yarnstorm

decline and fall

Tom and I have been looking at the garden in the waning light of the late afternoon. He needs subjects to draw for an art project and I like to see what's happening. I am fascinated by the decay of leaves and plants and fruits and flowers, how their colours and textures change and how, for a short while, we have a glorious moment of decline before the fall. I love this strange, temporary beauty even though I know that the inevitable emptiness is to follow, and that I shall never get as excited about the bareness and denuded structure of the garden in winter.

Today I saw the garden looking dramatic with its yellows and oranges set against the bluish tinges of the sky at dusk. 

And the blue of Tom's trainers.

And I realised that some of us are going in the opposite direction to the season and, far from declining and falling, they are increasing and flourishing; in the last year, Tom has grown 5"/12cm and gone up three sizes in shoes. And he looks set to grow all through this autumn and winter. So I think I'll look at him, rather than the garden, when I need confirmation that spring will come again.

birthday cake

Inspired by Cakes for Fun by Jane Asher.

Created by Phoebe.

streets of london

 

I am always acutely aware of the lessening light at this time of year. It gets worse tomorrow when the clocks go back; from now until 21 December I have to work hard to convince myself that the day isn't over at 4pm. I don't like November and December and the countdown to the shortest day, but much prefer January and February because even though they don't have any extra hours of daylight in total, they are at least moving in the right direction with small, but significant, daily increases.

This morning the skies were particularly lowering and as I walked through the streets of Notting Hill I was aware of the need for headlights on cars and indoor lights in houses.

And then I turned the corner into Portobello Road with its fruit & veg market and suddenly my whole outlook was transformed. Despite the fact that some stalls had artificial lights, I was struck by the wonderful, apparently chaotic melee of boxes and piles and arrangements of colours, shapes and textures.

Here was some lovely brightness from glowing peppers, shiny aubergines,

brilliant green herbs against a backdrop of clothes on rails,

pinks and reds and greens and purples and whites and browns and, in one place, a wonderful play on a yellow and green theme.

But this (below) was my absolute favourite 'arrangement' with richly coloured pomegranates flanked by magenta beetroot, greenish-gold mangoes, royal blue crates and scarlet chillis, all set out on the dark, wet pavement.

Even the packing cases looked great.

I wasn't in London to look at a street market even though it did provide a much-needed diversion from sullen skies, but to meet Amy Singer of the inimitable knitty.com for tea and cake (although only one of us indulged in lime and coconut cake at Books for Cooks, and I have to say it was worth it). It was a pleasure to meet Amy whose work with knitty I admire enormously and she was kind enough to give me a copy of her new book which looks excellent.

And then it was back home via the artichokes and sprouts and ginger and apples and radishes, with my spirits lifted and sufficient colour memory to overlook the still grey skies.   

half-term

It's half-term here, so we are all taking a break. I'm knitting a third Colinette Point 5 garter stitch scarf, piecing a quilt, listening to Bob Dylan talking about New York on BBC Radio 6, and thoroughly enjoying the Dorothy Whipple short stories on BBC Radio 4 (Monday's was almost too painful for me, Tuesday's was wonderful and Wednesday's had me cheering).

The children are forgetting school for a while, going to 'fright nights', carving pumpkins and watching scary films. I went to the supermarket this morning and came back to find Phoebe had used Nigel Slater's recipe in Kitchen Diaries to make 48 mini brownies. She said she couldn't find the brownie tray, so she 'improvised'. They are delicious and it's amazing how quickly you lose count of how many you've eaten when they come in such dinky, bite-size portions.   

The Great Balls of Fire scarf suits Phoebe perfectly; her natural glow complements that of the scarf. It took three skeins of Colinette Point 5 in 'Fire' on 15mm needles and is simple garter stitch on 13 stitches, knitted until the yarn runs out. I may not wear it as red makes me look like a corpse (great for Hallowe'en, but not the look I aim for most of the time) but I'm happy to bask in the reflected warmth when Phoebe is wearing it.

dreams and reality

Last summer, when I was first thinking about the possibility of writing a book and was wondering how to go about drafting a proposal, finding an agent and approaching publishers, I sometimes indulged in a little daydreaming in order to escape these apparently insuperable practicalities. I thought to myself that it would be wonderful (and much simpler) to be 'discovered' by someone, and that if I could choose that person, it would be Melanie Falick, the creative genius behind some of the most innovative and inspirational knitting titles to have appeared in recent years.

And today I can say that (idle day-) dreams can come true, because it has just been agreed that Stewart, Tabori & Chang are to publish The Gentle Art of Domesticity in the US, and Melanie will be my editor on the US edition. I am over the moon (and every other cliche you can think of) about this excellent news and I find it hard to believe it's all happening. But I have spoken to Melanie today, and it is true and I know it's going to be very exciting.

At the moment I don't have any more details about exact dates and prices and so on, but rest assured that, as ever, I will make sure you are the first to know. The Stewart, Tabori & Chang Craft Newsletter will also keep you up to date on what's happening.

And now I'm going to ask the children to pinch me, just to be sure.

