The sneezing season has got the better of me and I’m currently working from home to avoid infecting my coworkers with what feels like an Alien-style facehugger on the inside of my head. Vastly unpleasant. However, I thought I should make up for the lack of pictures in my last post by adding some photos of version two of the cowl, minus wine and associated atrocities.
I cast on my second attempt at the Buttermilk Sky cowl on Sunday and am progressing nicely, having realised that by using a 40cm cable I can just knit in the round and not worry about magic looping for a change. It’s slightly tight at times, but I think that’s more to do with my tension than anything else. With any luck I’ll have this one finished with enough time left over to knit the second one for my friend’s birthday. And no, I haven’t touched a drop since Friday.
They say pride comes before a fall. I don’t know if it’s pride that drove me to it – complacency or over-ambition seem rather more likely – but fall I did.
I’ve been knitting a cowl recently, another magic loop affair while my boyfriend’s scarf languishes idly by (not completely idly though, as it’s recently become my portable project for when I’m sitting on the train to and from work and as such is progressing nicely). It’s a slightly more advanced pattern than those I’ve completed to date, with slipped stitches, yarnovers and psso’s aplenty. It’s also a dry run for the cowl I’d like to knit for a friend’s birthday present in the suitably indulgent Fyberspates Scrumptious DK yarn– purple for me and deep pink for her – meaning I’d quite like to get it right.
All was going well. I’d cast on the requisite number of stitches, got to grips with the twisted rib border and even made a start on the first round of the pattern – pretty good going for only two evenings’ work. The third evening’s work was preceded by dinner and drinks with two former colleagues, both of whom were a little late in arrival: half an hour or 1.25 cocktails, if you prefer. As the evening progressed, wine was ordered, stories were shared and any recollection of New Years resolutions was pushed aside with the arrival of the dessert menu. It was a lovely night and one that finished surprisingly early as we each trundled towards our respective stations at a respectable 9pm.
Arriving home to find the house empty, I allowed a small snicker of delight at the fact I could continue my cowl without fear of neglecting my boyfriend and his scarf. Set up on the sofa, I had my wool on one side, more wine on the other and endless QI repeats on the telly courtesy of channel Dave. And so, I knitted. I knitted long and I knitted fast (for me, anyway) and sped through line after line of the pattern into the early hours before eventually succumbing to a Rioja-induced slumber in bed.
This morning I woke to the sound of birdsong, gentle breezes in the trees outside and a decidedly grumpy thudding in my head. Have you ever had a morning where you can hear yourself blink? Well… precisely. My first thought was water. My second thought was the cowl. Getting through to the living room was no mean feat but once there I understood what my fuzzy subconscious had been trying to tell me: badness had happened. In my haste the night before, I had managed to drop, add and k2tog stitches at random to the extent that there were now holes and ladders running down multiple rows. Some sections looked flawless while others were disastrous; overall it looked less like a cowl and more like a tea cosy, assuming the teapot has between five and seven spouts of varying height and girth.
I’m ashamed to say I ripped it all, then and there. I’m still getting to grips with remedying mistakes and in this case there were so many, my addled brain didn’t know where to start. The yarn, while being beautifully soft, doesn’t really lend itself to ripping and so I’m still picking up tufts of purple fluff from around the sofa and the rest of the house. But I’ve rescued most of it and I’ll make a fresh start on it again tomorrow, minus wine. Lesson learned.
During the rather dull periods of my day when I’m not knitting (or writing about knitting, or thinking about writing about knitting, or – ahem – buying yarn to knit with), I have a full-time job. In marketing. Now I know that for many this marks me out as some sort of shallow, money-grabbing product pusher, intent on parting you from your hard-earned cash in return for something shiny and pointless. But I promise you I’m not like that. For starters, I’m not really involved in the advertising side of things. I write the leaflets, manuals and website content that tells you how to use your shiny pointless thing and my aim is to make it all as simple as possible. I do, however, work in the mobile phone industry, which has a particularly bad reputation for doing anything and everything to make you buy one product or service over another.
