A whole inch lost last night, on the Sockapalooza socks, while I worked my way back to the mistake that couldn't be corrected by dropping down and knitting up again (and yes, I spent a whole half-hour trying).  Sometimes, it's possible to input a yarnover where one didn't previously exist.  Or to shift it one or two stitches sideways.  Sometimes, there simply isn't enough yarn in the row.  So, I sucked it up and tinked.  Eventually.  I fought long and hard, though.  And, it looked awful.

On the plus side, I got back far enough to sort out the problem I had with a decrease being missed out at the beginning of a round.  The one which I'd fudged with a k3tog a row or so higher.  The pattern and the yarn are both terribly forgiving of this type of fudge, however, I was feeling a tad guilty about it.

Imagine, if you will, that I have time to post pictures (at the moment, I'm trying to muster my arguments as to why taking a day out from work to go and do stuff for charity as a group is a bad plan.  I think it's because I spend so much of my time volunteering, I don't want to be forced into volunteering some more.  This is quite clearly churlish of me.  But, honestly.  In any given year, at least two days of my holiday will be used to take other people's children away.  That is quite enough... even before we get onto the wonderful world of weekly meetings!).

Damn.  Just sent my coffee flying.  What a waste of liquid.  Could have been worse.  It could have fallen in the keyboard.

Right.  Positive thinking. 

xxx

In my enthusiasm to put my lovely new copy of "Judy the Guide" (Girl Guides Sidey Lodge - Do Not Remove!) on the bookshelf, I tripped over the floor, and broke off two enooooormous splinters of wood.  Crack.  Crunch.  Damn.

So, this morning was slightly interrupted by a speedy application of wood glue, and some hammering in of nails which were starting to work their way lose, sticking up to catch unwary socks.

It is a good thing that it happened this morning, giving the glue a chance to stick, rather than this evening, with people arriving.

Ah.  The joys of spring and rain.  The floor disintegrates.

Other than that, today's going quite well.  And no, I did not ask the Countess of Wessex if her husband's gay.  I have a modicum of social decorum, and it asserted itself at the appropriate moment.  I didn't spit on my hand before shaking hands either (I knew not to do that because my Morris Team told me it wasn't socially ept behaviour).

xxx

You have no idea how tricky it is to deal with turning a heel on public transport, when the woman sat next to you is so angled that she's taken over half your seat, meaning that, in order not to elbow her in her ample ribs, you must attempt to squish your left elbow somewhere between your right arm and the side of the bus.  Attempting a purl-three-together-through-back-of-loop under these conditions is asking for trouble.  However, I am brave, I will attempt anything.  And, I appear to have succeeded.  The heel of the first Sockapaloooza sock is almost turned, and, in approximately six rows time, will be completely turned.  At which point I shall be able to contemplate the seven inches of leg to be knitted before I get to the ribbing at the top.  The sock is enormous; my sock pal's feet are a full two inches longer than mine.  This  makes modelling them extraordinarily difficulty.  There will be photos, but not now.  And not of the full sock-foot on my foot.  I tried that last night, mid turn, and it looks extraordinarily stupid.  Things flap, y'know?  The lace pattern looks quite sweet, though, it makes nice wavy lines in the stripes of the sock.  Yum.

Last night, I met Sara.  And, she's lovely, and we could quite happily have gabbed until midnight, were it not for the shop shutting round us and the fact that she had to meet her chap down in Piccadilly.  Definitely the highlight of the week so far.  I say the week so far, as today I am supposed to have the big Queen's Guide Award Presentation by Royalty; and that's a pretty impressive occurrence for any week.  I am not enthused by this idea, I hate presentations.  They really aren't terribly me.  Still, it's nice to get dressed up occasionally, even if it did take me about half an hour to iron my shirt and I still didn't get it ironed to my exacting standards.  Note to self.  Iron Guide Shirt when damp.  It may let go of the creases more easily that way.  Note to designer: pure cotton may look and feel nice, but it's a b*gg*r to take care of, and please use polycotton in future, since that rarely requires ironing.

xxx

6 weird things about me:

1. I have a plastic Eeyore bookmark stuck to my work laptop for no good reason.

2. Said laptop is called "Pickle".

3. I will lead a sing-song without provocation or inebriation.

4. I have had a navel piercing since I was 19.

5. I panic if I don't have either knitting or something to read within easy reach.

6. I wear more than one hand knitted item at once.

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SACRED RULES OF THE TAG:

THE FOLLOWING PEOPLE MUST REVEAL SIX (6) WEIRD THINGS ABOUT THEMSELVES (weirdness is a relative thing, so perhaps you think it's normal) and POST THIS WEIRDNESS UPON THEIR BLOG (and send me three extra days in the week)THEY, IN TURN, MUST TAG SIX PEOPLE UNTIL FINALLY SOMEONE GETS REALLY PISSED OFF.

