Gansey Nation

So here’s the thing. Just when you think the modern world has thrown at you all you can take, you come across online job applications. And you think, hey, this is impressive, I can answer the questions without having to print the whole catalogue of my life out and post it, this is progress. And you write your 1,000 word essay in deathless prose on why they should give you the job, and you check it carefully, double check it, and finally press “send”. Only then do you get an email with a copy of your application, and what do you find? That the system has swallowed the last two words of your essay; so that now, instead of ending with the triumphant cadence of the contribution archives can make to “the learning and community agendas”, it ends rather more enigmatically with their contribution to “the learning and.” I think, though, that it has a curiously wistful quality, not inappropriate for as big a fan of the novels of Joseph Conrad such as I.

I’ve decided to apply for the job in the Outer Hebrides, in case you were wondering, which is about as far north as I can get without having to train my own huskies (and, as the old joke has it, going clubbing involves controlling the seal population and not drinking in bars). They’re looking for someone to get their archives service started from scratch for 3 years, after which time you hand it over to a trainee archivist. If I get the job I’m looking forward to practicing my Star Wars emperor voice so I can constantly refer to “my young apprentice” to an extent that will probably count as bullying and harassment at work.

For the rest of it, I’ve been immersing myself in the symphonies of Gustav Mahler, something I haven’t done for years. I have a complete set conducted by Bernard Haitink and I’ve been working my way through all 10 of them, reminding myself that there’s so much more to his music than the beautiful, famous “Death In Venice” adagietto. (About 15 hours more, in fact.) And at the same time I’ve been doing a lot of knitting.

As you will see from the pictures I’m well on my way to finishing the back, just another few inches to go plus the shoulders (you’ll notice the upper patterns replicate the lower panels, as was traditional). I’ve been debating what to do about the shoulders, though. Regular readers of this blog will be aware that my default is the “rig and fur” shoulder strap, bands of k2/p2 stitches that come to resemble a ploughed field, which has the advantage that the cast off row in effect becomes another ridge down the centre. Occasionally I flirt with the cable shoulder that runs continuously down the arm.

The Scottish way was to stop at the top of the back, but to knit a panel from the front which covered the entire shoulder, casting off where the shoulder meets the back. That way you can create a complete patterned shoulder strap with no disfiguring cast-off join in the middle – the join comes where the shoulder meets the back. I’m undecided, but am thinking I should make this as traditional as possible.

Anyway, there’s something pleasing about knitting a Hebridean gansey and applying for a job on the islands. It might make the difference at interview, you never know. Failing that, I’ll just have to talk knowledgeably about the learning and

There are several ways to tell when a job interview isn’t going well, and in the course of the last few years I think I’ve experienced most of them.

So, for instance, when you find yourself gazing into the eyes of one of the panel from underneath, having tripped on a concealed step on the way into the interview room, staggered across the room like Frankenstein’s monster, lost your balance and swallow-dived into their lap (Leicestershire Record Office).

Or when a member of the panel says, in response to your answer to one of their questions, “Oh! Oh dear! Oh dear!” And stops the interview while they make a laborious note on their assessment form (Guildhall Library, London).

Or when you discover that their laptop is running an older version of PowerPoint so your carefully constructed presentation can’t run, and you hear yourself suggesting that you do it with sock puppets instead, a la Sesame Street or Sooty and Sweep, and proceed to demonstrate how it might work (“What’s that you say, Mr Talking Fist? You think we should start with an information survey leading to business process analysis…?”) (Liverpool Council).

The latest – though by no means so extreme as these examples – came on Thursday, when I went for a job interview in the south of England, and the head of department leaned over the desk and said, “To be honest, what really worries me about you’re saying is…” Which is nature’s way of telling you you’re not on their wavelength. Ah, well – I’d have liked the job, but I also know there’s more fun to be had in the future I’m going to experience now. (Maybe also in retrospect I shouldn’t have proposed, when they explained that the layout of the building was basically triangular, that for the next family history fair they could cover it in green tinfoil and invite people to guess which Quality Street sweet it was supposed to be.)

