Back to business

So I'm back online. The first thing I want to do is post a picture of my wedding cake. Others have done it recently and I had to wait for a scanner to be able to do mine.

Ta da



And here's my favourite wedding photo



Excuse the size of the pictures, I'm in training.

If you've had a wedding, let's see your wedding cake and favourite wedding shot.

Be careful what you wish for

OK. So husband has just returned from the computer shop.

With two ipod nanos. (Oh my god I am so excited about this)
One 5mp 10 optical zoom dig camera.
New set of surround sound speakers.
Multimedea PC with 20 inch flatscreeen.
Another PC for kids.
Scanner/copier/fax/printer.

Of course now I'm worried about the money. I'm not even going to ask.

Service to this blog will resume when new technology has been installed. It's got racing stripes so there's sure to be an improvement.

Off to open some boxes.

COMMITTED TO BLOG

During the writing of my previous post I was interrupted by screaming Louis telling me he had cut his finger whilst slicing some mango for his sister. I told him to go away and keep away from the knives. I finished the post.

Since then it has become apparent that Louis has almost sliced his finger OFF with the sharpest sebatier chefs knife in the house and is more than likely going to need stitches in it. Unfortunately Alan is at the computer shop with our one and only car so poor Louis is going to have to wait until he gets back before seeking medical treatment if necessary.

But at least I got the blog post done.

Rain Rain don't go away

RAINMAKING
Did you know that I have powers? There are three tasks that when done around this house guarantee that it will rain immediately hence. There are three loads of washing on my clothesline. We sprinkled bindii-kill on the lawn yesterday. The pool heating has been switched on for the season.

All of these things conspired to make it rain, rain, rain. Not that I mind, we need to fill those dams.

THE LISA TRAP

Yesterday was stitch and bitch. I just LOVE this group. We had a smaller group yesterday which I think was better as we got to talk to each other and really check out what everyone was up to. I always link who was there, so by now everybody knows who they are so I won't do it again. Jussi, Stripey Tiger, Moggy and Annie (and me) were the bloggers, and another 15 or so peeps who knit but don't blog about it. It was revealed that one person, LISA LISA LISA!! does a bit of lurking on the blogs but doesn't comment.

I wonder if I put out some lisa-bait she might make a comment?

[begin Lisa trap]

Lisa's hair looked great yesterday.

We had an excellent funny conversation about boobs.

My favourite comment of the day came from Lisa: (when discussing toe up sock technique) "the great thing about toe up is that you can fuck around with the top part and make them look really good".

Fuck around. That's a technical term. Funny funny funny.

[end Lisa trap]

COMPUTER WOES

My camera is out of action still. Actually it's more serious than that. Our computer overheated and blew up some months ago. Alan got me a little cheap laptop second hand from his office - the keyboard is knackered so I plugged the old keyboard into it. Well then the software for the supercrap camera corrupted itself, but since the diskdrive doesn't work either I couldn't re-install it. Which left me no choice but to email any picture files to myself from another computer (at work or Alan's laptop) if I wanted to have pictorial blog. This is of limited value because when I have time I don't have the resources and vice versa.

Where is she going with this??

Yesterday was my husband's birthday. (Note that did not stop me from going to snb.) He got some money as a gift so I encouraged him to go to the big electrical shops and put it toward an ipod. Realising we had been having 'we need new computers' conversations recently, this was a deliberate step, like sending an alcoholic to a corporate box for the Melbourne Cup. A techie man with no kids in tow browsing happily in the big computer/electrical store on his birthday with encouragement from wifey! I was hoping he would come back with a new pc.

Alas and alack, he came back with a $50 games bundle for the kids. Sweet huh?

But he slept on it. And this morning he had a shower and announced "I'm going to look at computers". On the sofa is a glossy adzine heralding the wonders of the multimedia pc for home entertainment use.

I wonder what he'll come home with? I hope they chuck in a free camera.

