quelle erqsome...

spreading the love

Mary W awarded me the Spreader of the Love blog award, hurrah! This is so sweet of her, and not just because she's one of my favourite people who help make the Very Longest Thread even longer. She's kind and upbeat -- one of those lovely folk who never fail to brighten your day, even when she's having a crap one herself.

As a recipient, it's my pleasure to pass it on to six more, as stated by the rules of the award:

Calista, of landolista (who just makes the world a better place)
Laura, of indieknits (who I hope to catch up with in the new year)
Louisa, of loumms (who is my partner in crime and craft)
Faith, of flash bang fibers (who just welcomed into the world a darling little boy)
Diane, of needles on the move (who just read The Eyre Affair -- at last -- and loved it)
Katie, of broke knits (who needs to get back from her holidays and start blogging again)

Thanks for being love spreaders, guys!

Right, I think I'd better fulfil the last requirement of the award and let them know they've won.

i want to tattoo

Dear Mithranstar,

Thank you so much for pointing me Fox-way.

See more funny videos at CollegeHumor

The Team, as always, misses the point oh-so-slightly (as though the 'attractive' part of attractive women means anything; they have clearly not come across the likes of this), however, it does not detract from the fact that it is truly a wonderful thing.

Thanks for thinking of me!

Your kindly,

emmms of erqsome xx

a swift idea

Matthew made me this part of my birthday present.

I had to wait until I came home from a spot of SE22 knitting to open it, but it was so worth it.

He did it all by himself -- dyed it, drilled it, sanded it all into place, except for the base which he scrounged.

What with the constant prodding to design more, the encouragement to buy more stash and the amazing Scrabble stitchmarkers he made me last year,

I consider myself a very lucky girl indeed.

neighbourhood tunnels

My Socktopus Sock Club parcel came yesterday, as it did for many. But you see there's something special about this one that none of the other get. This one is my  Socktopus Sock Club parcel.

My Socktopus parcel with my own sock pattern. Although I first started tinkering with the pattern in July, it didn't really come together until shortly before Alice sidled up to me one night at iKnit with a proposal back in November. I've been keeping dutifully silent about this ever since. I didn't even admit to it when I asked a trusted friend to test-knit for me (though she guessed because nothing gets by her). I said nothing when I was given free (if vicarious) reign over dye pots and colourways, nor when some things didn't go quite as planned and the sock had to be test-knit again by another trusted friend.

Yet those weren't hard to keep schtum. Those were the secrets you keep before someone's birthday, when anxiety over whether the recipient will like the gift you chose just for them keeps you from saying a word.  Those were the secrets that made me giggle whenever anyone wondered aloud what Bells and Whistles would bring next. (Which is indeed probably how Mel worked it out. Note to self: stop tittering when the subject of your subterfuge is mentioned indirectly.) (It's at this point that I start to wonder how we managed to keep any days in March hidden from the lately wed Mrs Alice. Every single one of us in on that are lousy stinking blabbermouths find it difficult to keep things from people when those things are particularly exciting.)

No, the impossible secret that I had to keep was sent to me by email in early February bearing the words 'the band okay'd it' -- 'it' being distributing copies of Funeral on CDs emblazoned with a picture of my foot sneaking out of the crocuses, along with the pattern. The band ok'd it. The band whose name is printed on the label. That band.  Apparently there's a knitter squirrelled away in the band who kind of dug the idea that a song of theirs might have inspired a pair of socks.

When later I played the first song, the song for which my sock pattern is named, on the CD bearing my knit-clad foot, I swear it never sounded so good.

erqsome to wave portraits of love

I'm early in the Hallmark scheme of things, or maybe it's just that Hallmark and I don't always see each other eye to eye -- one day a year isn't enough for this girl. Whatevs. Matthew and I have now known each other for four years, almost to the day.

When we very first met, I was just about to start working for his company. His boss was all excited because I'd done a few reviews for them and was quite pleased I was poor and liked music and wanted to do door shifts for them. We were sitting in one of their venues chatting, when he suddenly shouted across the room to Matthew, who had just walked in, saying, 'Matthew! Hey! This is Emmms, she's been writing those reviews for us!'

Matthew barely glanced at me, mumbled something about guitar strings and stalked away in search of a sound engineer. The next time we met, he was Night Manager to my Door Staff and I showed him up by teaching him yoga in the slow periods during sets. He liked my Downwards Dog.

It took a good couple of months of flirting, bickering and ill-advised sidling on Matthew's part before we were persuaded to look at this thing more closely. Or rather, I happily slept around, all the while complaining to my good friend Sarah about this Matthew person being cute but weird; as Matthew moped about lamenting my carefree ways to his good friend Sarah.

On 8 May (which I suppose is when I really should be posting about this), our good friend Sarah hosted her birthday party. I remember getting there and turning into a babbling babblebox the second I laid eyes on Matthew. He'd cut his hair and bought a snappy new jacket and looked HOTT (two-Ts hot, that's right!). I couldn't think what to say, so I bit his ear lobe.

For the next two hours, Sarah was pulled from her party, her guests and her birthday, as Matthew and I alternately begged she tell us what to do. Eventually she banged our heads together and threw us outside with a bottle of whiskey and told us we weren't allowed back in until we'd worked it all out.

