yarnstorm

unseasonably warm

I can't write 'unseasonably warm weather' without laughing. Years ago Simon uttered this phrase in all seriousness - yet it was so completely out of keeping with his usual verbal style. No doubt he'd read it in a book once (another of his favourite sayings for which he used to be teased mercilessly by his friends because he used to find all his nuggets of useless knowledge in recondite books) or read it in a newspaper. But it sounded such an old phrase for a young man to say that I couldn't help creasing up. So now we use 'unseasonably' very, very ironically. And to make each other laugh.

But the fact of the matter is that it's been very hot here for a few days now, and yet I'm still knitting socks. It turns out, though, that socks are the perfect things to knit in the heat. They don't cover you up and made you swelter, there's a nice flow of air around the dpns, your hands don't have to hold thick, woolly pieces which make them overheat and, if you are knitting ultra-simple socks, you can drink chilled white wine as you go along without the worry of losing the plot or spoiling your stripes.

I see the yarns for some forthcoming socks are pretty hot, too. Irene who is a very valued friend has given me two skeins of the most amazing sock yarn - 'Cherry Blossoms' (second from bottom) to celebrate spring in Brooklyn and 'Tulips' (third from top) to celebrate spring in my garden. (They are from the very aptly named Sunshine Yarns.) When I was in Purl recently I picked out some Koigu yarns without referring directly to these yarns and was delighted to see that I'd connected the colours perfectly (to my mind).

I've been reading a little in the unseasonable warmth, too. (Still laughing) 

Tweed by Nancy Thomas is a beautiful book (fab cover photo of balls of wonderful tweedy yarn) with a great introduction about the history of tweed. I've always loved tweed yarns with their flecks and slubs and they remind me of the first proper coat I had when I was eight; although it appeared to be black and white, in reality there were all sorts of colours in the weave and I was fascinated by how you could see tiny dots of green and red and yellow close-up but not from afar. Plus this book contains the most fantastic pattern for a fully-fashioned 1940s-style sweater ('Scottish Isles Pullover') which I swear will make me look like a film star on her weekend off...

I absolutely love this book. Knitalong is a brilliantly warm and affectionate and inspiring look at the whole idea of simply knitting together - for fun, for a purpose, for the sake of it. There are some wonderful archive photos, plenty of great patterns, some heart-warming stories and a deep connection with knitters everywhere.

Knit Knit is another inspirational book. I have to say that when I first saw it, I was quite amazed that a knitting book could look like this. Call me naive, if you like. But I think this is an incredibly far-sighted book which challenges perceptions of knitting. You may very well go back to your comparatively tame knitting afterwards, but not without a sense of having had your yarn horizons expanded dramatically.

Similarly, I may never actually knit anything in More Big Girls Knits, but I really enjoy seeing such excellent, flattering and well-excuted designs. This is a great book - highly recommended.

 

And, of course, it pleases me enormously to see Bazaar Style on my study chair with my yarns. It's full of mouth-watering photos by Debi Treloar (who took the extra photos in my first book) and is full of colour and warmth. How nice to know my taste in interior decoration matches my taste in hot socks.

i hear you, habu

All the new trends, ideas, crazes and passions in knitting are like white noise to me. I am aware of them clamouring for attention, but as they all seem to reach me on the same frequency and at the same volume, I am often unable to work out which one to listen to.

But I think that Habu Textiles must have changed frequency recently because I have become more and more aware of it within the wide spectrum of knitting noise. It started with Alison who writes so beautifully about the Habu philosophy and the sculptural quality of the yarns and, once I had picked up the sound of Habu, I started to hear it everywhere.

Then I found the book. This has been my bedside reading for quite a few weeks now. I find looking at the photos of the strange and wonderful knits taken in front of the simplest of backdrops utterly captivating and, when allied to a habit of contemplating the Japanese knitting patterns, really quite soothing and soporific, and I fall asleep thinking of unusual yarns and knitted creations which challenge my perceptions of clothing. 