NO PICTURES? HERE'S SOME MATHS INSTEAD

In leiu of pictures of anything knitted, even though I do have stuff to show you, I did a stitch count of the number of stitches on the mystery shawl.

Clues 1,2,3 - start at 3 then increase by 2 until 231 stitches and then four straight rows: 14,148 stitches
Plus the purl rows: 14,148 stitches

Clue 4 - pick up and knit 231 stitches and then increase by four each row until 311 stitches
5,691 stitches
plus the purl rows 5,691 stitches

Edging - each 10 row repeat has 282 stitches and it is repeated 29 times down each end and I think twice in the middle
16,920 stitches

Making a total of 56,598 stitches in total for the Mystery Shawl 2.


Interesting aren't I?

Knitting TV Kids and being a bag

KNITTING

Hey Hey Hey! Look who got on the cover of the knitty calendar! That glitzy showgirl SYDNEY!! Yay us! I've gotta get me one of those.

I'm knitting two things right now - the Annie Modisett silk corset and the mystery shawl 2.

Silk corset - I am SO LOVING THIS KNITTING!!!!!! The silk is soft like chamois and has a lustre like pearls. The colour makes it look like beaten copper. I'll take a picture tomorrow outside. You're going to love it.

Mystery shawl 2. I abandoned the white one. Too many mistakes. I did it again with some two ply silk handdyed raspberry on a bigger needle. Much better.

People have been saying that the second MS is smaller than the first judging by the result of the first two clues. The pattern designer must have been doubled over with laughter reading this, knowing what was to come. What you do is knit a triangle increasing at the ends on either row ending with 115 stitches on the needle.

Then came the big suprise, you cast off the 115 stitches and then pick up from the other two sides, making a massive mitred square off the point of the triangle. I'm only 10 rows or so into that part and let me tell you it's really eating the yarn up now. The pattern is magnificent. Join the group and see for yourself.


TV

So, they still haven't voted that potplant Daniel Spillane off Australian Idol. And ten to one Kyle Sandilands has one and only one season as a judge. What an odious opinionated mannerless profane crass uneducated unintelligent twat with no credibility or reason to be there. Voice of the young generation my arse. They've both gotta go.

Ditto to the big hotel doorman on Survivor - umm - Judd. I wish someone would tell him that for a guy with such a high opinion of himself he certainly has managed to have had very little success to show for his efforts. Zero personality, negative amount of charm and looks, and crap job to boot. He's gotta go. I'm still worried about that farmboy though - he most certainly is a schemer - I reckon he'll be there at the end. My prediction is there will be no merge - if the last survivor can spend a night alone as the last man standing on the tribe I'd say they'll be re-enacting that again. Especially since they're allowing eavesdropping on TC by a member of the other tribe.

What's with Hugh Laurie? Does he just get sexier each week on House or what? I don't care if each plot is identical (patient either has disease A or disease B. There is no way of knowing which because it is too late. Treatment for disease A will result in certain death if in fact the patient has disease B. Vice versa. House to make judgement based on boob size.) I think he's a cure in himself. He's making my TV week at the moment.

KIDS
How's this for a gen Y moment? Watching the ARIAS the other night with my 7yr old son and 5yr old daughter on the son's bed. I said to them "come on. off to sleep now" I went to turn off the TV.

"NO!!!" they cried in unison. "WE WANNA SEE THE HOFF!!!"

"What??? You mean DAVID HASSELHOFF?????? From BAYWATCH???"

"Dont be silly mummy, what is Baywatch? We wanna see DAVID HASSELHOFF from Spongebob Squarepants escape from Bikini Bottom"

I really should monitor what they're watching more.

BEING A BAG

My friend Sharon makes bags. She keeps it pretty quiet as she's a true purist and wants it perfect before it goes on public display. I don't care, I'm going to tell you all about them. They are called 'stuff sacks' I think. They're made of linen and they have a drawstring top, and are beautifully lined with shot satin. They are perfectly sized for knitting projects or other small craft projects. Sometimes she copies blog banners onto fabric and personalises them for gifts.

