For most people an aroma, place name, trinket or song can transport them back in time and stir up some wonderful memories.  In my case, it was some 1970's orange Tupperware that took me back to childhood.  I had spotted it on Ebay - a set of two cylindrical orange canisters with sunray lids and a small stylised flower motif - and was delighted to find I was the only bidder.  My canisters (which I'm pretty sure have never been used) arrived today and are currently sitting on the kitchen worktop whilst I decide what to use them for.

Back in the days when it never rained, the summer holidays went on forever and it was ok to eat sweets I spent a lot of time at the next door neighbour's house.  There were three sisters of a similar age to myself so we played together, fell out together and made up together.  Their mother, Mrs Ridley, was a wonderful woman who was always welcoming and would often include me on their outings to local parks.  She had a motorcycle with a big, covered sidecar and we would all squeeze in and off we'd go, bouncing around as she drove along at top speed.  Sometimes if it was raining she would squash us into the sidecar and take us to school instead of us having to walk and get wet.  Mrs Ridley's family owned a bakery, and many times I would visit there with the three girls and inhale the wonderful, warm aromas and look at the huge mixing bowls and sacks of flour.

Anyway, Mrs Ridley was a Tupperware Lady so whenever I went to visit there was always a lot of it around.  The girls had lots of Tuppertoys to play with, and one that I recall fondly was a set of alphabet blocks.  Each block could be split into two and contained a small plastic animal.  There were lots of bowls and containers too, and on the back of the pantry door was a contraption that held circular lids starting with tiny ones at the front, working upwards to the biggest ones at the back.  I liked to look at all the different things and Mrs Ridley was kind and patient enough to show me.  To see her in action at a 'real' Tupperware party was a sight to behold and I'm sure she could have sold coals to Newcastle.

My new canisters remided me of the good times I had playing with the girls next door and what a wonderful mother they had.  I hope they're good for keeping food as fresh as memories!

I don't know what to knit.  I really have no idea.  My waistcoat is practically finished and only needs buttons, my blanket is an ongoing project to do when I need something that doesn't take a lot of thought, and that's it.  I have a whole world of yarn in my spare room and the other day I went foraging through it looking for inspiration and found none.

Personally, I find it's either feast or famine when it comes to ideas.  A couple of months ago I was so busy that designs were coming to me at a furious rate and I could barely knit fast enough to keep up.  Now the torrent has dried up to trickle and I'm left scratching my head and wondering when the next good thought will percolate through my brain.

No worries.  It's happened before, many times, so during these quiet times I do a spot of gardening, reading or general recharging of batteries.  Before long I will be off again, knitting like a demon and scribbling down my patterns as I go.  It only takes a magazine article, piece of artwork, or a beautiful colour combination of garden flowers to fire my imagination and start the design process once more.  Until then I'll enjoy the summer, watch the plants grow and mentally prepare myself for my next creative period.

Have a great Summer, enjoy your holidays and take inspiration from the world around you.  Happy Knitting!

I spend a lot of time in my little garden, either knitting, pottering about or just sitting and looking at the plants.  I have passed many hours in contemplation, and decided that one of my borders was in need of a re-vamp.  Calling it a border is somewhat misleading - it's more a collection of little holes dug along the side of the wall with plants in them.  Over the past few weeks I've been mentally visualising what different configurations might look like, and in the end decided that a gentle curve would be most pleasing.  The edge of the lawn (anothing misleading name for what is actually a patch of uneven grass) is defined with some very attractive old blue bricks.  I used a hosepipe to mark the shape of the new lawn, then lifted the blue bricks and placed them along the hosepipe.  When I was satisfied with the shape I called my assistant gardener.

Over the years I've spent many hours planting, tending and watering the plants whilst Hubby has been called upon to do tasks requiring a little more heft.  He cuts the hedge, lugs heavy pots around and today I asked him to help with the new border.  He dug out the turf (which was piled carefully to make compost) then helped to level the soil where the blue bricks would go.  I also instructed him where to put the plants.  I think he secretly likes being bossed around, that way he doesn't have to decide where things gets planted so I can't blame him if they don't look right or refuse to grow.