I tag:

Ed_Kaz (look, there's nothing in the rules to say I can't do this)

Plus the five other people I tagged in the last post, because I'm too lazy to think of anyone else.

So sue me.  Today's post has gone out of the window, but it involved the announcement that I've cast on my Sockapalooza socks, and I think I like them.  Toe up, two circulars, with a new method for a flap heel (to come from my sensational knitted socks book) since that's what my pal prefers.

xxx

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I've just learnt something.  The crumbliest, flakiest, milk chocolate in the world should not be eaten at one's desk unless the keyboard has been protected first.  Gets in all the cracks you know.  In the meantime, I give you, harrassment in the office:

"What are you wearing for your birthday?  Your birthday suit?"  (Kirsty suggested that I should reply to this with "Biscuit crumbs!" since it was uttered by the Biscuit Fantasist.  However, I suspect he'd only offer to lick them off if I said that, so it's a good thing that I didn't think of that.)

"When I am prime minister, I'm going to pass a law that you're not allowed to wear skirts any longer than that one."

This would be Former-Football-Hooligan.  I'm wearing that skirt today.  Hang on.  I can put in a photo.....

xxx

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Reply to comments:  Please, bear in mind, when deciding how weird I am, that I work in an office full of extremely sexist guys.  In this context, wearing a short skirt is slightly weird behaviour - since they wouldn't wear one.  And as for knitting?  Well, they're intrigued by it, but they certainly wouldn't freak if they themselves didn't have any to hand.  As for books: well, if they do read them, they don't advertise it.

xxx

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Does no-one check that we actually need the mailing list before we migrate it to the new system?  Apparently not.  I wonder how many more there are like this.  I wonder how much time I've wasted so far.

xxx

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Actually, I wonder how long it's going to be before the combination of emails, HESA returns, and general daily tasks tips me over the edge.  Not long, if the current rate of progress (or lack thereof) continues.  I feel completely overwrought.  And my problems are miniscule.

xxx

I decided that it's too cold, too prone to snow and too grey generally for cycling this morning.  I got the bus.  I arrived at the bus stop, I saw that there was one guy standing there, and I went and stood behind him.  Because that's what you do.  This is England.  Queuing is not merely a courtesy, and a habit, it is also an art form, generally perpetuated in the Post Office in Camden with people who smell like they haven't washed this year.  A smelly art form, but still an art form.  With rules.  I was heartily annoyed when the next person who arrived stood between the guy I was behind, and the bus stop itself (and not under the shelter behind me).  Because, obviously, that is completely and utterly the wrong way to go about it.  I do not care that she was not the first person to get on the bus.  I do care that she wasn't queuing properly.  This is entirely wrong, and raises the hackles of an Englishwoman in a manner that cannot adequately be described.  It does, however, result in much huff and puff and humph.  The woman then followed me down the bus, right to the end, and decided to sit next to me.  There were plenty of other empty seats en route to where I was; which happened to be the last double seat left.  I got out the knitting.  She moved when the couple in front got off the bus.  Ha.  Vindicated.  I wasn't so bothered by the next person who sat down next to me: there were more people on the bus, so the rules were different.

In other news, I'm starting a Brownie Unit in the local Synagogue on 7th May.  Roll on the paperwork.  I would be thoroughly overexcited, but I'm actually suffering from a terrific sense of anticlimax this morning, possibly induced by lack of sleep, an upset stomach, the one hour long phone call spent debating dates, times, subs and names with the parent who's helped enable it (believe me, I will decide what this unit is registered as, and what the bank account name will be, and, if he has problems with the official name, which he doesn't think is "zippy" enough, he can damn well join the Guides himself and pay a subscription first) and the realisation that I need to get the hang of doing accounts once and for all.  Double Entry Book Keeping here I come.  I'm sure my parents can help.  One is a Bachelor of Commerce and a Chartered Accountant (retired).  The other worked in a Bank.  One of my Grandfathers was a Bank Manager.  There are books which explain this, and a working men's college nearby which must run courses.  I have ordered "Judaism for Dummies" from Amazon.  Background reading before I make a total prat of myself.  Apparently it's quite a conservative synagogue, and it may be diplomatic to stop wearing my cross (hmmm.  I shall feel nude).  If anyone knows of a neat symbol of religious unity, could you let me know? 

xxx

Enough is enough.  The gossip about the friendship I share with my PA is reaching epic proportions.  Well.  Not exactly epic proportions.  However, imaginations are running away with themselves.  Yesterday, I had a conversation as follows:

"You're, no, you're not, hang on...."

