Nearly 2 weeks ago I came to London by train for granny duties during the political party conference season and the train journey was very useful for weaving in the looses ends on this jumper so that it would be ready to give to my grandson on arrival – a good way to use up what otherwise can feel like dead time! Making this jersey has been a bit of a lesson in what you should never do when knitting garments. The back was knitted from a ball of pristine red wool while a ball of crinkly wool of the same colour (previously knitted into an unfinished baby coat ) remained for the front. (Wrong way round surely!) Later bought balls of what I thought were the same wool (same colour, different dye lot of course) were set aside for the sleeves and now these look quite different from the body – but at least both sleeves are the same so, honestly, do I care and how many would have noticed if I hadn’t said anything? The colour is bright and jolly and suggests warmth at the very least. Youngling No 1 has worn it to school several times (and forgotten in once) and he seemed very cosy in it last Sunday on our drizzly trip to London zoo.
As with the jumper in teal shown here, the pattern used is the two colour raglan sweater from Debbie Bliss’s Baby Cashmerino Book 5. My only complaint about this much used pattern is that I find the neck a bit too wide – perhaps next time I shalln’t pick up so many stitches at the front between the raglan edge and the stitches left on the needle holder? For details of the Fair isle see here.
Autumn has come with a vengeance. In Cheltenham our little apple tree has been shrugging – no throwing – its apples off which hit the wooden decking beneath like small cannon balls. In the middle of the night you could be woken by the noise of a particularly rapid sequence of missiles, especially when zinc planters received random bombardment and rang with a bright metallic clunk. In Islington the neighbour’s prolifically fruitful pear tree was causing a different problem. No heavy thudding or metallic ringing, instead a slurpy plop and a generous splatter of pulpy pear. A tarpaulin was hauled over the new sandstone paving for protection which made the patio look like a return to the builder’s yard it had been all too short a time ago. The little pond’s cleansing mechanism found the pear tree’s largesse too much to deal with and gave up – fortunately there are as yet no fish. Bad weather kept us inside for a day or two and by the time we ventured out again the fallen pears were fermenting and the journey between back door and garden office left you a touch inebriated. Next year I’m going to find one of those long armed fruit pickers and try to nip the fruit off the trees before aerial bombardment begins. The horse chestnuts have done well too, as youngling No 1’s collection of 66 specimens testifies. Oh if only we could cope better with nature’s generosity!
4 Comments
One needs time, space, and plenty of recipes to cope with a glut like that – but I must say, the idea of being bombarded by rotting fruit would have me dashing for my recipe books!
I used to be begged to collect fruit in an orchard belonging to someone who lived in one of our former parishes but then I had a harvest supper for the two churches and lots of apples were a blessing – also the apples had a softer landing on grass and earth, whereas the apple tree in our present garden drops its fruit on to wooden decking and stones! Further I am in London at the moment…
Yes it takes some will power and time and elbow grease. I found this year, but the time my plums came on, I was done dealing with everything. I’m not even feeling that guilty! Those fair isle bands are gorgeous.
Sympathy to you, Amara – other priorities do tend to trip up good intentions.