So, yeah... I have a Ravely account and I have to stop myself sitting browsing patterns for hours and queuing things I like. I managed to stop myself after about ten minutes because I realised I would end up hooked. I only ended up queuing a few things I thought were pretty or amusing. Including, of course some knitted handcuffs, because A)they were actually doable with my skill level and B)I needed something to counter the "there is NOTHING sexy about knitting" claim that keeps being thrown around the house at the moment. This is what happens when a loved one's gran used to knit fervently, you end up reminding them of their gran. Such is life.

I have actually started a project, which is just a selection of sampler squares knit with really large needles and thin cotton, so I can see exactly what I'm doing. I plan to make dozens of them in assorted patterns, as I have just acquired a pattern book full of funky ribs and assorted bumpy things that just require knitting and purling and not a lot else. I may well work my way up to things with holes in. And then, obviosuly, I plan on crocheting the squares together to form the world's most special needs baby blanket. I'm sure it will be passed on through the generations.

The project has currently been interrupted by a related side project of the sewing variety, in which I intend to get the machine out tomorrow and fashion a wrist/elbow pouch suitable for holding my yarn while I knit. The reason I'm sewing it is because A)I'm still pretty crap at knitting and B)it's a good excuse to try out the shirring elastic I bought in France, I've never done shirring and if I, and my machine, can get the hang of it, I can make lovely wee baby dresses and the like from all the girly fabrics I have lying around. The reason the need for the pouch has become urgent enough to interrupt the knitting project is because yesterday I ended up frogging one square a total of three times because either A)Millie or B)one of the cats fucked up what I was doing by winding the yarn around their neck and walking off with it. Three times. No lie. So yeah. After that, it's back to the squares.

On a final domestic note, my one French acquisition this holiday:



And no, that's not an IKEA lampshade, it's an original one I picked up in the brocante market at Aigues-Mortes for 5 euros. So there.