      

the not-so-little gesture

I find the little gestures far more impressive and meaningful than grand gestures. A rib-crushing hug, a cup of tea brought to me in bed, a slice of cake baked by someone else, the gift of a book which the giver thinks I will like. So when I met Gerard of I Knit London for the first time yesterday, I was utterly delighted when, after saying he had a present for me, he gave me a pineapple in a paper bag. It made me laugh, it told me that Gerard had read my book, and it made me feel very special - it's been a long time since anyone gave me a this kind of gift.

Gerard was a wonderful host and it was lovely to meet so many knitters at the Crafternoon Tea. I've also discovered where I want to live when I move to London to be old and wild (or just older and wilder): Bonnington Square.

beaded beads

At last, I got round to tidying up and threading the beaded beads I made at this weekend. Each of the beads is made using peyote stitch and then most have been embellished with more beads. I have put them on a choker and added some filler beads, and now I can wear them instead of staring balefully at them in their unfinished state.

 

One of the problems with taking photos at this time of year is the ever-decreasing amount of light in the afternoons; I often miss the best moments simply because I forget how quickly the light fades. But when I took these yesterday afternoon by the light of the setting sun, I was struck by the long, beautiful shadows and the way the beads reflected and refracted the rays.

I was completely fascinated by Zitta's beads (Zitta was our tutor) and tried to work out what they reminded me of. I thought it may be sweets, and I like my plain orange bead (middle photo) because it looks like a twist of barley sugar. But then I saw that the shapes of the beads you can create with this method are more organic, more natural. Finally, this morning, I realised that they made me think of sea anemones and corals as illustrated by naturalists such as Philip Gosse (1810-1888, father of Edmund Gosse who wrote an excellent account of his relationship with his father in Father and Son).

These kinds of highly coloured and detailed illustrations were immensely popular in the nineteenth century, as was the whole aquarium craze. The eye for detail and colour is incredible and is also the one that is needed to make really amazing beaded beads.

   

I wouldn't claim mine are that, but I'm pleased I've at least made some. I'm hoping that Vanessa, brilliant beader and new blogger, will show some of her fantastic (and I mean, fantastic) beaded creations which seem to have a life of their own.

This is the finished necklace. I may find myself having to feel my neck every so often to make sure none of the beads are crawling or waving or creeping of their own accord.

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Yesterday's post was only ever intended as a 'for one night only' screening. I need to do what I always try to do when times get tough, and move on. Plus, I need to consider Simon's sanity. Thank you to everyone who left a comment.

                                ***

I'll be at I Knit London tomorrow. I'm really looking forward to it and it should be great, especially if this lovely, autumnal sun is still shining.

great balls of fire

I wound some balls of Colinette Point 5 while watching the first in the new series of 'Spooks' last night. When I say I 'watch' this programme, I mean 'keep an eye on the screen for Rupert Penry-Jones' face' and, very importantly yesterday, another part of his anatomy. So I cannot believe I missed the much talked-about glimpse of his buttocks and, as Tom and Alice would not let me rewind, I will just have to use my imagination.

Anyway, to get back to the yarn. I could not stop myself singing, 'Goodness, gracious, great balls of fire'. Not only is this shade called 'Fire', it also looks like fire. It had the deepest, richest reds and oranges I've seen in a yarn, and the little flecks of brown and dark pink emphasise the fiery colours even more. My camera can't cope with all this intensity - it can only capture the incandescence and glow, not the detail.

I tried photographing the yarn and knitting (it's another simple scarf) indoors and they simply swallowed up all the available light in the room. So I took them outside where they match the wonderful maple leaves which are carpeting the garden at the moment. The balls of fire cooled a little in the fresh air, but you still can't see the true values of the colours. But, trust me, Scarlett O'Hara (one of whose favourite expressions is 'great balls of fire!') would love them.

ready for take-off

Butterfly cakes are a taste of my childhood. I thought they were the ultimate in luxury and sophistication. I used to bake for my three siblings and often made simple, iced fairy buns, but when I was feeling extravagant - or when there was enough margarine in the fridge - I would make these little dainties for us all.

Butterfly cakes are basic sponge cakes; I make both vanilla and chocolate versions. Once they have cooled, I slice off the tops, fill the hollow with the appropriate buttercream (nowadays I do use butter) then cut each top in two to make butterfly 'wings' and replace them at an angle to the cake's surface.

Today, in the interests of verisimilitude, I decided to sieve a little icing sugar on top for the butterflies' scales. I also added a little colour along the middle and, quite by accident, managed to recreate the three segments of a butterfly's thorax: the prothorax, the mesothorax and the metathorax. Who would ever have guessed you could learn so much about lepidoptery while baking for others? Unfortunately, the children didn't care so much about the natural history, but they are quite happy to be the next chapter in my family baking history.

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And here's an aerial view of the whole squadron, all ready for take-off.

sea glass scarf

13 stitches, 15mm needles, 3 skeins Colinette Point Five in Sea Breeze (in the lovely colours of sea glass), and knit, knit, knit for two evenings until you have something to wear at the bus stop.

I have a feeling there will be a few of these round Brocket necks this winter.