it right away. And if that fails? I’ll just have to go find the Queen in her ice palace; after all, it shouldn’t be too hard: I’ll just have to follow the singing…

Only 7 1/2 hours to go . . .

=========================

TECHNICAL STUFF

I didn’t get a huge amount of knitting done this week, what with being away and all. But I tried not to lose momentum by setting myself a target each day. Each mini-chevron is four rows, or about an hour in all. So I tried to make sure I did four rows a night, even if I didn’t really feel like it, with the result that over seven nights I got nearly three inches done. I’m almost to the point where I can divide for the indented neckline and shoulders, when everything starts to move rather fast, so let’s see what happens this week.

Wick (John More): Week 8 – 5 December

I’ve been reading Moby-Dick again, one of my all-time favourite gloomy novels (of which I have a surprisingly large number). But what I didn’t know was that academics have recently discovered an early draft, an unfinished manuscript in which Melville evidently first set the novel in the herring fishing, and not that of the whale. In this extract Ahab addresses the skipper of another boat:

“That ship ahoy! This is Captain Ahab of the Pequod out of Nantucket!”
“The who of the what now?”
“The Pequod! Out of Nantucket.”
“It says ‘Saucy Sue’ on the side.”
“Aye, well, I’ve been meaning to get that painted.”
“And the registration’s a Wick number.”
“Avast there! Hast seen the White Herring?”
“The what?”
“The White Herring! Hast thou seen Spotted Dick?”
“Look, mate, herrings are sort of silvery and scaly. You know, as in that’s why they’re called the silver darlings?”
“This one has a snow-white head, a crooked jaw and a hump shaped like a pyramid on his back.”

Contrejour phragmites

“We’re still talking about a herring, here? Thing about the size and shape of a large carrot?”
“Aye, and we’re on a damned cruise to hunt him down.
“But what on earth dost thou—I mean, do you—want with him?”
“Seest thou this leg? That devil in piscine form dismasted me off Japan.”
“Now, when you say he dismasted you…?”
“Took this leg clean off.”
“A herring did that?”
“They’re vicious beggers when you arouse their hunting instincts.”
“And this herring took off your leg?”
“Aye.”
“That leg you’re standing on, you mean?”
“Aye.”
“But, and I want you to follow me closely here, it looks fine.”
“No it doesn’t.”
“Yes it does. Look, there’s a great big tear in your trousers! I can see your leg clean through it.”
[An awkward pause ensues]

Glowing in the afternoon

“Ahahaha, well, when I say he dismasted me, I mean he gave me a nasty nip on the finger once. Broke the skin and everything.”
“Really.”
“Stung rather a lot, I can tell thee. For, oh, at least a minute. And so I’m hunting him down in his capacity as God’s agent in order to wreak my vengeance on God himself!”
“Um, no offence but has it ever occurred to you that you might be over-thinking this?”
“Bah! I see thou canst tell me nothing.”
[Other skipper to himself, muttering] “Thou’rt a looney, I can tell thee that much.”
“Avast!” [Ahab turns to his crew] “Ship oars, Queequeg.”
“I keep telling you, my name’s Sebastian and I just paid for a short cruise around the harbour.”
“Hush, Queequeg, never be ashamed of who thou art. Now, Starbuck, where’s my coffee..?”

Sadly the manuscript breaks off there; and so it remains one of the great, tantalising what-ifs of literature…

Afternoon walk by the river

================================

TECHNICAL STUFF

I’ve finished the back, my standard eight inches from dividing front and back to the start of the shoulder straps. And now we can see it whole, the simple repetition of the pattern really pays off; and very striking it looks.

I usually divide each side into threes at the shoulders, one-third each for the two shoulders and the collar. As there are 179 stitches per side I’d intended to make the shoulders 60 stitches each and the collar 59, but owing to taking my eye off the ball at the crucial moment (reader, I just lost concentration) I have 58 stitches on each shoulder and a slightly wider collar of 63; not that it matters, especially as I don’t like tight necklines. Next week we turn it over and do it all again for the front.