Rain and other things

This weekend just gone I got my new camera set up and working. I am very pleased with it. It's my first digital SLR and I think (fingers crossed) I can use the lenses from my 35mm SLR with it, although I'll have to wait til we go back to the UK to test that theory. I bought it online from the UK because with the pound being weak things are much cheaper. Despite the lack of purchase tax in Qatar, decent electronics (rather than knock-offs from the souk) are expensive.

I took photos of my recently completed socks (basic ribbed socks using MiddleEarthKnitter's sock yarn in Captain Jack):

my on-the-needles socks (Roza's Socks from Interweave Knits using 100% cashmere from Knitting Goddess in Brown Owl):

my on-the-needles stole (Matryoshka Stole from Knitscene using Rowan Calmer in Coffee Bean. This is my first time knitting with beads and it's actually easier than it looks):

and the incredible light after a massive rainstorm with thunder and lightning:

It was so good to see and hear and feel rain. I had some laundry hanging on the roof to dry and in the time it took me to bring in 4 towels and a mat, I was absolutely drenched and had to change my clothes. It was television rain -- the kind of huge drops at high density they use on TV to make sure they show up on camera. We spent most of Saturday doing housework so the rain didn't adversely affect our day. When we weren't busy sweeping up tumbleweeds of cat hair, we leant out of the window and watched the storm. The traffic was at a standstill out on the C-Ring road because many people here aren't used to driving in the rain.

We also watched Spiderman 3 and while I enjoyed it, I was disappointed that they still haven't broached the subject of how he gets out of the bath.

In other news: I saw on the TV that John Barrowman got his cock out live on BBC Radio 2. Apparently they had one complaint, presumably from someone complaining that they couldn't see it.

Buying beads from the Taliban

On Saturday I got together for a coffee with a friend from knitting group. We sat in the rocking chairs outside the Coffee Beanery at Cholesterol Corner (a.k.a. Ramada Signal) and knitted socks for a while. The weather was just right for outdoor knitting – not too hot and not too cold, although there were rather a lot of flies. We knitted until the sun started to go down, then we went to the Taliban Store.

The Taliban Store sells buttons, beads, fabrics, threads, ribbons, edgings and anything else you can think of connected with tailoring. From the outside it’s just a normal Doha shop front with faded samples, dead flies and a leaky air conditioner in the window. Inside it’s like Ali Baba’s cave for crafters. It’s dark and stuffy and so crammed with goods you have to flatten yourself against the wall if someone wants to come by. There are reels of ribbon hanging from the ceiling with the ends dangling like vines. They catch on your clothes so you walk around the shop trailing ribbon. There is a room whose walls are lined with spool after spool of sewing thread in every colour imaginable. There is a wall of buttons that look like sweets in an old-fashioned sweet-shop. We rummaged around for ages. I had set myself the challenge of buying the beads I need for my next project (the Matryoshka Stole from Knitscene) in Doha, instead of using the internet, even if it meant using plastic ones. But I managed to find exactly what I needed in real wood which was great. Natural materials are quite hard to find here.

On the way back to the car we passed a laundry where a man was sitting cross-legged in the window operating a steam press. A pipe directed the steam out onto the street, carrying with it the smell of freshly-laundered cotton. It was refreshing after the somewhat fuggy atmosphere in the Taliban Store.

Cursed Pomatomi

After my Pomatomus frogging disaster on Monday, I cast on again using the second ball of yarn, as the first still resembles the Gordian Knot. I decided to use a size larger needle, so I fished out my 3mm green aluminium DPNs. These used to belong to my great-grandmother. I liberated them from her house after she died, along with a few antique bone crochet hooks. It’s good to have something to remember her by which has both practical and sentimental value. This is the first time I’ve used them.

I was happily knitting away on the train when I dropped a needle. It fell under the table and landed by my foot. I could see it. I leant down as far as I could, but because I had someone sitting next to me and the table in front, I couldn’t reach far enough. I brushed the needle with my fingers and only succeeded in pushing it under the heater at the side of the carriage. Then I couldn’t see it at all. So I carried on with 3 needles instead of 4, thinking I’d get it as soon as I could.

Then I dropped another needle so I couldn’t carry on at all. The woman sitting opposite was very sympathetic, but she couldn’t reach them either. I got them both eventually, after everyone had got off the train, but it involved a lot of scrabbling around on all fours on the nasty carpet.

Should I even carry on with these socks, or are the random forces of the universe telling me to stop right now?

Life in Cold Blood, or, a visit to the frog pond

Yesterday evening on my commute home, I discovered that I had made a mistake somewhere in the lace pattern in my pink Pomatomus. I was nearly home so rather than try to fix it on the train, I decided to wait and do it at home. So after dinner (bubble and squeak with 2 fried eggs. Not at all healthy but very yummy) I sat down to watch telly and fix my sock.

First of all I carefully tinked a couple of rows, but the pattern was still off. So then I ripped back a couple more. The pattern was still off, and I kept losing yarn overs. Then I lost all patience and frogged the whole damn sock. Then, when I started to rewind the yarn into a hank so I could dunk it in the sink to get the crinkles out, it got into a huge snarl. It’s currently languishing in the knitting basket, waiting for a time when I’m a bit less, um, dyspraxic.