So if you want to be a bag one day then when she gets them up and running, go an buy one. You won't be sorry.

And here's one she prepared earlier.

MADAM, STEP AWAY FROM THE GOAT

How familiar are you with the smell of goat? I mean, have you ever smelled a wild goat?

When I was in my early twenties, I went away for Easter to the great goat race in Lightning Ridge. My grandparents were living on an opal mine in Lightning Ridge at the time seeking fortune in the elusive black opal. (Did they find it? Of course not but it didn't stop them trying - living on the pension - for about 15 years - but I digress as usual).

Now what they do at Lightning Ridge at Easter has to be seen to be believed. They close off the main road, they put a microphone, a case of beer in an esky and a blackboard on the back of a ute. A rough young local with a three day growth stands on the back of the ute in a pair of faded jeans, a blue bonds singlet and an akubra with a beer in one hand and a microphone in the other.

A caravan of travelling goat racers has come to town, with their sulkies and their goats parked in little trails all through the side streets (like all three side streets). Apparently there is a goat racing circuit in the outback, and these people travel from meet to meet a bit like a circus. Actually it is quite a circus really.

So, they have a blackboard written up for each race. And what they do instead of having a tab or a track bookmaker is the guy with the beer and the mike auctions off each goat in the race. Bidding starts slowly at 11:00am, but by 1:00pm the beer has loosened everyone up, and groups of louts from the city, bemused Japanese tourists, local lawn bowlers and other flotsam and jetsam from all walks of life bid in a lively fashion on every single goat. Our family group (we have come from far and wide and there are about 10 of us) bid about $500 on a goat in the third. I can't remember how they divvy up the winnings - some goes to charity, some to the owner and some to the jockey and some to the winner? I guess it's a bit like that.

Anyhow, the goats are harnessed up to little sulkies (I kid you not) and little tiny skinny boys dressed in parrotlike flashes of irridescent satin sit in the sulkies and race these goats down the main road. Naturally enough the goats have neither skill nor understanding of what is going on, they weave precariously toward the gutters and even jump onto the pathways on occasions. I did not see a goat run in a straight line all day.

Anyway, during these proceedings my dad and I went for a little walk to check out the form of the goats in the side streets. Dad says "come here, I want to show you something. Can you smell that?" And there it was, wafting like an evil acrid vile potion from a cauldron - the smell of racing goat. If you don't know what I'm talking about then consider yourself lucky.

Not only that, goats are supremely stupid. They can be standing on a car eating from an overhead tree and they don't even know what they're standing on. And those evil yellow eyes. Goats really freak me out actually.

They say the smell of silk is the smell of money. If that's true then the smell of goat must be the smell of stupidity.

Since that day, my nose has been the most sensitive goat detector on this planet.

A few years later my sister and I were riding little hired motorbikes around the perimiter of a Greek Island called Paros (what a life I've led - if you knew me now you would never have thunk it). We stopped atop a high hill to admire the azure Meditteranean, the impossibly blue sky, the olive groves and the whitewashed churches with the cobalt roofs. Suddenly, like a lightning bolt I smelled it! "There's a goat around here somewhere" I said. We looked. No goat. We got back on our little bikes and around the corner, about 500m away was a single stinky goat. My sister motions to me with a pointed finger over her head. "Your are sure some goatometer" she joked later.

I distinctly remember my first experience with goat cheese. I ordered a goat cheese salad in a brasserie and as soon as I took one mouthful, the taste reminded me of the smell of goat so much I had to wash it down with too much chardonnay. It's not that I really don't like goat cheese, it's just it tastes like the smell of goat. And what is the idea of rolling it in vine ash (but I digress yet again).

Other people have openly admitted to having no idea what I'm talking about. I say to them "get thee too the great goat races at Lightning Ridge".

