Don't change horses in midstream.

(Or, don't switch from English to Continental in the middle of a sock project.)

I decided to teach myself Continental knitting in an effort to speed up gift making. Little did I know it would slow me down.

I knit the first man sock English. I swatched it first, got the correct gauge, and knit away. While making the man sock, I also taught myself Continental, and finished making a pair of armwarmers. Feeling a bit chuffed with my new found knowledge, I decided to knit the second man sock continental. Right hand, left hand, it's all the same, no? They're connected to the same body, it should be fine.

Yesterday I finished the cuff, and lo and behold, it was obviously thinner and shorter than the first sock's cuff. It then dawned on my that my tension for Continental is a bit tighter than my English. Fuck me. All 68 beautiful rows, gone? I considered continuing with the 2nd sock in Continental and then frogging my first sock and knitting it Continental as well.
Then I realized how stupid that was, and that I should just frog the 2nd sock and knit it English. I just...I just need a glass of wine....or two...or a bottle.

I showed this to my boyf and he couldn't tell the difference. Typical. He even suggested making them as they are and then sending them to my dad. And give my mother the satisfaction of pointing out that my handknit socks don't match in size??? NEVER!

Addendum, January 7, 2008: I wrote that almost 2 months ago and was too lazy and insecure to post it. I ended up just saying "fuckit" and knitting the rest of it in English, with the smaller cuff. Noticeable to a knitter, but probably not to a dad. Of course I haven't sent it yet. Will do. Soon...ish .

They DO exist!

Gypsies! Today! In my pub! I had no idea who they were, but the boss said not to serve them again, and to get him if they wanted more. I didn't quite understand why, and so he explained:

Gypsies are one of the few groups of people that he's afraid of. (This is coming from a guy who's 6'7".) They are ruthless and will fight to the death. They haven't been spotted at the pub since last Boxing Day, when a gang of them showed up, were able to be served (all other places had turned them away), and then the whole caravan arrived. Apparently there were no problems, they were polite and appreciative of the hospitality. And then, at the end of the night, boss-man tallied up the till and found that most of the money was gone. He checked the CCTV and there was a gypsy, reaching over and grabbing cash out of the till, looking straight at the camera. Boss brought the tape in to the police, but the fuzz said that they couldn't tell who it was from the vid. You see, the coppers won't even touch the gyppos.

There was a sighting a few weeks ago, when gypsies showed up at someone's wedding and tore tha place up. I was quite intrigued by then, especially when a gypsy family of a mum, dad and two girls showed up and went straight to the bathroom. Boss said that they go in there and have a complete wash-up, changing clothes and everything. The dad was a rotund fella, the mum bleached blonde trash with tits hangin out and the two girls wearing fake fur coats, the kind that were popular in the 80's.

But then the boss asked them to leave quietly, and they did. He told me that if you give 'em an inch, they'll take a mile and the last thing he wanted was a gypsy hangout. Welcome to England.

Edit: This post was in no way meant to be racist or anything. As you can tell, I'm clearly ignorant on the subject, what with prior knowledge coming from the movie Snatch. They shall henceforth be regarded as an oppressed peoples. A subsector of travellers, distant cousins of hobos.

The Knitting Bartender

Days at the pub can get pretty slow, so I've decided to bring my knitting along to work. My boss is very cool and knows about my knitting addiction. He teases me all the time about it, but is perplexed and interested at the same time. He hasn't told me not to do it, so I'm assuming it's fine. Besides, some of the other bartenders are doing sudoku and crosswords--no difference, really.

Today I was working on my sock and one of the regulars said "What you makin?" I said it was a sock for a Christmas present. He said nicely, "Well, you could just buy some at the shops." I said politely that, well, it wasn't handmade, and my socks had a lot of thought put into them. He said, "Fair enough." A few minutes later, his old man friend came up to order a Guinness and said "What you makin?" I said socks for a Christmas present. They're supposed to be for my dad, but I'm not sure he'd wear them--they have orange in them and my dad's more of a blue/grey man:



He said, "Oh, but they're handmade. They'd be like a treasure to me. People don't do that anymore, you know. It's like writing a letter. My missus makes Christmas pudding starting in September each year and by Christmas it's a work of art--wouldn't you much rather have that that a Ferrero Rocher?" And he looked so much like Santa, and seemed so touched by the idea of someone knitting socks, that I instantly said My God, why have I been doubting the power of my knitting? I knit a navy blue sweater for my dad last year, and my mum said that when he tried it on he had tears in his eyes. (My gran used to knit lots o' stuff, you see.)

So I think the orange will be ok...whaddayareckon?

Blimey! British Weather!

Dare I say it's worse than Japan? My forecast calls for freezing-ass rain all week.

In other news, I've given up on the plastic pumpkin as 1) The pattern I was making wasn't working exactly as I wanted, 2) Halloween isn't that popular in the UK and has already passed and 3) SHIT! XMAS IS COMING!!! MUST CHURN OUT GIFTS!!!