I've managed to go to New York several times and miss Habu completely. So on my most recent visit, I decided it was time to make the journey to the yarn store which also challenges our ideas of what a yarn store should be. I knew I'd be on borrowed time with Alice and Phoebe in tow (I wouldn't be able to give the yarns and patterns the full thought they need with two girls sighing and rolling their eyes in the corner), so did most of my planning by email.

Habu were incredibly helpful and I pre-ordered a couple of kits to be collected on the day so that we wouldn't have to wait for the yarn to be wound onto cones and could therefore spend more time in Billy's Bakery. They discussed colour choice and let me know yarn availability in advance and made up the kits in Medium but with Large quantities of yarn to allow for my extra height.   

So when we turned up at the utterly anonymous-looking building and found ourselves in the Habu room which is just as all the photos show - small, simple, plain and devoted to the low-key (no shrill noises here - more the soft lapping of waves) -  and I wasn't taken aback, I realised I had tuned into Habu pretty well.

Habu seems to invoke a sort of calmness, a total lack of knitting hysterics, and I knew I couldn't start knitting until I had cleared my other projects. So it wasn't until this weekend that I cast on Kit 21 which is knitted with two yarns - linen paper and silk - and mine are (what a surprise) both food colours: eggplant and cocoa (sounds like a horrible taste combination, but it's looking good on the needles).

 

I wanted to go for a full-on Japanese knitting experience and use bamboo needles, but I found the yarns stick too much so I changed to the very European Addi Turbos which don't look as lovely, but do the job better for me. I haven't yet hit pattern issues as the back is straightforward and requires no shaping, but I know I have the joys of decoding the instructions to look forward to. I realise also that there may be a little squeak of anxiety around button-choice (I see that buttons are a big issue with many Habu aficionados) as I don't yet have the buttons for this jacket/cardigan. (When Tom asked me what I was knitting I wasn't sure what to say - Setsuko's designs are more for knitted pieces to wear on bodies rather than for the standard types of garments we are so used to knitting).

I've knitted a few inches of the back and am feeling my way into the experience. It really is a new tactile sensation as well as a conceptual one. And it's also auditory; when you block out all the white noise of daily life, you really can hear your knitting - the paper yarn makes little soft rustling sounds. But you need to be very quiet to hear it.

                                ***

Book details: Setsuko Torii Hand-Knit Works ISBN 895113825

I also like this knitting book with one of the most beguiling covers I've ever seen and some lovely knitting inside.

Knit ISBN 277113753

Both from Amazon Japan

on my desk

Nicola Beauman and I go back a long way. All the way back to April 1989 when I bought two copies of the 1989 Virago edition of Nicola's book A Very Great Profession - one for me and one for my Mum. For a long time, though, Nicola knew nothing of this relationship as we didn't actually meet until 2001.

In the intervening years, and ever since, this book has been a vital part of my life. Until now, I have only ever had the one copy and have always felt uncomfortable if I couldn't locate it in a nanosecond; it had to be taken down from, and put back in, exactly the same place every time I referred to it or read it. And, goodness me, I have done that so many times over the last 19 years.

There are only two people who have ever truly and deeply influenced my reading; one is Adam Roberts and the other is Nicola. Adam changed how I read, and Nicola changed what I read. It's thanks to this marvellous book that I not only discovered a huge body of women's literature, the sort of books I knew I was looking for but couldn't uncover on my own, but also a wonderful connection with all sorts of women, real and imagined, who weren't afraid to explore the details and depths of ordinary lives.

So when I read nearly ten years ago that Nicola had created Persephone Books, I was delighted, because I could see that, like an addict, I would always be able to get a fix of a good read.

And now A Very Great Profession has been reissued, and it's not a moment too soon. For a start, my first copy is looking a little ragged so I am thrilled to have a brand new one with the most inspired bookmark ever (Celia Johnson as Laura Jesson in Brief Encounter). But, just a little more importantly, this book is an absolute treasure for anyone with the slightest interest in middlebrow fiction; not only does it cover a huge number of themes and books, it also has a brilliant glossary of the most important and significant writers of such novels. I know I only have to turn to these pages to be inspired to read a previously unknown author.

