yarnstorm

the magic of mattress stitch

I really thought that mattress stitch would change my life. Before I went on a one-day Finishing Techniques course with Jane Crowfoot several years ago, I was completely untutored when it came to sewing up my knitting. One way or another, I'd taught myself how to do it, but gradually I became aware that the insides of other people's knitting looked a lot better than mine.

So I couldn't believe the magic of mattress stitch. It was like being shown a conjuror's trick, and I remember asking Jane to show me the cleverness of the technique several times because I was so enthralled by the way the yarn brings two pieces of knitting together and then disappears.

I imagined that from that day forward mattress stitch would make all sewing-up a joy. That I would jump happily from knitting to finishing with nary a moment's pause. That I would swap knitting needle for sewing needle in the blink of an eye. But the reality was different, and I'm afraid I can still put off sewing up my knitting for an embarrassingly long time.

This hot-water bottle is the latest victim of my dilly-dallying. I finished knitting it in November, and it has sat right next to me, on the top of a basket, night after night ever since, almost begging to be finished. But what makes the whole thing worse is that it isn't even for me - it's a present.

So I took it to Suffolk and placed it in the most prominent position I could find, finally heeded its call, and would not let myself come home with it. I posted it straightaway and it's now with the recipient (I hope). Nicely sewn up in my best mattress stitch, but that's besides the point.

It's not as though it's not lovely yarn to deal with, either. This is fabulously, shamelessly soft cashmere from Axelle de Sauveterre who kindly created this 'Briar Blue' colourway for me. It's a delight to knit with - as I rediscovered after my over-long period of denial. The pattern comes from Knitting by Sarah Dallas with a few alterations to suit the yarn and bottle size.

Although I love the yarn, the pattern and the finished object, I am mightily pleased it is no longer staring me in the eye as I sit down to relax in the evenings. Mattress stitch is a wonderful thing, but unfortunately its magical effects don't go much further than my knitting.

 

peak-time

The daffodils have reached their peak, and so have I. So it's time to go home to test recipes for cherry cake, trifle and treacle pudding. As we used to say at wine tastings when faced with hundreds of lovely bottles, 'it's a tough job, but someone's got to do it.'

earning my stripes

I've been writing yarnstorm for three years now. I know there is no official timing for these things, but I do feel as though I have earned my blogging stripes.

When I started in February 2005 I had absolutely no idea where I would go with the blog or where the blog would take me. There was no plan; I didn't even know if I would enjoy it, so I just took it one day at a time. I knew I wanted to write about knitting, but apart from that there was no master-plan. In fact, yarnstorm grew organically, with one thing leading to the next, until I had a blog which encompassed all the things I love and which I was delighted to be writing.

But the blogging experience would not have been the same without you. These three years of taking photographs and putting my thoughts into words have been enriched by the ongoing conversations and discussions that have been woven into the blog through your comments. As a result of creating yarnstorm I have met many amazing people - some in person and some via email correspondence - and I count myself very fortunate to have such lovely readers.

So, with my stripes on my feet, I now wonder what the fourth year will bring. I don't like to look too far into the future, but I think and hope that there are plenty of good things to come. 

Thank you for visiting. Thank you especially to anyone who was here from the start. We've come a long way, us veterans. You, too, have earned your yarnstorm stripes.                         

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These are my pebble beach socks. I love this beach, especially when it has rained in the night and all the stones glisten in the morning sunlight. There are plants and little tufts of grass here and there which match the colours in the yarn, and while I was knitting the socks at home I kept thinking of this lovely stretch of Suffolk coastline.

The socks are knitted on 3.5dpns with Opal Crazy #1901 from Modern Knitting, a recent discovery and a brilliant source of sock yarn. Their service is great, too. The pattern is very basic and came free with a ball of yarn.

The pictures were taken on the beach early in the morning when only dog-walkers and sock-photographers were out.

daz brightness

 

The daffodils are at the point where they look like the plastic daffs that used to come free with a packet of Daz washing powder.

New, soft, pure wool socks on the needles, knitted to a pattern I have in mind.

 

bright and breezy

The daffodils are out, the sun is out, the fresh air beckons. I don't think there's been such a sunny Sunday for a long time.

home from home

Settling in, watching gun-metal clouds scud across the sky, looking at weather-beaten brickwork, browsing the second-hand bookshop for old Penguins, appreciating the plainness and simple beauty of this temporary home from home.

promise

A change of scenery. Wonderful pearl-grey light, drifts of snowdrops under trees, local daffodils, fresh bread from a real bakery, peace and quiet. Very promising.

bun-run

We're having a bit of a bun-run here. The new book includes several recipes for traditional, yeast-raised buns such as sticky buns, jammy buns, currant buns and spice buns, so we've been bun-baking in the morning and the evening (see buns below in the gloaming)...

...and in the middle of the day (see hot cross buns below in the weak afternoon sun - I know it's not Easter yet but the recipe - and the deadline - couldn't wait).

I've never been one for a 'baking day' (unlike Milly-Molly-Mandy's Muvver who always bakes on a Saturday morning) as I think everyday has potential for baking. And we have also come to realise that any time of the day is good. This morning I'd made a big fruit cake and 18 eclairs by 9am, and Phoebe often puts her apron on after school when I announce that something I've been writing about needs to be tested and tasted.

Despite the element of pressure, it has to be said that the bun-run has been most enjoyable. I mean, when you get to eat something like this (a Devonshire split) after slaving away over yeasty dough it hardly counts as work, does it?

bleached and bare and beautiful

There was a stripped back, bare, bleached feel to The Savill Garden this morning when Phoebe and I were two of the earliest visitors. It was cold and crisp, and there were all sorts of frost patterns on steps and flowers and lawns. The dried and fragile laciness of the hydrangea (above) was enhanced by tiny ice crystals, while there were huge swathes of uneven ice on the pond for the ducks to skate on. 

The Savill Garden is brilliant in spring when the rhododendrons are at their best, so it was amazing to get a sense of the space and to see the clarity of the structure before the place is filled and overlaid with deep green foliage and flowers in all shades of bright nail-polish.

Then it was home to the warmth but not without noticing the lovely shadows of the Tete-a-Tete daffodils near the back door.

These photos were taken with Simon's camera; I'm branching out at last. Despite his attempts to get me to use filters and special lenses and to make adjustments on the computer, I'm starting off by doing nothing of the sort. I'm keeping it simple, because that's the only way I know. Sad, but true.

one twin

One of our twins is missing. Tom and Alice are fifteen today, but only Tom is here to celebrate. Alice has gone to Spain on an exchange visit (and, unfortunately, to discover that the rain in Spain does not fall mainly on the plain) and has left her twin brother to have a sybaritic day of computer games, chocolate, more chocolate and chocolate birthday cake.

It had to happen one day, and although it feels a little strange not to have the birthday girl here, we know this is only the beginning of a new era of independence. I'm actually really pleased that she is happy fly to Spain on her birthday and not miss us all too much.

So she had a birthday cake, candles and plenty of wobbly, out-of-tune singing last night. Phoebe then put on her apron again today and made this chocolate extravaganza for Tom. Tom, being his mother's son, did not want any wax dripping from the candles onto his cake and devised this clever method of protecting the icing and decorations while the candles burned and we sang out of tune once more. He then lifted off the polythene bag and candles in one go, cut a huge slice for himself, and disappeared upstairs. Something tells me he is not suffering separation anxiety.