There's a couple of gaps to fill so I have a fine excuse to go to the garden centre for some ground cover plants.  I'm sure that the kitties, who were carefully supervising what we were doing, will help to fill the bare soil with a few deposits of their own before long.  Next time we'll be making a curved edge on the opposite side of the garden,  but instead of a border it's going to be slabbed so that I can put the bench there and surround it with big plant pots.

Ahh bliss.  Sitting in the garden.  Enjoying the sight of so many different shades of green, the fragrance of the lavender and the gentle sound of the breeze as it rustles the bamboo.  Just add a bag of knitting, a pot of tea and a couple of ginger cats for company and I'm content.

Aromas have the power to conjure up memories from years ago.  For some people the smell of  baking reminds them of home-made cakes piled high on a plate after school, for others a whiff of perfume brings back thoughts of teenage romance and snogging behind the bike sheds.

Earlier today I was using some fabric glue and the smell transported me straight back to childhood.  Bostik All-Purpose was my adhesive of choice back then, mainly because I liked the smell and the way it made long stretchy strands which could be peeled off my fingers.  If I wasn't gluing I was using sticky tape, and my family named me 'The Sellotape Queen'.  At school there was a very odd product called Gloy which came in a tub and had the consistency and colour of lard.  It was okay for thin paper, but anything heavier than newsprint would cause it to give up and dry into a big lump.  There was also some strange, runny brown stuff in metal tubes that was supposed to have fabulous sticking power but the best it could do was slip down the outside of every loo-roll sculpture and create an interesting puddle on the desk.  Marvin Medium came in big, five litre containers and was guaranteed to gloop all over the place when it was being dispensed into smaller, child-friendly dishes.  I liked the name of it very much - it sounded sophisticated and high class - but it was just the brand name of a PVA adhesive.  It also dried into a clear film which could be pulled off the desk, gluepot or spreader in a most pleasing manner. UHU was popular at the time although I always found it too runny and it made paper go all crinkly.  Back at home I also favoured Copydex, which had some great advantages over other glues, the chief one being the brush that was fastened inside the lid so it could Never Be Lost.  It was (and still is) the best fabric glue around.  On the downside it smelled like wee, and had the infuriating property of turning into big rubbery bogey-like lumps that prevented the top being screwed on properly unless they were pulled off.  Bleurgh.

As I grew older and progressed from cereal packet modelling to fabric fanaticism I was introduced to some new sticky substances.  At high school we did 'proper' art and learned about things like perspective and drawing techniques as well as attempting to paint.  I tried and failed miserably.  I was good at stretching paper though.  This involved choosing a piece of plywood, soaking a sheet of paper and laying it flat on the board, them smoothing it out.  This was held in place with strips of brown adhesive tape which had to be torn to length, wetted and stuck around the edges of the paper.  The whole lot was placed in a cupboard to dry and the following week it would be ready to paint on unless some sneaky git had stolen it because they couldn't be bothered to do their own.

Upper school introduced me to the greatest glue of all.  Cow Gum.  This amazing substance came in a red and white tin, the type that has to be opened by levering off the lid with a screwdriver.  One of the projects I had to do for 'A' level Textiles and Dress involved making many samples of decorative techniques which were all described in detail, then glued into a fat folder with Cow Gum.  I got through several tins of this golden, gloopy gum in the early 1980's, but I haven't seen any on sale since.  I hope they still make it and someone, somewhere is having a great time pasting bits of embroidered fabric into a folder.  When I found my project files in a cupboard some years later, sadly the Cow Gum had gone brittle and yellow and many of my lovingly-stitched samples had been ruined.  (On reflection, I hope that the someone, somewhere is using a glue that won't deteriorate with time.)

As this little nostalgia trip comes to an end I am thinking about my modern arsenal of adhesives.  A tube of superglue always comes in handy for little jobs like glueing arms back onto action figures.  Bostik All-Purpose rescued my leather flip-flop a couple of weeks ago when the sole parted company with its top deck. Just a few hours ago I was gluing felt circles onto the back of some knitted corsages using Copydex.  And if you were wondering, yes I did have to pull a big rubbery glue bogey off the screw top before I could put the lid back on.  It's good to know that some things never change.