I am delighted Nicola's book has been reprinted, and have to say it looks very lovely in grey.

                                   ***

On the subject of the most recent Persephone Biannually, I too have read the 'Our Readers Write' page. I laughed at the comment which refers to me and blogs in general and feel I should say that the only opinion this reflects is that of the writer. It is not my opinion and it is not Nicola's opinion.

                                   ***

And since it's that time of year, I think we should have a gratuitous photo of tulips. These are also on my desk today, freshly picked this morning.

mixed bunch

I caught sight of myself this morning as I walked past the mirror holding a jug of mixed tulips. It made me realise two things; first, that the more tulips you have, real or reflected, the brighter you will feel and second, that our rug* goes beautifully with a mixed bunch.

I'm at the end of four weeks of school holidays and I'm a little weary. It's been a mixed bunch of a month, with two children off at the beginning, an overlap when all three were at home, then just the one. But I can see I am starting to consider the reality of them all being back at school next week - as evidenced by my decision to go for the merriest mix of tulips I could find in the garden today.

 

Having seen the tulips' reflections, I thought I'd play a little more with mirrors. I found it amazing to be able to see more than one view of a vase and a bunch of flowers at a time, and thus compare the effects of different lights (I, for one, am always twirling vases around as I can never decide which is the better 'side').

When I saw the photo below on the computer screen I was delighted to notice that there is even a third arrangement of tulips (in the base of the mirror) which made me think of several well-known paintings that feature convex mirrors which condense a scene into a tiny circle.

Now there's a fine mixed bunch of thoughts.             

               ***

I went to the London Book Fair on Monday. It's not an event for authors but I had to deliver some fairy cakes and have a meeting. Seeing Sebastian Faulks in the flesh stopped me in my tracks momentarily (very tall, very striking, very smart and absolutely no shabby tweed jacket with leather elbow patches or corduroy trousers), but as I couldn't stand there gawping all day, I carried on looking at the publishers' stands.

As ever, I gravitated to the display of Stewart, Tabori & Chang books. This is not just because my book will be published in the US by STC Craft in September 08, but also because they produce the most amazing mixed bunch of craft and interior books which reflect their authors' personalities and visions. There is nothing predictable about STC books, unless it's the fact that they all look wonderful and yet feel very different.

I particularly liked the look of Kim Parker Home and added it to my mental list of books to look out for. But it took a while (Monday to Friday) for the penny to drop. No wonder I was drawn to Kim Parker's style and palette - we already have her in our house. *The rug which goes so well with my mixed bunch is one of her designs.

I now see why this rug appealed when we bought it; it's like having a pressed and dried bunch of flowers on the floor all year round.

Plus, you wouldn't believe how much fun I have hopping and jumping from flower to flower when no-one's looking. And next week, when everyone is finally back at school, I'll be able to hop, skip and jump as much as I like.

time out

Just about the most comfortable spot in the house is the huge, squishy beanbag we bought a little while ago. While the children prefer to launch themselves onto it and burrow down to create a little nesting spot, I prefer to use it as a huge, soft footrest. If you put a cushion (with an Ehrman tapestry cover - done in the days before I started quilting) on top and wear Alice's socks, it's just about perfect.

This is where I have been enjoying time out with books and films and family recently. I've been looking at this utterly amazing book (there are reviews and photos here and here). I love the spontaneity of this form of body art and decoration, the way it's done quickly and without mirrors and, above all, I can't stop looking at the ways in which these people adorn themselves with fruit and vegetables and flowers and leaves. Quite stunning.

