Ich Spinne!

...which in German means, 'I'm crazy!'

I finished Avast a few days after last posting, with the help of the Garda National Immigration Bureau (GNIB) who force me to register with them every year on account of my being Foreign. Last year, I mistakenly thought it would be a couple of hours, and I took along an academic book. This year, hardened by experience, I took Avast. Six and a half hours of Sky News later (that's fifteen minutes, or one Sky News round, less than last year's wait), I'd been fingerprinted by the police (because all foreigners are potential criminals), had my photo taken for my new card, and I'd finished all the decreases and was working on the collar. Same time next year, Gardai?

It's true what the Yarn Harlot says: we don't knit because we're patient, we're patient because we knit.

I've been flirting with the Dickinson pullover since then, but most of my attention has been directed at moving house, and spinning. The moving house contributes to the German meaning of the blog title, while the drop spindling itself provides hours of fascinating distraction from it. Last week I finished off my first lot of fibre (50g of pink BFL dyed by HipKnits) and this week I've made it through 100g of some rough pale blue fibre of forgotten provenance which I'm now plying. So far I suck at plying, but it's good practice. Pictures to follow...

The Sound of One Frog Laughing

Thursday this week was That Kind of Day. My attempt to find a flat in Dublin wasn't going well. I was seeing a lot of grungy, mouldy places with barely enough space for a spinning wheel, never mind my beloved. Frustrated and unable to concentrate on work, I pulled out the Avast cardigan I'm making him and tried to knit. After about eight inches of raglan decreases I had been starting to feel I was really making progress. This sweater is definitely an act of love: miles and miles of stocking stitch in rough pebble-grey wool at DK weight. He didn't like the cable so I replaced it with some ribbing at the bottom of the sweater, but since then it's been straight stocking the whole way. So you can imagine my despair when I finally noticed that the left and right sides of the front were definitely not what you would call even. I counted. Thirteen stitches of not-even. A few of those were missed decreases, but I knew I wasn't that forgetful.

No. Bored by the stocking stitch, I'd gotten careless. I forgot a key step involving some underarm binding off. I studied the sweater. I wondered for a while how Timo would feel about an off-centre cardigan. And then I frogged. Eight long inches. 50-odd rows at about 300 stiches a row, all wound into a nice fat ball of grey wool once more with the spit joins still intact.

I've managed to knit an inch on it since then. Every time I pick it up, I hear the sound of one frog laughing.