I did all this whilst watching the latest, brilliant David Attenborough series, Life in Cold Blood. Last night’s episode was all about frogs. The irony was not lost on me.

In other news, this morning on the train I was sat opposite Obsessed Football Dad. He was talking to his mate about his son’s junior football prowess, and when I took off my iPod at London Bridge an hour later, he was still talking about it. His friend looked a bit dazed.

Up and down the stairs

Another weekend of loft-clearing, or rather, sorting, as I haven't managed to actually get much out of the loft so far. It's a two-person job getting stuff out of the hatch and down the ladder, and there's only me. Although I think I've got some male muscle booked for next weekend. I shall also hire a van (one with power steering this time, after the seized-up shoulders incident) and see if Mum will lend me Dad's old sack barrow.

I also made quite a lot of progress transferring some of our CD collection onto an external hard drive. What a bloody boring job that is.

Knit'n'natter on Saturday. Managed to destash quite a lot of yarn -- made enough in yarn sales to buy Dodo's Denise interchangeable needles. Everyone was happy.

Knitting blindness (or, facetious builders)

Have just had the following conversation with the Facetious Builder:

FB: What are you knitting?
Me: A cardigan (holding up the completed back section of my Tailored Scallops cardie)
FB: Looks exactly the sam as the one you've got on (my Notre Dame de Grace pullover)
Me: OK... that one's pink; this one's orange. That one's got a wavy pattern; this one's got straight lines. That one's a cardigan; this one is a pullover. I could go on.
FB: oh. Ha ha ha.

Jebus christ almighty but he does my freakin head in.

Leaving, on a jet plane

So it finally happened: Mr S has got a job in Qatar. He's leaving on Friday and I'll be joining him in a couple of months. Yesterday we had a 'goodbye gathering' for him at our local pub. It was fun but I got quite tearful at times, especially when my uncle and his wife showed up. She's been poorly so I wasn't expecting to see them at all.

There are some things I'll miss about the UK and some I most definitely won't:

Will miss Rain
Won't miss Grey, bland, soggy low cloud
Will miss London
Won't miss Commuting
Will miss British TV
Won't miss Jeremy fucking Clarkson on every fucking channel
Will miss Green fields, woodlands and rolling hills
Won't miss Mud

I'm making Mr S some socks to take with him as part of a support package to keep him going until I join him.

Gaaargh! Annoying knitting!

I've made some stupid mistakes and I'm very annoyed with myself.

Stupid mistake number 1: I cast on too few stitches for the front of my Notre Dame de Grace jumper. I only noticed my mistake when I held the front up against the back to check I was starting the armholes in the right place. Grrr.

Stupid mistake number two: I made my Clapotis too wide and have run out of yarn before the end. I'll have to frog it completely and make it narrower because there is no more of the yarn. Grrr again.

And what's more, I think I've got a knitting-related pain in my upper arm. So I cast on a very simple sock to make me feel better. So far it seems to be working.

Some messages for my fellow commuters

1. To the man sitting opposite me on the train: your subconscious mating ritual is wasted on me. I’m already married, so I don’t need to know that your bollocks are so big you can’t sit with your legs any closer together than 130 degrees. Put ‘em away, there’s a good boy.

2. To the person sitting next to me: yes, I’m knitting. Get over it. And if you wanted to have the armrest, you should’ve got on at the first stop, like I did.

3. To the people who are surprised to find there’s a ticket barrier: it was there yesterday, and it’ll be there tomorrow. Here’s a tip for dealing with it: have your ticket ready to stick in the slot, or your Oyster card ready to swipe. That’ll save you having to stand in front of the barrier rummaging in your gigantic bag for your ticket whilst other commuters tut at you.

4. To the people wearing Bluetooth headsets: you think you look like something out of Star Trek. You don’t. You look like a cock. Furthermore, speaking out loud to an invisible companion should be reserved for people who can’t help it.

5. To pedestrians: get a fucking move on crossing the road, OK? Especially if you’re walking in front of me. I don’t want to get squashed by a bendy bus because you were too slow to get across before the lights changed.

6. To people pushing kids in pushchairs during the rush hour: why? Just why?

Oh, and finally, to Southern Railway: it’s October. We don’t need the air-con set to ‘march of the fucking penguins’.

Getting away with it

Our marriage is not one of the old-fashioned patriarchal type where I have to get Rob's permission to spend money. However, all our income goes into and comes out of one account, so it's only polite to mention it when one of us has been spending.

The thing is, Rob doesn't give a monkey's when I buy clothes. Some people's husbands get funny about it -- not mine. But whenever I buy yarn, I get 'Oh, darling!' in a slightly disapproving tone. So last time I went clothes shopping, I cam home and unloaded the bags, showing Rob each thing as I unpacked it:

Me: Look, I got a t-shirt, a jacket, jeans and a jumper for you... And this (revealing a John Lewis bag full of yarn) is a jumper for me.

Rob: Oh darling. That's yarn.

Me: No, it's a jumper. It's self-assembly.

And he couldn't really argue with that. I love Rob.