Which brings me to one of my favourite things, mohair. I love me some mohair. But you know, mohair comes from a goat. You're not going to believe this: As I was blocking the Daisy Meadow Scarf from fiddlesticks knitting which I knitted from the Kaalund Expressions in Finch colourway - the smell of goat was almost overpowering. I made my husband come into the room. "This mohair smells like wild goat!" I tell him. He backs away. It is the most distinctive smell, and far less pleasant than the smell of silk.

Anyhow I blocked it. And, like the yarn harlot says, I could not resist going back in there and moving a pin. And going back in there and moving another pin later. And that side is just not right, move another pin. And another pin. And stretch that little bit out to the left and move another pin. I shut the door. And every time I walked past it in the last two days I've been saying to myself. MADAM, STEP AWAY FROM THE GOAT.

The mobius paradox - AKA there is no knot in this yarn

Do you remember the Dr Seuss book - did I ever tell you how lucky you are? Remember the glotz? The guy whose tail was full of unsolvable knots? I've got a similar tale of my own to tell.

FRIDAY 4:30 PM - There is no knot in this yarn, I wound it myself. It's just the ball has imploded.




FRIDAY 8:30 PM - This will only take a few more minutes, after all, THERE IS NO KNOT IN THIS YARN.



SATURDAY 8:30 AM - Where are the scissors? Not that I'll need them, for there is no knot in this yarn you know.




SATURDAY 11:30 AM - Ahh.



If anyone wanted to pick a form of torture for me then the unravelling of unsolvable knots WHICH AREN'T THERE would be right up there with making me listen to Pete Murray albums.

There was no knot in that yarn, I know because I wound it myself. This is a paradox akin to the mobius mystery and I cannot explain it. I am glad, however, that this is over.

How can I keep it secret if I blog about it?

I stayed at the Marriot in Sydney on Wednesday night with my husband and NO KIDS!!

Naturally, defeat was snatched from the jaws of victory by me falling ill on the morning of the said event. My ankles were swollen up like sausages, (something that did not happen throughout either of my pregnancies) my skin felt tight all the way up to my knees. Cankles - what a good look. Ugh.

I had an itchy red rash and my joints were killing me. Even my eyesockets ached. But I went anyway. The alternative was doing the dinner/bath/bed thing alone.

So we had dinner in the hotel. Nothing to write home about, but a very nice bearnaise ("don't get saucy with me bearnaise" - I kept saying it in a french accent at the table - I crack myself up sometimes) on my bleu steak. Vampire cravings satisfied until my next outing to a restaurant. I'm sure Alan was disappointed as the plan was to have dinner, go for a stroll along the waterfront and drink cocktails in as many trendy bars as we could find before collapsing into the king-size bed for - too much information already??!

Anyway, the beds are the big drawcard at the moment at this hotel. They even have one made up on display in the centre of the foyer. About halfway through my dessert, I felt a little peaky. Alan says to me "you're not feeling too good are you?" - true enough. So, instead of the romantic night like old times we ended up hitting the sack for sleep only at about 10:30.

The next morning Alan had to go into the office early so I slept late in the luxurious king size bed with millions of crisp white fat pillows. When I did get out of bed, my legs wouldn't work. My joints ached, my head was pounding and my eyes were unbelievably sore. The rash had moved and was now covering most of my body. The swelling in the lower legs was worse, if only that were possible. I took a long shower and dressed in some comfortable clothes. I had about four nurofen.

The plan had been to take in the MCA and then have a browse in DJ's and some other fancy shops I never get to see and then a pitstop in Tapestry Craft on the way home. Can you guess which of these was cancelled, and which of these was unmissable? You're right, Tapestry Craft was the only shopping done that day.

So I'm in Tapestry Craft. It is my first time there. It's big. It has Rowan magazines. It has a whole lotta Noro. The place is an evil money hoover. I found me my Rowan 37. I'm always a bit behind, so this is probably old news to you lot, but how magnificent is that butterfly?

what about all the cushions?


and the heirloom bag?

Goodbye hard earned $60


While I was there I couldn't resist the lure of the madil kid seta. The cracksilk haze you have when the shop doesn't stock rowan.