Which is why I was wholly unsurprised to see Vodafone Ireland hopping on the guerrilla knitting bandwagon in the hope of convincing people that they were kooky, young and ever-so-slightly daring. If you haven’t seen the advert already, feel free to click on the link below though I feel I should warn you that it is particularly nauseating in places (particularly the use of the eponymous Irishism “deadly”, suggesting that the whole script was written by someone whose only other experience of Ireland was the occasional episode of Father Ted). And if the advert sickens you, definitely don’t visit the Vodafone website…
Bad hair, machine knitting and dodgy word choice aside, it’s undeniable that this is a truly terrible ad. Not just because the overall message is unclear (though anyone in the know is welcome to explain to me what exactly is the consumer benefit in “cheering up your top-up”). In using guerrilla knitting to inspire their new campaign, Vodafone has attempted to associate itself with a movement based on rebellion, individuality and secrecy – the polar opposite of a commercial advertisement aired on national telly. It just doesn’t work for a big corporation. Particularly one that has nothing to do with knitting.
My guess would be that it was dreamed up by an edgy creative agency executive who confused guerrilla knitting with graffiti knitting, assuming it was nothing more that the yarny equivalent of a student with a free hugs sign. It’s just a bit of fun, it raises a smile or two; surely there’s nothing more to it than that? One or two angry yarnstomers might tell him otherwise.
So what to do? How to respond to this poisoned chalice of a challenge? The angry knitter in me wants to protest: to knit vivid swatches decrying the campaign and storm the company HQ, demanding they withdraw the ads and apologise (all yarn-based compensation welcome). But the marketer in me knows that publicly decrying the ad will only serve to draw yet more attention – and potentially revenue – to their ill-conceived campaign, to the extent that guerrilla knitting could become associated with the brand for the foreseeable future: a horrible thought. So however much I’d like to protest, there’s only really one option: if you don’t like it, don’t buy it. Switch on Rage Against The Machine and jump about for a bit instead. It helps, I promise.
I have a confession. Oh God, I’m not even really sure how to say this, so I’ll just have to come right out and say it: I’ve been cheating on my boyfriend’s scarf. It doesn’t mean anything and I don’t even really know why I did it. But you were away and I was online, just having a look and all ready to carry on with the scarf and then I saw this really easy pattern. For a hat. I’m so, so sorry.
At first it was all new and exciting because I was knitting in the round and I’d never done that before. One minute I was casting on and the next minute I was looping the magic loop like there was no tomorrow. And it was wonderful, odd baggy ladder stitches aside. Within days I had something resembling a hat as it took shape in front of my very eyes, as the scarf lay abandoned at the end of the sofa, all straight and ribbed and scarf-like.
But I’ve ended it. I just couldn’t take the deception any more: the endless lies and cover-ups as to why the scarf wasn’t getting any longer despite my feverish knitting episodes; the guilt of secret post-work trips to Peter Jones to buy a second skein of Rowan Cocoon in Bilberry; the knowledge that my boyfriend was so looking forward to the scarf that I’d cast aside in fickle pursuit of a slouchy hat. I’m done. It’s over. And rather pretty is it too.
Having heeded Wikipedia’s warnings, I’ve started on a simple 2×2 rib stitch scarf for the other half. The simplicity of this was actually at his request; having knitted a swatch of the stitch used in the Sinful Ribbed Scarf by Classic Elite Yarns, he took one look at this and declared it was a bit ‘girly’. So rib stitch it is.
After hunting around for some suitable yarn, I stumbled across a few scarfs knitted in Lion Brand Wool Ease (Oxford Grey) and found it was a fairly cheap buy from online shop Café Knit in NW London. The other half agreed that this was an appropriately manly colour and upon its arrival was satisfied that it would provide the requisite masculine warmth and (ahem) softness.
Having already done one project in 2×2 rib, I’ll confess it’s starting to get a little dull. Still, I shall stick with this project and hope to avoid any of the Sweater Curse pitfalls, including the dreaded aversion. Here’s hoping.
Without wishing to sound overly slushy, I love my boyfriend. I really do. In what may be one of the only successful speed-dating experiences the world has ever known, we had each attended the event with low expectations and – in my case at least – a healthy blood alcohol level to discover that amidst the social oddities, overly-keen and unfortunates (complete with actual hunches), there was someone there with whom we shared a bit of a spark. Good albeit brief conversation was had, smiles were exchanges and ticks were added to the box. Almost a year later, we’re happily ensconced in a South London flat, littering the rooms with toolboxes, yarn and duplicate books.
He has been nothing but supportive since I took on The Knit, though I suspect this is in no small part due to an Xbox-shaped Christmas present that has successfully managed to divert a fair whack of his attention. However lately there have been suggestions that he might be interested in benefiting from my new ‘skill’. Having recently completed my first small project and therefore naturally harbouring ambitious aspirations of full jumpers, dresses and knitty world domination, I was quick to suggest possible patterns and even began scouring Ravelry for a suitable offering. Which was when I discovered The Sweater Curse.