There are some things that a person wants to keep quiet about.  It could be something mildly embarrasing, such as owning all of Donny Osmond's LPs (and one of them is actually signed!!) or watching 'This Morning' every day because you find Philip Schofield sexually attractive.  This type of thing is totally harmless and the worst that could come of it is some gentle teasing from your mates, who really have no right to be taking the piss because they fancy Adrian Chiles.  At the other end of the scale are things that could cause major humilation if people were to find out, for instance a liking for nude gardening (you need very tall fences if this is your preferred way to pass the time outdoors) or knitting with man-made fibres.

I'll gleefully admit to the latter.  I have many balls of man-mades in my collection and I'm not afraid to shout about it.  The knitting world has gone terribly 'posh' in the past few years, and there's a definate one-upmanship about the yarns one chooses to work with. 

Once upon a time there were wool shops.  Small, independent stores with matronly ladies dispensing patterns for matinee coats, steel knitting needles and ounces of wool.  It was all called wool, no matter what it was made of.  Be it grown on a sheep's back or made from a cocktail of chemicals it was all known by the same name.  Nobody minded if you made your sweater out of nylon or mohair, balls of wool were chosen mainly by colour or price, and the fibre content was of secondary importance.

Then along came The Internet.  Suddenly a whole new world of shopping was available.  Knitters were spoiled for choice and could buy yarns (by then it wasn't totally acceptable to call it all 'wool') from every corner of the globe, made from fibres that sounded exotic and unusual.  Alpaca!  Camel!  Bamboo!  Milk Protein!  Soya!  Go-ahead knitters were trying all these, and more besides, and having a great time in the process.

Newton's Third Law states that 'for every action there has to be an opposite and equal reaction'.  So as the popularity of these Johnny-come-lately yarns rose, the man-mades became less popular.  Yarn Snobbery was born.  The typical yarn snob will need a lie down in a dark room if they come into contact with anything containing acrylic, and should they be unfortunate enough to be within ten metres of eyelash yarn they get the vapours and need two days off work.  They can also be annoyingly vocal when it comes to proclaiming their superior taste in yarn and are always delighted to tell everyone exactly how expensive their latest purchase was.

Don't get me wrong.  I love a luxury yarn as much as the next person.  Just last week I knitted a cashmere scarf sample for a pattern which will be published in a knitting magazine, and it was so soft and delicious that it was a wrench to parcel it up and take it to the post office.  One of my number-one knits of all time was in an alpaca/silk mix.  But I also have a great liking for the Cinderella yarns, the lowly budget ranges and the outrageous novelty yarns.  It's totally acceptable to like fibres from all parts of the yarn spectrum.

Remember those matronly wool-shop ladies, dispensing good advice along with buttons and tape measures?  Doctor Betty prescribes an open mind, an ounce or two of fibre every day (natural or synthetic) and a sunny outlook on life. And most importantly of all, a dose of tolerance for other people's tastes. 

A couple of weeks ago a friend had to miss our weekly Knit and Knatter because she was waiting in for a parcel to be delivered.  The item was not even for her - out of total unselfishness on her part she was staying in to take delivery of a package for her Beloved.

I suggested that knitters should have a scale of charges for their partners to adhere to at times like these.  A minor inconvenience might incur a fee of 50gr wool/acrylic mix whereas a major put-yourself-out-big-time could cost as much as a whopping 600gr cashmere for a cardigan.

I have drawn up the following Scale of Charges.  It's totally flexible, so if your other half has annoyed you to a greater or lesser extent feel free to adjust the payment accordingly.  You may, if you are patient, keep a running total to save up for a larger payment although this can cause palpitations in some cases.  It's wise to warn your partner in advance if this is the case since most people don't keep enough cash in the house for a impromptu visit to the Noro supplier for a blanket's worth of Silk Garden.  Although I have used the words 'he, him, his' this can equally apply to lady partners too - they can be just as idle and demanding as men sometimes.

Minor Inconveniences  This covers small wastes-of-time, usually involving having to leave the sofa to direct your partner to some lost keys, pointing out where the new pack of teabags is because he really can't see it in the cupboard or answering the door to let his mates in because he can't be arsed to get off the Xbox and do it himself.  Payment One ball of standard yarn is totally reasonable, 50gr - 100gr dependent on fibre content.  Should be enough to make a pair of fingerless mittens to wear around the house.   Because the fingers are exposed, they're perfect for prodding a lazy partner into action to find his own keys, etc etc.