Goodbye hard earned $47.00

So I take my three things up to the register. The salesgirl rings it up on the till:


"That will be a hundred and seven dollars. Is that all for you today?" She drones, bored.

I raise one eyebrow at her (that's my signature - are you kidding me? - look). She finally makes eye contact with me and bursts out laughing. "yes I think that's enough, don't you? - oh wait, I forgot the ten hanks of noro silk garden I need". Thankfully she acknowledges the sarcasm, (she was American - it doesn't alway happen). She takes the money, laughing herself silly the whole time. I say to her on my way out "you know, the kids have to eat boiled rice for dinner now because of this shop". It's not entirely a joke.

I still felt like death, but at least I had dropped $100 that I could ill afford at the yarn shop. Now I felt guilty as well as sick. I wandered through the strand arcade on the way back to the car. I used to have my hair done there, in a salon long gone, when I lived and worked in the city. It was a bit sort of bittersweet - oh long story but there's always a lot of memories when I visit the big smoke.

Can you imagine my shock when I overheard a woman say to her husband (they were having coffee in one of the cafe's in the arcade) "I need something casual to wear for summer, like that" she nods in my direction. I looked over my shoulder, nope nobody else around. Oh my lord, this woman was talking about me!! I don't care that she was about sixty years old. Obviously miopic also, but what the hell.

But anyhow, I took it as a compliment - you get em while you can don't you think?

So Alan gets home from work and says to me "did you get anything today?"

I guess you know you've got a problem when you have to lie. "just that rowan magazine" I say "magazine" because what man would think a magazine could cost sixty dollars? I fail to mention the cracksilk haze lookalike hiding in the cupboard.

But now I've blogged about it. It will be a test to how much attention he pays to this blog if any - I wonder how long it will be before he says anything?

"But I was sick darling. Don't you feel sorry for me?"

Lotsa pictures

My camera has been playing up lately, so I borrowed one from work. It is an ancient thing, but takes shots much better than my broken one, so I have a few things to show you.

I have been dyeing some silk. The first one is a colour called raspberry, and I dyed a hank of lace weight with it. This is going to be a shawl of some description.



I think it should be called 'placenta' not 'raspberry'.

The next one is some dk weight silk single from the wool peddler (just google it for the link). It was originally raspberry but I overdyed it with yellow and it came out this great copper colour.



I think this is going to be Annie Moddiset's silk corset one day. Or one of those lace wraps from scarf style.

Alan thought it looked like a yarn trophy.



And finally, my progress so far on Mystery Shawl 2. This is clues 1 and 2 complete. I thought there was a mistake in it in the top part. Can you see it is not exactly symmetrical? However, it looks exactly the same as all the other photos on the knitalong site so I guess I'll just have to wait and see.



So that's it. A quick and dirty post today people.

Idle daydreams

I'm lazing around the house drinking coffee, thinking about making a rocket and roast beetroot salad with walnuts, pancetta and rocket aioli for dinner, and reading yesterday's papers cover to cover.

The kids are outside with the neighbour's kids playing on the trampoline. The sun is shining.

Husband is in the living room tinkering with his computer and my digital camera.

All's well in the world of Daly. Then I spied this!

I'm off to the newsagent to buy a lottery ticket - and spend the afternoon running a movie in my head starring me living in this house and of course sans those creepy looking people in the marketing shots.

The sad thing is when Alan and I arrived in Australia together when I was pregnant with Louis, we were looking at buying the first stage houses in this development but they were slightly out of our price range. We decided instead to settle down here in Wollongong where we could build a new house and be close to my parents for plenty of baby help.

But if we had stretched ourselves, we'd be RICH RICH RICH - and I could well be writing this from the sundrenched deck of the yacht club with a chilled glass of chablis and a dish of rocket and roasted beetroot salad THAT SOMEBODY ELSE MADE AT MY WHIM.

But would I be happy? I hear you ask.

Oh, I'd say so...

The three mysteries

Mystery One : Pub karaoke brings out hidden personalities.

