A few weeks later the wheel came home with us. On a trip to York I had bought some fibre tops (the fluffy stuff that you spin), dyed in what I later realised was unacceptably bright shades of pink and blue. I looked at the fibre and looked at the wheel and acknowledged that I hadn’t a clue.

So a lovely friend and I went on a spinning workshop in London, and a lady who was good at spinning tortured us with drop spindles for half a day, until we were utterly disheartened, and then after lunch she let us spin using proper wheels, and things seemed a little more hopeful. We each proudly brought home a terribly uneven small skein of our own handspun yarn, in hideous colours, and went for a very nice curry.

When I got home I had another look at the wheel and realised that it was missing some parts. It took quite a long time for me to get round to ordering the missing bits, and even when they came, there was still a little hole that looks like it’s supposed to have a knob in it for something. But at this point, I had everything I needed to sit down and start spinning.

The only thing left to do was prepare the fibre. Pretty much everyone did this at some point in primary school, combing it with what looks like dog combs, basically pre-separating it so that when you spin it is easier to draft (that means, pull it apart into just a few fibres, which are what spins into yarn). I have by now acquired some more fibre, in more natural-looking shades of blue, and combing them together reduces the yikes-factor of the pink.

There was some of granny’s handspun left on the bobbin, for me to get started with; but the fiddle of getting the wheel spinning, pedaling with my foot, and holding the fibre and the yarn together, was quite challenging. On top of that, I struggled to get the tension right on the flywheel (the bit where the bobbin sits and spins around, collecting the spun yarn), so either the yarn snapped (too tight) or just nothing happened (too loose).

Once I got it going, I found I could sit for really quite long stretches of time, lulled by the sound of the wheel, pulling a few fibres out from the handful and watching them spin into actual real-looking yarn. This yarn isn’t knittable yet, it would just keep twisting into itself; it has to be plyed first. That meant I needed another piece of equipment, and ebay provided it: a lazy kate, which holds two full bobbins, while the yarn from both is spun together in the opposite direction, to make something stable and strong that you can actually knit. At least, it will if you have a third bobbin. So yet another piece of equipment is required before any actual yarn can be produced.

I am waiting for a third bobbin to arrive (thanks Pete). Both my bobbins are full, the second one with quite an even, fine spun yarn, in pretty purplish colours. This is very exciting.

But as always my knitting queue is quite long, and I’m already working on a garment almost exactly as described – but it uses quite a fine yarn and is taking a long time to grow. I could just use huge needles and make something really loose, that would take no time to knit. Or I could get on with the one I started.

Or screw them both, and continue knitting my sock, in a third attempt to make one for myself that won’t let me down at the last minute by felting in the wash.

Or spend the afternoon running up a knitted boob for a colleague. They only take a couple of hours, but that’s a couple of hours I could have been working on the sock. Or the bolero thing.

60 projects does sound like rather a lot; well, more than one a week is a lot, isn’t it? In my defence, they are almost all very small items such as hats and mitts, because I prefer the instant gratification of a quick knit to slaving away over jumpers and blankets. Having said that, though, there were quite a number of baby blankets. This one, for Lisa’s new baby, was my favourite. Hopefully it will arrive in the post before she reads this!

I have been browsing Ravelry and trying to select my favourite item of the whole year, but it’s just so hard. I love my Ripley hat; the Cairn mitts I posted to my sister in Barcelona, which she never received; the rainbow/zig-zag striped baby blanket for my cousin; the old shale cowl for my mum, made from yarn purchased on our dirty weekend in Scarborough; Bernard’s bright-coloured entrelac scarf; my slanting shell stitch fingerless mitts; Pete’s set of black and grey themed mitts and hat (scarf to follow, actual fleece lined matching gloves purchased in M&S for yule), and of course Bernard’s hat with cat ears which I made for his halloween costume.

I have tried lots of new techniques, including fair isle (I’m pretty rubbish, tension goes all wrong), entrelac, and lots of lace knitting; but as yet no cables. Cables will be soon, though. I have purchased the necessary needles. And socks, too.

When do I find time to knit? On the train (I usually knit boobs on public transport, because they are small and portable. You can’t tell what they are). On the sofa in front of the telly, two or three nights a week. At the breastfeeding drop-in when no-one turns up. In the early morning when Bernard’s watching cBeebies. Any other time that I can get away with it. That’s why I usually have at least two projects on the go, some combination of the following: A portable project, a must-concentrate project, a needn’t-concentrate project, a large project that takes ages and needs other things to relieve the boredom.

Knitting fills the gaps, keeps my hands busy, helps me to relax without feeling like I’m wasting precious time. And it is so very satisfying, for an unartistic and uncreative person such as myself, to produce such pleasing finished items. I enjoy knitting things for other people (not so much when they get stuffed in the back of a drawer and never worn – I think I would rather people said no thank you, so I could keep the things). When I’m knitting for other people, I think about them. It’s nice. I also enjoy knitting for myself, but fear I do that rather too much. How many pairs of fingerless mitts does a girl really need?