Medium Annoyances  We're moving up a notch here.  This would involve 'popping' into the Post Office to pay for Car Tax on the last day of the month so the queue goes all around the zig-zig barriers.  However, you are entitled to charge extra if you have to stand next to someone with epic B.O for the whole of your waiting time.  Having to go and fetch extra milk from the corner shop because your Life Partner 'forgot' is also a Medium Annoyance, as is having to fend off door-to-door salespeople because he doesn't like having to be a little bit impolite to get rid of them.  Payment  Since this section usually involves having to leave the house, or at least stand in a draughty doorway talking to a tedious person who wants you to sign on the dotted line, you need some protection againt the elements.  Around 200gr - 300gr of a nice, warm tactile yarn will make a hat and scarf set so next time you have to go to the supermarket at 9.30pm because he didn't buy poor Kitty any cat food at least you'll be warm and stylish.

Large Scale Put-Yourself-Outs  Having to miss your Knit and Knatter group to stay in and wait for the FedEx man comes under this category (although if the FedEx guy looks like David Tennant this might not be such a chore after all, but don't let The Hubby know this).  Driving (yet again) on a night out so you can soberly watch him get more and more drunk, or having to purchase an item of kitchen equipment that The King of Clumsy broke but hasn't bothered to replace (he was going to, honest, he just hadn't got round to it yet).   You've been to the same holiday hotel now for three years in a row and you're ready to try somewhere new.  He insists on going to the same place yet again, and it's fair to say that if you have spend another two weeks in the sun listening to that boring couple from Bristol you're going to go beserk.  Payment  All of these scenarios use up your precious time, money or patience (indeed, sometimes all three at once) so it is totally reasonable to ask for enough yarn to knit a sweater or cardigan.  Remember to take all the tiny details into consideration so if it's raining on that night out when you're driving, you can upgrade from superwash wool and go straight to alpaca.  For a huge, time consuming incident (that pair from Bristol again) you would be well within your rights to demand enough pure cashmere for a natty 1950's inspired twinset. 

If you plan your campaign well, you may find that you need never purchase any yarn ever again.  Even though you will have to put up with a lifetime of exasperation your partner will buy it all for you.

I've never been one to deny myself the pleasures of yarn buying, but there came a time when I realised that I had more yarn than I could ever hope to use up in several lifetimes.  I consciously made an effort to use more stash and buy less new yarn, and up to a point it's been working very well.  However, sometimes I have to give in to temptation and Buy Something.  I don't know if it's the thrill of acquiring something new, the irrational need to spend money or because I can't resist a bargain but I found myself last week plodding through the 'Knitting Yarns' section of Ebay.  A twin-pack of coned yarn, in two very attractive shades of raspberry pink, slipped onto my laptop screen and that was it.  I gave in to temptation and placed a bid.  Two hours later the yarn was MINE, all MINE!  I've bought some excellent yarns from Ebay over the years.  Not only does it satisfy my yarn yearnings it also means I get to receive parcels, which is always exciting (as you can probably guess, I'm easily pleased). On the downside I have a motley collection of odds and sods, all attractive in their own way, that I have absolutely no idea what to do with.  This impulse buying used to bother me a little bit, but I've learnt to live with it.  It's not life-threatening, I keep within my budget and it makes me happy.  Anyway cupboards are there to be filled, aren't they? 

In my humble opinion, there's no better cupboard filler than a big pile of lovely, colourful, squishy. soft, tactile, useful and happiness-inducing yarn!

Not really - it's actually been quite delightful.  Sun and blue skies for most of the week, although today has been overcast and a little drizzly which was as good a reason as any to go to the cinema and look at Russell Crowe in 'Robin Hood' this afternoon.