Modest progress this week, what with interview preparation and then travelling down to the south coast to be put to the question, as the Inquisition used to quaintly describe their charming techniques for getting at the, ahem, truth. But hopefully you can see the yoke pattern in a bit more detail this time (with apologies again for the poor photography). I’m trying to get my head around knitting back-and-forth, which in a pattern of this complexity, as I’ve said before, is a bit like trimming your beard in the mirror. Blood all over the place. (Not that all my readers have that problem, of course.)

You may be wondering how the cat’s been behaving after my complaints last week. Well, after I got up at 4am to get a flight to take me to the interview on Thursday, she got her revenge for being left on her own all day by being sick 4 times the next night – at approximately 2.75 hourly intervals – causing my route to the bathroom the next morning to resemble nothing so much as a game of hopscotch. Anyway, here’s a picture of her in regal mode, in her default nocturnal position: standing on my chest and sneering down at me in a “your ass is mine, puny human” sort of way.

Speaking of job interviews, none of the ones I’ve undergone are quite as bad as the case I witnessed as part of the interview panel one time many years ago. The county archivist studied the candidate’s application form closely before asking, “Would you say you were the sort of person who paid close attention to detail?” The candidate looked as sincere as possible and said, yes, he rather thought he was. Only to be crushed utterly by the county archivist’s follow-up question, “Then can you explain how you came to make an elementary spelling mistake on page 3 of your application form?”

He did not get the job. In fact, he may never have worked again, and I picture him in later life expiating out his sin in a remote Indonesian island, like Conrad’s Lord Jim, forever trying to regain his honour and live down his shame.

Ever noticed how good news always seems to come balanced with a healthy dose of just enough bad news to take the edge off it? Like having Barack Obama in the White House at the same time as the deepest economic crisis for 70 years.

Or, in my case, like finally getting rid of my gum infection (touch wood) with an antiseptic mouthwash, but finding it’s coated my tongue a woad-coloured shade of blue which makes everything I eat or drink taste like spearmint-flavoured marmite.

Or discovering I have an improbable job interview in a couple of weeks, but having to do an online psychometric assessment first. Now, the last time I took one of those my confidence was destroyed by the maths paper – I still wake up at night thinking I’m back at my desk, frantically trying to answer questions about the profitability of acreages of woodland (just the sort of thing you need to know when working with libraries, obviously) with a clock in the corner counting down remorselessly. (Come to think of it, perhaps it’s not such a surprise I didn’t get the job!)

Ah, well. To take my mind off all that I’ve spent a week plotting out the yoke pattern for my Hebridean gansey. So no knitting this week, but lots of graph paper.

I can’t find a way to set out the whole pattern for you – it’s 213 cells wide and 130-odd high in spreadsheet terms – but close your eyes and I’ll try to describe it so you can picture it. OK? Ready?

• There are 2 seam stitches next to the gusset.
• Then a ladder (2 rows purl to 4 rows knit), 13 stitches wide inc. a seam stitch.
• Then one of my standard cables (10 stitches, i.e. p2/k6/p2) cable every 6th row.
• Then a panel (A) of 31 stitches, with a 3-stitch moss border on each side plus a seam stitch.
• Then another cable.
• Then an open chevron with yarn-overs, 15 stitches across.
• Then another cable.
• Then a centre panel (B), also 31 stitches, with borders as in panel A.
• Then another cable.
• Then another chevron panel with yarn-overs.
• Then another cable.
• Then another panel (A).
• A last cable.
• Another ladder.
• Finally, another 2 seam stitches.

Each of the 3 panels is divided into 3 vertical sections. The (A) panels will have an X pattern in the top and bottom sections, with an anchor in the middle. The centre (B) panel will have a purl diamond in the top and bottom sections, and an open diamond with yarn-overs in the middle.

All of which adds up to 213 stitches (I know because I’ve just knit the first row today!) Repeat for the other side.

If this sounds a bit over-the-top, trust me, it’s entirely in the spirit of the originals. These ganseys are supposed to look like a baroque wedding cake, or the web of an anally retentive spider suffering from psychological trauma. If the viewer doesn’t reach for their sunglasses you’ve done it wrong. (At least, that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it!)

I admit there’s a certain irony in me worrying about a maths test after spending a week laying out a pattern this complex, having adapted a combination of sub-patterns to my stitch gauge. But I don’t suppose I can just turn up to the interview with a gansey and expect to get away with it. Or can I…?