I then accidentally bought some less-gorgeous yarn on ebay, which turned out to be perfect for the job. And I purchased the appropriate needles, and cast on five stitches, and started to knit. And it grew. And I looked at the shape of it and thought that’s not right. But doggedly continued to follow the pattern, frowning all the while.

And then I figured it out. I thought the five stitches that I cast on would be the bottom corner of the shawl, as every other row increases thereafter: it seems like one is knitting a triangle from point to hypotethingy. But in fact, the cast on edge grows in a straight line, and I am knitting the two long sides. And the bands of garter and stocking stitch kind of bend in the middle, making a mitred pattern. And it looks amazing! It is the most deceptively simple but amazing shawl knitting pattern ever, and I just wish the yarn was a bit nicer. But never mind, now I know what to do, I can make another one!

Not that he ever went away

The worst of it is that it is not possible to buy t-shirts for male toddlers without labelling him as a brat who always gets his own way, or a devotee of some TV programme that I’ve never heard of. Nor could I find the perfect tank top. And then I remembered my drawer full of knitting needles and random balls of yarn, and found myself a very easy pattern for a tank top.

I figured out that worsted weight meant aran, and ordered some Debbie Bliss donegal tweed in fetching shades of yellow and grey, which turned out to be purple when it arrived. I then translated no.10 needles to mean 3.25mm, and set to work. But it puzzled me, because this for a start seemed a bit odd as the yarn is very chunky for such slim needles. The pattern said 3.5 stitches = 1″ over garter stitch. But did it bollocks. I was getting 5 stitches = 1″, but that’s after I switched to 5mm needles (as recommended on the yarn label). Even then, casting on 44 stitches (the sizing given for a 4 year old) makes a hem nowhere near wide enough to go halfway round Bernard, who is a fairly average-sized two year old. I called for help.

Some good ladies who knit pointed out that the main thing I was doing wrong was trying to convert from imperial to metric instead of american to metric, which meant that I had to start all over again on 6mm needles. I knitted a square and measured it against one of Bernard’s jumpers, and figured out that I needed 42 stitches to make something that size. I added on a couple of stitches for good measure and looked at the pattern again. 44 stitches! That’s what it says! The pattern is right!! How can this be?

So I diligently knitted the back, and then had another panic at the idea of a three-needle bind off, but the good ladies put me straight on that one, too, and in the end it all worked out. And here he is, in all his finery.

Bernard and the bumblebee

I am knitting again. It’s been a while. I have in progress an orange muffler for Bernard, to go with his gloves and hat. I started it last winter, and put it away when it was obvious it wasn’t going to be finished while it was still cold enough for him to need it. I may get it out again, but I do also need to do a baby hat for Alice’s new baby, due in about six weeks.

Meanwhile, I need something to keep my own ears warm while cycling to and from the childminders, these parky winter mornings. I bought this pretty ball of merino wool on Saturday. It’s called Hacho, and a portion of every purchase goes to funding a school in the Peruvian Highlands. I didn’t even notice that it was ethical yarn until just now.

Yesterday was just too exciting. There was great confusion over what time my toenail appointment was, and I arrived ten minutes late after trying to call the salon for ages to check. The toenail girl handled it pretty well considering how much I inconvenienced her. When she put me out in the waiting area to sit while my candy orange polish dried, I met her next appointment, whose baby turns out also to be due on June 20th. So impressed were we by the coincidence that we exchanged phone numbers; or rather, she asked for mine and said she would text me.

I have spent two whole days this week trying to knit a clapotis, which requires a lot of concentration. It is currently back in ball form, having been unravelled for the fifteenth time, and I am taking a break from it. The chances are that it will be years before I start it again; when am I going to get time to concentrate? Knitting and babies seem to go together, but I don’t know how people manage not to poke their offspring in the eye.

I’ve just knitted a bootee. Just the one, though, because then I ran out of wool. What would you do – make the other one in red, or wait until I can get another ball of green?

This was thrilling to make, because it formed itself into a shoe-shape as I knitted. It’s very small, obviously, so things all happened quickly; and it features a little bit of rib (which you can’t see in the picture, because it facilitates the roll-over cuff), and there was turning, and picking-up-and-knitting, and it was just fun.

There are two very satisfying elements to knitting baby clothes: they are gratifyingly fast, and because you generally use a smooth yarn, you can see the stitches. Not like that horrible mohair, which just looked like a rag because I couldn’t see what I was doing. And if I ever venture into knitting lace again, it will be nice if people can actually see what I achieved, stitch by stitch, rather than just a finished garment which non-knitters would be unable to appreciate.

I know, I expect a lot from the beneficiaries of my knitting projects; especially since the main beneficiary isn’t even born yet, and may not appreciate the complex art of knitting, well… ever.

So I’ve been knitting for about a month now, and I’ve learned a lot in this time; namely that my technique is rather poor, and that I still have an awful lot to learn. I have fallen for two of the quintessential habits of knitters: buying yarn that I don’t need, just because it feels or looks nice; and having more than one project on the go at the same time.