I've also read Gee's Bend: The Architecture of the Quilt - you really do need plenty of space on the settee and beanbag when holding it as it's a huge book. It's wonderful to have such large photos of the quilts sitting on your knee and I spent ages looking at the pages with details of the local architecture which has influenced the quilters of Gee's Bend. And I am determined to make my own version of a half log cabin quilt now that I've seen how brilliantly this design can work.

I claimed the beanbag when we finally watched Nanny McPhee the other night. Although the plot's a little thin, it didn't worry me as the more I watched, the more I thought the whole thing was a cleverly constructed, classic pantomime complete with melodrama, farce, magic, fairy tale characters and plots, and wonderfully over-the-top costumes and scenery. The extravagant make-up and costumes and characters were straight out of the theatre but I have to say I have never seen such wonderful bedding on the stage; those quilts and the crochet blanket on the children's beds were just wonderful. Someone clearly had a great time with the props and paint colours.

But I haven't just been sitting with my feet up all the time. Three of us drove to Manchester at the weekend (yes, it rained) and I saw a lovely exhibition at the Whitworth Gallery with a friend from primary school - in between imagining how it would be to live in a room with tall hollyhocks and delphiniums on the walls (and laughing at the idea that children would undoubtedly be tempted to draw little bugs and worms and slugs on the wallpaper panels), we managed a several good hours of 'all our yesterdays'.

And now it's time to be a little more active. So I must go and get the guide books and passports ready, and pack for a trip with Alice and Phoebe.

Back soon.

dove-grey oasis

The pale grey skies yesterday matched the dove-grey exterior

and complemented the spring flowers outside Persephone Books.

The shop is a silvery oasis in London, situated in the wonderfully named and characterful Lamb's Conduit Street (little cafes and delis, flower shop, book shops, pubs and wine bar, and a very imposing undertaker's business), a sort of civilised, homely curiosity shop with a Georgian-style mix of domestic and business (it's both shop and office, but it feels like a large, comfortable room in a private house - cushions and flowers and reference books and wonderful posters all contribute to the atmosphere).

I was there for a stimulating, thoughtful talk by, and lunch with, Christina Hardyment whose book Dream Babies has just been republished. 

I've always been highly sceptical about baby and child advice/gurus; having twins first made me realise very quickly that there was no single babycare theory which could be applied successfully to all babies (especially to two so very different personalities) and I quickly discarded all the books I'd bought. But it's fascinating to hear the historical perspective on childcare, and Christina Hardyment treads a careful path through this minefield.

Going into Persephone Books for a couple of hours is like coming upon an oasis. I go to imbibe the atmosphere of gentle intellectual debate and to meet thoughtful, interesting women. Last time I was there in December, I was the speaker and I made some Persephone fairy cakes for the occasion.

But it was lovely to be spoken to, and catered for, this time.

new season

I was buying flowers to give to a friend when I saw a bucket of tightly curled, pale orange parrot tulips and I couldn't resist a couple of bunches for myself as a promise of things to come.

It's not quite the season yet (although I've seen a few species tulips popping up here and there) and I know these are forced for the market, but they served as a welcome reminder that it's long now till tulip-time. I've started surveying the garden on a daily basis to see what's happening with our own tulips, and already there's enough going on to keep me in a general state of low-key excitement. 

Although these weren't labelled, I'm pretty sure they are 'Orange Favourite'. They start off relatively peachy and palely blushing but they turn into raving tangerine beauties as they open up. They are lighting up my windowsill and making a wonderful still-life with the best brand of sliced bread, the electronic egg-timer Simon & Phoebe gave me, and a subtle colour of sock yarn.

And in the spirit of looking forward and thinking about what comes next, last night I read The Creative Habit by Twyla Tharp from cover to cover. This is a book that Jan recommended to me a long, long time ago, but somehow or other I never found the right moment to read it. Like the tulip bulbs, it lay dormant under a few layers of books until I unearthed it the other day during my big office tidy-up. It's very focussed, well written, thought-provoking and, for me, reassuring and revealing.

New books, new thoughts, new flowers. Ah, the joys of a new season.