Wikipedia – the source of all online knowledge – describes The Curse as follows:
Knitters use the term Sweater Curse or the Curse of the Love Sweater to describe a situation in which a knitter gives a hand-knit sweater to a significant other, who quickly breaks up with the knitter. In an alternative formulation, the relationship will end before the sweater is even completed. The belief is widely discussed in knitting publications and some knitters claim to have experienced the Sweater Curse; a recent poll indicated that 15% of active knitters say they have experienced the sweater curse firsthand, and 41% consider it a possibility that should be taken seriously.
Cripes. The entry goes on to point out that a huge amount of effort, time, money and indeed “romantic imagination” goes into each Jumper knitted in these circumstances, all of which could suggest the application of additional stress on The Jumper as it becomes less about the garment itself and more about its conception as a declaration of love. I have therefore obviously underestimated two things: firstly my hitherto unrealised need to confirm the depth of my emotions in garment form and secondly how much effort it takes to knit a freaking jumper. Sorry, Jumper.
Wikipedia goes on to suggest the ways in which such an endeavour may bring about the end of your relationship:
- Unlucky timing. Knitting a sweater takes a long time, and the relationship dies of natural causes during its making.
- Rescue mission. The knitter senses subconsciously that the relationship is about to end, and knits a sweater as a dramatic gesture to save it.
- Catalyst for analyzing the relationship. Giving or receiving a significant gift such as a sweater may cause either the giver or receiver to evaluate the relationship. For example, the gift may seem too intimate, too domestic or too binding to the significant other. It can be seen as a signal that makes them realize that the relationship is not reciprocal, prompting them to end the relationship before it involves obligations.
- Aversion. The significant other may simply not want to wear anything hand-knit. A hand-knit sweater can also subject them to ridicule, either because the sweater looks bad (i.e., poorly made or unfashionable) or conveys overly domestic connotations.
- Misdirected attention. The knitter loves their sweater a little too much, and pesters the significant other about the sweater instead of working on their relationship. Alternatively, the knitter loves to knit too much, and spends too much time with their knitting instead of with the significant other.
- Delusion. The knitter imagines incorrectly that their significant other likes them, and is not disillusioned before knitting the sweater and giving it to them.
Unlucky timing is understandable; you don’t see it coming and as a result your efforts are laid to waste. The rescue mission concept is somewhat worrying in its Brangelina-like efforts to save the world’s children by adopting them, though I suppose if you were a particularly good knitter with an entirely shallow other half, you could convince them to stay by dangling cashmere in front of their moisturised refueled complexion.
Gender stereotypes aside, I’ve never been prone to over-analysing a relationship. I understand how it can happen and have been present at many an emergency wine-fuelled summit where female friends have converged, seeking to understand more about a man’s desires, impressions and intentions from his eight word text message. It’s just never really occurred to me to think “I had fun” means anything other than “I had fun”. I therefore fail to understand how any garment could be a cause for analysing your relationship, but there you go.
Misdirected attention and delusion are both rather sad to be honest, though I mean that in the sense of ‘upsetting’ rather than ‘lame’. It paints knitters as people so devoted to their craft that they become somehow detached from reality and seek to impress others with what they can knit rather than simply be who they are.
Of all of these options though, I fully understand the dangers of aversion; it could be rubbish, he could hate it, he could refuse to wear it and I’d end up grumpy.
A scarf it is then.
Having practiced my rib stitch to the extent that most household surfaces were showcasing bumpy coasters, I thought it was about time I started an actual project. Nothing too big; a scarf seemed rather too long-winded while anything cylindrical was out of the question, after a four minute YouTube video on circular knitting left me thoroughly baffled. So what to do?
A quick search on Ravelry (favouriting patterns and ideas that were far beyond my meagre skills) suggested I attempt an iPod sock: a simple, no-nonsense knit in 2×2 rib stitch with a contrasting band at the top that would keep my phone safe and cosy. The excellent Texere Yarns yielded some lovely King Cole fingering yarn (in dark blue – shocker) as well as a pretty sparkly glitter yarn in a similar, but suitably sparkly shade (Midnight). Within days the yarn arrived and I was underway.
All in all, it was remarkably quick and simple. There are some uneven stitches, a few holes and let’s not begin to mention the dodgy seam down one side but it fits my phone and manages to look suitably impressive as very novice efforts go. I’ve even had a request from a friend to make one for her iPod, though you can bet I’ll be practicing a little more before I let any of my concoctions leave the house. So project number one is done and dusted. And it’s not too bad.