I've been thinking of all things festive this week, hence the Christmas lyrics in the title.  I'm not so organised that I've done any shopping, writing cards or planning what to eat on Boxing Day (it is only May for Pete's sake) but I have been trying to get into some sort of seasonal mood.  This has been rather hard considering that my clothing this week has included suntops and flipflops, the world and his dog are talking about summer holidays and it stays light until almost 10pm.  The reason for the incredibly early Christmas chez Betty is knitting, of course.  I was asked to design some festive patterns for a magazine so my thoughts this week have turned to snowmen, baubles, holly and tinsel.  Anyone who knows me can vouch for my enthusiasm for all things shiny so it's not taken much effort to turn my full attention to projects that involve lurex, sequins and shimmer.

When everything is cast off, the last loose end has been darned in and the patterns are typed up and posted off I can turn my attention back to 'normal' knitting.  Whatever that is!!

This is a game for one or more players.  Usually it will involve naming a person of the opposite sex (or same sex if you prefer) and deciding whether you would snog, marry or shove them off a cliff.  Just for the record I would snog David Tennant, marry James May, and shove Russell Brand of a cliff.

It occured to me that this game is fully transferable to other things, such as food, TV programmes, fashion clothing, flowers and so on.  It's probably more appropriate to rename it Like It, Love It To Bits or Send It To Hell because I for one don't like the idea of marrying lasagne or snogging daffodils. Obviously this is a knitting-related website, so my primary concern here is which yarns I prefer to knit with.   

Like It

Pure wool, cotton, silk, mohair, smooth textures, fuzzy textures, interesting manmades

Love It To Bits

Bamboo, alpaca, own-brand merino from my LYS, anything shiny, Sirdar Escape, King Cole Mirage, chenille, anything with viscose

Send It To Hell

Pom-pom yarns, knobbly linen, Snowflake (invented by Satan himself), anything black (too dark to see where I've gone wrong)

A little frisson of mild controversy is an important part of LI,LITB,SITH.  The choices I send to Knitting Hell might be just the things that make another knitter go into a delighted frenzy.  Have fun thinking up your own loves and hates, but always be respectful of other people's choices (even if privately you think they must be the worst kind of moron to be knitting with YakTail Chunky).   Join in, over on the forum, when you feel confident enough.

I used to be a one-project-only woman, focused on the job in hand from cast on to sewing in those final loose ends.  Over the past couple of years I've found myself straying away from this project monogamy and I must admit to becoming a Knitting Tart.  I've become strangely addicted to the rush of excitement that a new project brings and want to spend all my time with my latest love.  However this heady feeling rarely last long before I am tempted by another good-looking pattern or attractive yarn, and the first project gets left, half finished, in my second-best knitting bag.  The hardest part is facing up to the fact that occasionally a knitting relationship has come to an end, and there's nothing else to do but unravel and start again. 

Knitting Tarts of the world unite!  We may be fickle but we always have some knitting for company, and as the saying goes 'variety is the spice of life'.  It's just that some of us like it spicier than others.

Yesterday I returned to a bag pattern that I designed a couple of years ago.  There was nothing intrinsically wrong with it, in fact I was rather pleased with the shape, but it somehow didn't feel finished.  At the time I remember thinking of what to do to add the final flourish and I pondered this for many days, on and off, until eventually it quietly slipped to the back of my mind where it has rested ever since. 

Anyway I decided to have another bash at it so I chose some nice summery yarn from my stash and cast on.  This morning I had my Eureka moment and now I know exactly what I'm going to do to transform it from a so-so bag into a So Fabulous bag.  All it took was a browse through a gardening catalogue to prod my brain into action and now I'm on track for the big reveal of my latest baby.

I'm a perfectionist and like all my designs to be just right, so that's why they sometimes have a long incubation period.  I have a stack of half-finished ideas that have been abandoned because something isn't totally to my satisfaction, but you never know - I may return to them at a later date, tweak them a a little and be happy with the outcome.

Knitting has given me so many things, the most important of which is patience.  As Geri says in Toy Story 2, 'you can't rush art'.  Remember that everything you make is a work of art so enjoy the process, be patient and in the end you will have your very own work of art to wear, use or gaze at in admiration.