On Thursday I went on a girl's night out with my work colleagues. Oh, yes, I'm back at work two days a week. Anyhow, we had dinner in the local tapas bar (aoili you are akin to dairy fat in my esteem) and then headed off to the seediest bar in town for a drink. This bar has karaoke four nights a week.

One of my friends is what I would call a trigger drinker. It is like an allergy. Two glasses of wine and her personality is amplified - she becomes one attention-seeking superstar hell bent on milking the most outrageous experience from the most benign of situations. Now I know she reads this so this sentence is just for her - be advised my friend that I think this part of you only makes you more fabulous. I can see that this behaviour comes from her inability to accept mediocrity in any form - something which she disguises most of the time. And that is what makes her truly fabulous.

Another of the girls from work is by her own admission, the reserved quiet type. I wouldn't say she was shy - but I would say she was an introvert. She is happy to be in company without needing to be the centre of attention - she has a lot to contribute and is not shy about doing so, but all in all she is a good listener and impeccably mannered.

So, I can explain why Paris* gyrated like a pole dancer to a small and very very unreceptive crowd (except us who did the whoo whoo appropriately and applauded much) to 'Fat Bottomed Girls' at 10:30pm.

But where did that sultry version of Britney Spears' 'hit me baby one more time' come from dear Nicole*?? What else have you got hiding under that meek exterior???

* Names have been changed to protect the anonymity of the subjects.

Mystery two: Where have all the angry young men gone?

Australian Idol has 4 guys left.
Guy One: a babyfaced Greek boy singing to his mum.

Guy 2: is the hot guy next door who you tried to pash once but he ended up giving you a platonic lift to high school every day and giving you lovelife advice and rescuing you from unwanted attention from guys in nightclubs - the boy friend.

Guy 3: has long dreadlocks but a speaking voice like Michael Jackson and is a hippy peace love and understanding type of guy.

Guy 4: He's a punk rocker with hair full of tropical fish. (The hair colour not actually fish). Yay!! punk's not dead!! Go go LEE!! Oh no. No. Anything but this. Lee sings Greenday's Holiday and afterwards admits with a giggle that he has no idea what the song is about. "I'm not a very political person, unfortunately". Unfortunately Lee, you have no right to sing such a song or preted to be a punk rocker. I'm so sad Lee is so mindless. It has put me right off him.

Mystery three Why can't I finish any of my knitting??

The great mind-expanding weekend

So we went to Canberra, the nation's capital for the weekend. Years ago, in a former life, I used to work for 10 weeks a year in Canberra. I didn't like it then, preferring the shambolic glitz and LA style naughtiness that Sydney offered. Besides, anywhere that gets colder than 10 degrees Centigrade is never going to be my favourite place.

However, as I have matured and become the most boring woman on earth, Canberra is looking good to me. We went to Questacon (the science museum) where the whole place is set up as a series of stations, each one offering a different experiment. The rooms are themed (you know - waves, music, kinetics etc). Alan has never been to Canberra before and is very keen on science so he was right into it - my favourite thing was the simulated gallows - even though your brain knows that the blade can't actually chop your head off it impossibe to put your head on that block.

The Australian National Museum copped a lot of flack when it first opened. It was deemed to be some sort of 'museum lite' - dumbed down and not the real thing. I was brought to tears in this place, something I can't say about the V & A in London. This place is all about what it means to be an Australian. It is a series of very poignant snapshots of events and people and places who shaped the Australian culture. I was brought to tears by a ripped, bloodied and mud splattered tshirt hanging on the wall - it was worn by one of the survivors of the sari club bombings in 2002. You can even inspect for yourself the 'blood' splatters on the inside of Lindy Chamberlains glovebox. Oh yes, something for every ambulance chaser.

And the most Australian of quotes in my opinion? "We had quite a bit of luck with the discovery of penicillin" - by Walter Florey. Such understatement. Speaks for itself really. Also pretty Australian that the discovery of penicillin is often mistakenly attributed to Fleming, but the truth is that it was Mr Florey. Which leads me to this very interesting website about historic anecdotes. Head over there and enjoy yourself.