Currently I am making a very simple short-sleeved shrug. A shrug, for those who aren’t clear about this, is not much more than a pair of sleeves; a cardigan without much back. It’s very easy to knit, because you just make a big rectangle, and then sew the edges together to make sleeves. I have some really nice wool for this; it’s lumpy and heavy, and has variegated colours from pale pink to dark, dark green. It’s really nice to knit with, using big plastic needles that thud together gently; and I’m constantly entertained by seeing which colours will meet up again on the next row.

My other WIP^[1] is a cardigan for the baby, in bright red baby cashmerino with a green trim. This is the most complex article I’ve made so far, as it requires shaping and other interesting processes; but it’s in very simple garter stitch (i.e. lots of knitting and very little purling). The yarn is completely different from the wool I’m using for the shrug, being silky-fine and light. I hope this one works.

I find knitting very relaxing and a good way to sit and recover from the journey home from work, which is getting more and more tiring. I wish I could knit for half an hour on arrival at work as well, but not sure the boss would approve of that. It’s also something productive to do in front of the telly, which is good now that watching telly is the most active thing I feel like doing, most evenings. All a bit cliched, though, isn’t it?

1. Work In Progress, also known as a project OTN, or On The Needles. [↩]

I think the main danger would actually be putting out the eye of a fellow passenger, but if your needles are plastic or bamboo, then surely you can get them on to a plane? Baggage x-rays won’t pick them up, and a bamboo needle seems no more dangerous than a chopstick or a toothpick. Check-in staff might also consider whether the needles are being carried on board by a harmless little old lady, or an evil towel-wearing terrist, although of course the wise terrist could prime the old lady to take the needle-weapons on board for him.

My regular carry-on luggage includes a corkscrew in a plastic case, and a pair of folding nail scissors. I have never had a problem with these, because on the x-ray, the scissors look like a round, flat metal object; and the corkscrew doesn’t look harmful when they search for it. This, of course, is completely daft; but then so is metal cutlery in first class, and selling swiss army knives in duty free.

This is a photo of the blocking and pressing stage, which means you pin the knitted pieces flat, and iron them gently under a cloth. It didn’t make much difference to either the curliness or the shape/size of the squares, but it’s very likely that I did it all wrong. Never have I missed my granny or my Great Aunt quite so much.

Having said that, I am holding granny’s arthritic fingers responsible for what appears to be my peculiar knitting technique. Not only do I hold the yarn wrong, but my grasp on the needles is entirely ridiculous. I did try to retrain my hands last night, but it seems impossible to relearn the correct technique. But at the end of the day, the stitches are formed and the knitting grows; the main problems I’m having are, I’m sure, down to my lack of experience and practice (and granny); so if this is how I knit, then this is how I knit. Call me eccentric.

Yesterday afternoon I sewed all the pieces together, and the finished blanket has a homely, rustic look about it. In other words, it’s a bit of a mess. I am now creating a border, to make the edges more even. For anyone interested, this is a 10 stitch wide strip in garter stitch, and I’m trying to angle the end of each strip so that they will fit together like beautifully mitred joints. Also call me an optimist.

Tomorrow, Pix is going to look at the shawl with me, and we’ll see if we can do something to finish it off, one way or another.

Oh, and the antenatal class, in case you’re waiting to find out whether or not either of us fainted… there were about 40 people crammed into a tiny airless space, but no video. Even so, I managed to get dizzy and had to leave the room halfway through. It’s all very well making a fuss when you’re the only pregnant woman in the room, but being the only one of twenty affected by the light-hearted discussion of normal labour does feel rather like making a fuss.

Originally posted March 7, 2006

Update: On Pix’s advice, I posted for help on an evangelical yahoo knitting group, and received an incredible response, including this information:

I have found my notes, they are not mine, but my grandmothers. The shawl originated in Shetland, by one of the crofters in the 1800′s. It was a shawl made as a ‘wedding ring shawl’ in 2 ply Shetland wool. The wool itself is not a pure white, it fact being wool it is a yellowish white colour. However, originally, when made this shawl, could be passed completely through an average wedding ring.

And here it is. Apparently this pattern is about 70 years old; and see that square shawl next to it? I think that’s my baby blanket. Seems that Aunty Audrey had been knitting shawls for a long, long time.

She finished the blanket before she died, and quite honestly I think it is the most exquisitely beautiful piece of craft in the world. The shawl is unfinished, but most of it is done; unfortunately I don’t have the pattern. I spent some time browsing knitting books in John Lewis, trying to find it, but without luck.

I have, however, purchased a book called First Knits, and a couple of cheap balls of wool to practice with. There is a world of beautiful wool out there, but at this stage I need to be able to see what is going on, and those fluffy textiles are likely to cause me problems. I don’t so much drop stitches, as forget to slip the ones I’ve knitted off the needle, which means I end up with a couple of extra stitches, every few rows. I have also managed to get the very simplest knitting pattern in the book wrong twice already. It’s not that I’ve never knitted before, just that I always used to have my granny or my great-aunt around to tell me what to do. I feel a little bit adrift, but will stick with it and not try to run before I can knit a square without unravelling it twice.

One day I hope to have a second cot blanket. I don’t expect it to be as elaborate as the first, but fortunately the baby will be born in June so he might not ever need it.