There's a theory currently going around the Interwebs that knitting in cars can be fatal.  Obviously if you're knitting and driving at the same time there's going to be some risk involved, but the theory goes that if a passenger is knitting in the front seat and the airbag goes off they will be stabbed in the chest and suffer a nasty death.  This got me thinking about just how dangerous crafting can be.  As an example, some years ago I managed to stab myself in the finger with a pair of very sharp, stork-shaped needlework scissors.  The pointy end went into my skin for about 1.5cm, which doesn't sound a lot but it sure smarted and left a nasty mark.  I've also managed to draw blood on many occasions with pins and needles, both whilst sewing with them and inadvertantly losing them in the carpet.  What the eye fails to detect can be reliably found at a later date with a bare foot.  There was a girl at school who managed to sew through her finger with a sewing machine (ow) and who can forget the stern warnings of their woodwork teacher on the importance of always tying back long hair?  Was there really a scalped teenager in town or was this just a gruesome urban myth designed to terrify design students?

Anyway I quite like a spot of knitting on a long car journey.  I can watch the world go by as I click away, and when I get there I've completed a few more centimetres on my latest project.  I would be interested to find out if any solid, conclusive research has been done on the death-by-knitting-in-cars subject.  I'm happy to offer my services as Knitting Consultant to the BBC Top Gear programme if they would like to look further into the matter.  Perhaps they could send that nice James May along to investigate, although I can't guarantee to send him back. 

For a short while after reading the airbag theory I was a little wary, but I came to the conclusion that there are much worse ways to end your life.  At least it would be memorable and I would go down in family history.  Remember Great Aunt Betty who was stabbed to death by her own knitting needles?  They were so deeply embedded that she went to meet her maker with half a cardi still attached to them.  I believe it was dusky pink bamboo yarn and 4mm straight needles.

Dear Father Christmas

I know it's only April but I wanted to catch you early, before the rush later in the year.   When you're bogged down with requests for Barbies and Scalextric sets my letter might get overlooked, so make yourself a nice mug of tea and settle down to read my requests.

First on my list, dear Santa, is TIME.   More please.   There isn't enough of it to go round and when it eventually finds it's way to me it's usually ran out or there's very little left.   An extra hour a day (or even two if you can manage it) would be most welcome.

After time, my next request is SPACE.   I know I'm lucky enough to have a spare room to call my own, but the cupboard is full to bursting and I can't seem to find the sofabed any more.   I think it must be buried under those packs of yarn.   The computer table   takes up another big chunk of space and the cat has to curl up in a little ball when she wants to sleep because there's no room to stretch out.   Please, Santa, can you make my room three times as big? That nice Dr. Who has a Tardis that's a lot bigger on the inside so I know it's possible.

My final item is ORGANISATION.   Maybe if I were more organised the TIME and SPACE issues would sort themselves out and I would find myself with greater quantities of all three.

Well there you go Santa, my wish list for Christmas.   I'm not a greedy girl, so if you can only manage one I will still be happy.   Thanking you in anticipation.

Best Regards

Betty

Oh, how wonderful it sounds.  A sunny day, a free afternoon and a chance to get a lot of knitting done.  That was my plan, but I didn't get quite as much done as I expected.

I arrived back from meeting a friend in town around mid-day.  The washer had finished its cycle, so I hung out the clean towels to dry, then wrestled with the parasol.  Back indoors to make lunch (corned beef cob, cheese and onion crisps), and a pleasant fifteen minutes passed sitting on the garden bench, eating my meal and listening to the birds.

Knitting time!  I fetched my almost-done right mitten, sat down and cast off.  Botheration - my scissors were indoors so off I went to fetch my little tin.  Back outside I cut the yarn, and finished the mitten.

'A pot of tea would be nice' I thought, so off inside again to boil the kettle and gather together the things I needed to cast on for a new project.  I took outside yarn, needles and notebook, then returned to the kitchen to fetch the teapot, milk jug and mug which were waiting on their little tray.

Settling down on the shady bench I cast on and was soon joined by my two cats.  Peter Parker in particular finds it unsettling when I sit outside in 'his' territory and he sat on the patio throwing quizzical looks my way, as if he were saying 'Why are you out here?  Normally you're in the house.  This is my area.  Go back indoors.'  His sister Teazle was also wandering up and down the garden and I wasted many minutes watching my ginger kitties when I could have been double moss stitching.