Fortunately we did, although it took a few more months to really get it right. And now we take pictures of ourselves making faces at each other in our kitchen, while our cats try to break our concentration with demands for food. It's all a little lovely.

one day to go!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hee!

welcome, 2008

Happy New Year!

wendi's baby shower

The gorgeous mum-to-be. I think it's only been in the past couple of years that I've known people who haven't been completely altered by their pregnancy. Not that being altered by a pregnancy is a bad thing, but previously all the women I've known going through it became very much a product of their pregnancy, as though the transformation from Individual to Generic Mum happened over night. It was kind of scary to watch otherwise intelligent women cease to have any thought outside of the child they were about to bear. Not only would they stop drinking (good) and smoking (even better), but they'd stop swearing, laughing at rude stories, hanging out with anyone not willing to spend eight hours talking solely about nappies, strollers and rash creams. They took on a disapproving air as though regular life was not conducive to the shine they carried.

Lara was definitely one of the ones who took it in her stride yet maintained a vivid personality and now Wendi's another. They've both managed to stay pretty much the same person, with focuses and interests beyond the years to come, the only real difference is that they're pregnant and finding it just as crazy as their childless friends. Despite this, they're both laid back, relaxed and just waiting for whatever happens to happen. I like this. It makes the idea of children seem at once both more manageable and less all-consuming. Regardless, as one of the organisers noted, Wendi's baby shower was never going to be pastel:

 

four things of considerable whee!

1. Happy Knit in Public Day! I joined the Stitch'n'Bitch Knit Crawl, and I've got to say, them folk know how to make a good crawl. It was really nice, much more relaxed than other times I've gone to SnB and very friendly. I chatted with several of them variously and commiserated with one who'd brought the frogged remains of a once-but-never-to-be-again sweater. I feel her pain.  It was interesting to see  what people had brought with them and why. I was rather surprised to see a few  sweaters on the go, and a couple of baby blankets. I suppose they're pretty basic if you're not having to graft anything, but I wasn't quite so brave. No, merely the latest addition to my growing dishcloth fascination and an armless teddy bear.

2. We hired a new editorial assistant. I think she's going to be pretty good, though she's not the slightly more punk rock one. The slightly more punk rock one loves Haruki Murakami and photography and seemed like the kind of girl I'd like to meet if I were a dude. Or a lesbian. Regardless, our new editorial assistant is going to fit in immediately and not merely because I think she's cool and will snark with me (Medusa's leaving, so someone has to fill that role). The new editorial assistant is super nice and really enthusiastic and her copy-editing test suggests she's about as nerdy as I am when it comes to finding an author's potential. What makes this all the better is that the slightly more punk rock one has agreed to come in for typesetter training which means I'll still get to work with her! Hurrah!

3. Medusa, Andromeda*, our in-house typesetter, and I left the pub (after a quick pint that grew only into a pint and a half, well done us) to discover a crowd encircled around a group of men, chanting and egging them on. A great rope lay on the ground, with several knots tied through its length. Lest you begin to think it was some kind of ritualistic flaying of Twickenham's youth, it was merely two rugby teams having a tug of war. There's something rather wonderful about the thought of two rugby teams coming together outside a pub, coming to some disagreement and having someone throw down their glove and shout, 'Is that so, hm? Mark my words, boy, we shall teach you a lesson you shan't forget. Bring out the rope!' and the whole pub sucking in its collective breath as 'The rope! He's asked for the rope! Ooo-er!' flutters nervously about the room, before they all troop out into the forecourt to watch their team give the other a what for. I don't know that that's how it all played out, but I hope so.

*Note: I've changed her pseudonym -- Andromeda is far more fitting.

4. When I got in this afternoon from knitting in public I found two letters waiting for me on the table in the front hall. One is from my bank confirming my suspicions that trips to Canada are Expensive; the other confirming I have been unconditionally accepted into the first year of my PhD. At some point it will all sink in, and I sincerely hope the reality of the former does not douse that of the latter. Folks, I'm off to do my PhD.

secretly i gid -- i gid like you wouldn't believe

Phew! It turns out Cotton Fleece and the washing machine are friends after all. I still haven't tested my swatch, but I was directed to someone who has. (Many thanks to Ysolda for that!)

I may be forced to purchase this for Matthew. Labyrinth-inspired yarn? Ludo-inspired yarn? It could quite possibly the best yarn thing ever, except that Wool Girl has been making me squeal silently with delight for the last hour. Just look at her stock list! So much joy and yet I'm sitting here, stuck at my desk with no one in person to share this with. Why is it I work with no one -- not a single person -- who has fallen in with the way of yarn? Not a single person understands the almost blisteringly intense joy that surges up when my eyes come upon a hank of gorgeous colour and tantelising description. Not a single person understands how I can look at a picture -- a pixilated image -- and practically be able to feel the yarn beneath my fingers, feel the dexterity and softness of the skein, feel the way the fabric it could become flows over the needles. HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE? Knitters apparently make up 20% of the population. I work in an office of 11, The law of averages suggests there be at least one more of the yarn obsessed in my midst and yet no. Not a single person.

Never mind, this Sunday Matthew and I are bringing Mozzie home. Try, if you will, to gape at yarn and think about kitten love at the same time without shrieking out loud. Hard, isn't it? When I get home tonight I'm going to knit up some Kureyon and felt me a scratching tapestry. Dude, it's going to be awesome.