Still So Young To Travel So Far; Old Enough To Know Who You Are

feb2009-243I have always wanted to cut a Virginia Woolf-esque figure. Tall and graceful with a certain Bloomsbury bookish air. Sadly I am much too silly, disorganised and plump to ever fool anyone. Except my boyfriend seems to totally buy into this dream, bless him.

For my birthday he has given me a 1920s knitting project bag. The embroidery is ever so fine - done in wool on jute (I think) - and the bag is lined with fine linen. It is absolutely gorgeous in the most perfect early twentieth century Bloomsbury intelligensia way. It's possibly the best present I have ever been given.

He also gave me a needle-felted scarf in black, orange and sky-blue. Needle-felted!

I've been given an absolute tonne of wool by friends and family: Drops Silke-Tweed in creme and mustard; Kauni Effektgarn in a red-burgundy colourway; 2-ply wool in deep indigo-purple and grey, Sandness Sisu in green and red, worsted merino  in a stunning dark fuchsia and a full cone of orange 2ply alpaca. Not to mention all the Rowan Felted Tweed I need for Flyte.I don't think I'll ever need to go wool-shopping again.

And people have also given me perfume, jewellery stationery, book vouchers and books! And the sun's out! Aww..

A huge thank you to everyone who's been part of making this one of the nicest birthdays I've had in a long time.

For This I Am Thankful

“His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their latter end, upon all the living and the dead.”

It is snowing outside (again!) and I am reminded of James Joyce's wonderful short story "The Dead" (found in Dubliners and made into a beautiful film by John Huston). Even if you are the sort who shudder at the thought of James Joyce, give "The Dead" a chance. It is exquisite - and also the snowiest story I can imagine (something which may sound nonsensical but if you read it, you'll understand).

Earlier this week I was given my first birthday present. I do not write much about what it was like moving from Denmark to Scotland - but it was an uneasy transition and I found it somewhat difficult to build up a new network of friends. So, when I was given an unexpected birthday present by my Glasgow circle of friends, this act of friendship felt particularly poignant. The present? All the wool I need to make Flyte. It feels slightly overwhelming, if in a good way.

(Related: I am trying to find buttons for my Forecast cardigan (which is knitting up nicely, hence much radio silence). I went to John Lewis and discovered that ten buttons would cost me almost as much as all the wool for the cardi. That's not an option. I have looked at Textile Garden, eBay, Etsy, Bedecked, Pavi Yarns and Ribbon Moon. Any other places I should look?)

Finally, I have found yet another t-shirt I feel I should own, I pity this poor dog (although I'm also slightly amused by the Poodle Ninja Turtle-Leonardoodle), and I'm keeping a close eye on Academic Earth in case anything fun turns up. And, of course, CityPoem Copenhagen..

Birthday Boy

Other Half celebrates his thirty-something-mumble-mumble birthday today. Happy birthday, David. I managed to finish a pair of fingerless mitts (a male variation upon these in Artesano Alpaca Aran) last night whilst at the knit-in at Sith Café. I wouldn't say I was knitting frantically, but I didn't pet the resident dog as much I usually do. Dave's wearing the gloves today so no photos, alas. Last year I attempted a Dalek Cake with .. interesting results (as you can see, I fail spectacularly at cake decorating) so having knitted successful mitts = a much better birthday already. Fewer hysterical laughs anyway.

Other presents include a card wallet, Swedish vampire fiction, an awesome Death Star t-shirt (his favourite present, I think) and posh art supplies. I'm mildly jealous.

Now off to swanky dinner at our favourite restaurant.. thank you everybody who has contributed to making this a great day for the skinny indie kid.

It's Really All About Me

Karie by the duck pond, late 1970s

Today is my birthday. I turn thirty-two - it sounds so grown-up to my ears, and yet I still feel like the child feeding the ducks in the midst of winter. Happy birthday to me because today, it really is all about me, hooray!

Okay, it is also a tiny bit about all the greetings, mails, texts and phone calls. Thank you all.