"That's my right hand.  No, I'm not engaged."  I wear an antique diamond on my right hand, and have done since I was about 17.

"Well, it's only a matter of time."

"Fat chance."

"No, he'll ask you soon."

"Who'll ask me soon?  I'm single as anything."

"I thought you and Lewi were seeing each other..."

The whole department thinks Lewi and I are seeing each other.  Fine.  Let them think that.  Next time anyone asks, they can have the reply they want to hear (I've checked with Lewi, he's just amused).  It might make them shut up.

In fact, I think we could have some good fun with this....a couple of photos pinned up here.  A trip to the cinema there.  Knitting somewhere else.  There is all sorts of potential for messing with everyone's minds.  *giggle*

Reality however?  It's friendship.  Purely and simply: and I wouldn't want to spoil it.  So, despite the potential here, I haven't quite decided what I'm actually going to do.

xxx

I have a two hour training session on Outlook this afternoon.  Yes, this makes perfect sense.  Give the girl training a month after you've given her the software.  I shall be taking knitting with me.

Jeepers, but it's too cold round here.  I nearly had an asthma attack while cycling in (of course, I knew exactly where my inhaler was - which was unusual.  In my handbag.  In my bedroom.  Which was usual).

My morris team has a new game.  Replace a noun in any film title of your choosing with the word 'willy'.  The mailing list has gone quite, quite mad as a result.  Someone then suggested the game of replacing any song title with a colour in it with the word 'Beige'.  I predict that this will also cause vast amounts of traffic and clog up my inbox.  A Beiger Shade of Pale indeed: although I can now sense that I'll be producing a Rainbow CD for the end of Project Spectrum (must sort out button for that).  

And, I swear that the First Aid woman going on about paper cuts has caused me to develop two on my right middle finger.  On a joint, naturally.  How they happened, I know not.  They just appeared.  And they sting.   And they'll take ages to heal, because they're on a springy bit.

xxx

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So. Photos. 

 

 

 

Firstly, it looks like blood to me (it had even gone a bit brown by this point).  Perhaps it can be blamed upon performance art?  When I went past it on Sunday morning, when I took this picture, it was still spattered everywhere.  I haven't been back to check since.

 What anyone was doing to achieve this is beyond me.  But it's drippy looking, and was spread for a large distance.

 

 

 

 

And then a curly wurly scarf - close up and length.  I think it'll benefit from a wash.  I have  a whole ball of lurex shimmer left, I shall exchange it for a second ball of kid classic and make these.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I've just had a fabulously girly evening with Emma.  I feel normal again.  We gossiped about our love lives.  Everyone else I know is either happily single or happily settled.  Lurching from one man to another doesn't seem to be happening to any of my friends other than Emma.

xxx

This book.  Courtesy of this lady.

I bet it's a heck of a lot less neurotic than I am too (I am currently paranoid about where I sit on the Kinsey scale.  Can't think of a less helpful thing to worry about.  I think it's all the testosterone I'm exposed to on a daily basis.  It is screwing my hormones: I have appalling PMT and far too early for my liking too).  Less likely to snap, and not requiring so much chocolate!

I spent most of today admiring my fingernails turning puce in a freezing cold church hall in Finchley (Kirsty was terribly nice about my directing her to the wrong church hall in Finchley: however, I directed myself there as well, so...).  My Guiding First Aid Qualification is now up to date.  It was an appalling course.  The woman stood and talked for three hours solid.  And contradicted the book several times.  The lady from London North East, who did my first course, was much better.

Must get up to date First Aid book.  Must photo completed sock, semi-finished scarf (went with the 3.5mm hook, and it took me several attempts to work out what they wanted me to do, but it looks right now), other semi finished scarf, finished brooch, partially completed bracelet, and the olympic knitting (still stuck in moraine).

Must also do laundry.  But not now.

xxx

Nothing immediately life threatening.  Just a whole load of what looked like blood in a doorway, splattered around the gateway to one of my Brownie's schools, and meandering in drips and draps up the street and round the corner.  Couldn't find anyone to practice First Aid on.  Ran out of drips to track. Went home.

Woman on the other end of the phone, at New Scotland Yard, asked me if I'd touched it.  Because, obviously, what we do when we find a pile of blood is touch it and smell it and taste it in the manner of Benton Fraser.

I hope I get done for wasting police time, because it's battery fluid or something similarly innoculous, and I just couldn't tell because it's not easy under sodium light.

But it looked kinda sticky. Ya know?

Oh, and don't tell my Mother.

xxx