The Canberra Zoo has a massive TV ad campaign with the slogan 'a touching experience'. Apparently you can pay extra to have a bear lick honey from your hand and you can get up close and personal with a tigon (a cross breed rescued from a circus - true story), a cheetah and a lion. Strange then I kept seeing signs like this all over the place.



Inside the Botanic Gardens we found the most delightful haven. The cafe there serves home-made food with tables outside on the grass - after two days in fast food joints and kid friendly restaurants where everything is fried I was gasping for some proper vegetables and some fresh raw food. It was a real delight there, the kids investigated a pond full of frog spawn while I ate some delicious thai chicken patties with a mountain of fresh salad. Yum yum. Even the kids chowed down on vegetarian lasagne and salad.

And I felt the weight of all that motherguilt lift off my shoulders for indeed the children had ingested a vegetable during our holiday. Because no-one counts french fries as vegetables, do they?

On the way out we saw a sign which I found quite bizzare. Imagine how excited the city of Canberra would have been to be hosting these two in 1985? Who would have predicted the tragic way that hand played itself out??



We swam in the pool, relaxed in the spa. I even ventured into the 'hot room' as my daughter explained it to me. We drove around the Embassies and all around Parliament House. Canberra showed off her crown jewels with brilliant sunshine and crisp air. The perfect spring break.

On the way home we dropped into the old bus depot markets. I don't usually love markets all that much, I find them predominantly full of cheap crap. Maybe I should go to more markets like these. Miles of organic produce, artisanal breads, homemade sweets. Plenty of handmade candles and creams as well - they bore me to tears.

Some gorgeous handwoven things, felted creations and handknitted garments too.


And, hiding there on a little table just waiting for me was this. Filatura Di Crosa Centolavaggi - the softest merino two ply perfect for the mystery shawl 2. The label says. "irrestringible" - I wonder what on earth that means??

I even got some knitting done! Unfortunately, lace looks so rubbish before it is blocked. This is the triangular fiddlesticks shawl in leftover Kaalund Expressions. I have about 30 or so rows to do until I've finished, but I have a fair bit left so I think I'll just keep going until it's gone.


When I got home, I was greeted by a little parcel on my kitchen counter. Mum brought it in while we were away. She also cleaned up 'a little' - it was like coming home to a five star hotel room! Inside the package was my sp6 gift.


Regia sock - another iconic yarn that I now can say I own. Sachet of rose pot pourri - lovely and some stationery.

Two little moon cakes. I would not have known what moon cakes were, but my SP6 thoughtfully included a few pages on the history of the chinese moon-worshipping festival. There are many stories, but the gist of it is that a talented archer - Yi, was given an immortality pill as a reward for killing nine of the ten suns which were scorching the earth. He did not take the pill, but kept it safe whilst he purified himself in anticipation of his immortality. His wife, Chang Er, found the pill and took it herself. The pill made her float up into the sky, shrouded in a beam of light.

Yi could not bring himself to shoot his beautiful wife, although he chased after her through the sky with a hare. So she and the hare remained in the sky bathed in light.

Yi built himself a palace in the sun : Yang. His wife the moon is the Yin. Once a year, on the 15th day of the full moon, Yi visits his wife. That is why the moon is full and beautiful on that night. Because the Yin and the yang are at it like hares.

Or something like that.

So there you have it, a weekend of great mind-expansion.

Unfortunately I ruined it with a Sunday night of massive brain cell killing. The AFL grand final was on (as if you didn't know!) and even though I have yet to ever watch a game of rugby league in my life I'm all about the party. I came third in the tipping competition and celebrated in style on the famous deck of my friend Ronelle. I'm living me the springtime - back to the business or 'entertaining' and being 'entertained'! Love that word 'entertaining' - it's a euphemism of course for eating great food and drinking loads of wine.

I hope you all have an entertaining week then.
x