 

the final flourish

This is it. The last recipe to be tested for the book. It's also a first as I've never made a walnut cake before and I am relieved I didn't have to go through several versions on this final day. Apart from anything else, levels of icing sugar have fallen dangerously low and I might have had to go out to get some more. How ironic that would have been after six months of having cream and butter fall out of the fridge every time we open it, bags of flour crammed into cupboards, and layers of different coloured sugars on every available shelf.

And now I feel like a free woman. Tomorrow, for the first time in fourteen and a half months I'll be able to wake up without thinking about a book deadline. My calendar has suddenly opened up and I realise there is life beyond 14 March, and yet I feel strangely unprepared for the freedom. Maybe I just need to re-test a few recipes...   

So what am I going to do with my time?

I am going to sort out my office. I have a disconcerting ability to ignore the fact that the whole room has crept up around me while I've been working, and I need to rediscover its real boundaries by moving dozens and dozens of children's books, papers, recipe books. I might even find there is room to swing a cat in here.   

I am going to read some grown-up books without looking for food moments and treats. This will be difficult as I've grown so used to my eyes scanning pages for mentions of cakes, biscuits, eggs, ginger, jam, sandwiches, picnics that I'm going to have to readjust to reading whole chapters again. But I suspect I'll still be thrilled when I meet a scone or a fruit cake.

I am going to knit and quilt. The thing I've been looking forward to most is moving away from the computer screen and having something soft and colourful in front of me again. Life will cease to exist in black and white and will turn into glorious Technicolour rather like one of the wonderful transitions in A Matter of Life and Death.

I am going to soak up some new ideas and inspiration. I have my tickets booked and I'm going to be doing some visiting and travelling.

I am going to get some fresh air. Goodness knows, my lungs need some.

I am going to get some sleep. Goodness know, my brain needs some.

Best of all, I am going to spend time with Simon, Tom, Alice and Phoebe who have been amazing over the last year and have seen me through some pretty tricky moments. And they have been the best treat-eaters a cook could ever wish for. This walnut cake is for them.

   

 

spring in my step

I'm a little earlier than usual this year. Normally, it's towards the end of March that I start to think about seeds and buds and shoots, but I've found that I already have a spring in my step. Maybe it's the sight of the huge, closed-up flowers on 'my' magnificent magnolia (it's not mine at all, it's about two miles from home, but I have an almost proprietorial interest in it). Maybe it's the fact that I can sense the freedom from the desk and screen that will come at the end of the week. Or maybe it's the colours of the socks I'm knitting - spring green and blossom white.

Whatever the reason, I'm back to reading gardening articles and books with a sense of purpose once more. So I was delighted to see that Elspeth Thompson's article on Sunday was about creating a patchwork quilt effect in allotments and vegetable gardens. Just the kind of thing I love. And then I saw the mention of me and my book, and my day was made. The newly found spring in my step turned into a little jump.

I have been reading Elspeth's columns for years and I love her thoughtful but down-to-earth words and advice, and her eye for beautiful plants and flowers, so I was thrilled to discover last night that she's a reader of this blog. And she tells me she has a website - in the colours I have always associated with her such as grey, lilac and a very specific glaucous green - and a blog about her railway carriage eco-house which will have a sedum roof, an idea that has intrigued me since the time I used to play with my friend in an old air-raid shelter which was covered with living plants. I am really looking forward to following the story and am pleased we'll also be able to see the wonderful pictures to go with the text. 

Spring has defintely sprung a spring in my step and I haven't felt this bouncy in a long time.

another big favour

I need a little help with the subject of classic Australian treats. Does anyone know of any famous Australian children's books which mention treats such as lamingtons, Anzac biscuits, pavlova or peach melba? Although illustrated books and titles for very young readers often have lovely foody illustrations or rhymes, these are not what I'm looking for. So if anyone has a favourite book with a classic treat, I would love to hear from you.

Just so you know - Seven Little Australians and camp-fire damper are already on the list.

Thank you.