After two mugs of tea (Twinings Assam, in case you were wondering), making a phone call and having a natter with the neighbours I did a few more rows.  There was one slightly scary moment when my ball of Rowan RYC Classic Bamboo Soft rolled off the bench and onto the floor, but I acted quickly and retrieved it. 

By the time I had unpegged and folded the dry towels and had another chat with the neighbours it was time to fetch the boys from school. 

I can summarise this afternoon as follows. Total Time Spent Knitting: Approx. 40 minutes.  Total Time Spent going in and out of the house to fetch things I'd forgotten, daydreaming, looking at cats, waiting for the kettle to boil, sorting out laundry, chatting, manhandling a stubborn parasol, wandering round the garden looking at bees, feeding cats in the hope they might leave me in peace for a little while, going inside to look for a cardi because it wasn't quite as warm as it looked:  Approx. 2 hours 40 minutes.

The moral of this story is that when you think you're going to get a lot of knitting done, you probably won't. You'd be better off staying indoors and watching Sixty Minute Makeover which guarantees a full hour of non-stop knitting.  And you get some handy decorating tips at the same time. 

I've had my Bernina sewing machine since 1985.  We've gone through a lot together - suits, curtains, blouses, cushion covers, wedding clothes and alterations to name but a few.

My lifelong love affair with the Bernina brand started at school, age 11.  My first ever self-made skirt, a circular number in white cotton printed with tiny squares, was sewn on a school machine.  After taking off and re-applying the waistband three times because the teacher said it was wrong (then taking it home and mum saying it's not wrong) it's a miracle that I persevered with dressmaking, but by then I was hooked.  At home my mum had an old-fashioned treadle machine which was great fun to use and I passed many happy hours pedalling furiously away.  My older sister had a Brother machine which she would let me use if I asked nicely.  However good these sewing machines were I still longed for a Bernina.

When I changed to upper school I chose 'Fashion and Fabrics' as an 'O' level subject.  By this stage I was making practically all my own clothes and branching out into designing them too.  My part-time supermarket job helped to pay for fabric and there was a good choice of shops and market stalls in town, and Leicester, with even more retailers, was only a train ride away. Those machines at school became even more covetable and I promised myself that one day I would buy one for myself.  I then went on to study 'Textiles and Dress' at 'A' level, and I was delighted to find out that the school had bought a brand new, top-of-the range Bernina sewing machine for the exclusive use of sixth formers!  I was one of the few who were allowed to use this all singing, all dancing, all stitching piece of Swiss engineering and I loved every minute of it.  At home I was using a second-hand Necchi machine which dad bought for me when I passed my 'O' levels and although it sewed a satisfactory seam I still yearned for a Bernina.

I started full-time work in August 1985.  I saved like fury until finally I had enough cash to buy my coveted machine.  It cost well over £300, almost 2 months salary at the time, but it was worth every last penny.  I still have it and will be using it later today to repair a hole in my son's joggers and shorten some new trousers (if I was taller this would never happen).  I'm also making linings for three knitted bags.

As Bernina and me celebrate our silver anniversary, I wonder exactly how many millions of stitches we have made together and how many miles of fabric have passed under the presser foot.  I'm also looking forward to our next 25 years of trouble-free, smooth and happy sewing.

Oh dear.  Fingerless mittens.  I've made many a pair of gloves over the years, but I don't think I've ever had to unravel one four times.  It's a new design I'm working on, and I keep making silly mistakes - a dropped stitch here, a mis-calculation there.  Maybe I should just quietly put them back in the bag and walk away for a few days.

By the time I get them finished it will be too warm to wear them (I hope).

Today I went to an Open Studio Event.  Babylonglegs http://babylonglegs.blogspot.com/ has a wonderful dye studio not far from me so it was a good excuse to go and see what she does and how she does it.  It must be wonderful to have a dedicated space to turn blank yarn into fabulous colours, and I was inspired by all the lovely hues that she magically makes.  I was particularly taken with a one-off, hand-spun yarn in a mixture of blues and greens called 'Celebrity Masterchef II' which was whispering, ever so softly, asking to be taken home and knitted into a bag.  How could I refuse?  Out came my purse and this lovely yarn became mine!

I recently designed a fan-shaped bag which is knitted from side to side, and although I've made a couple in plainer yarns I was keen to find something self-striping that would be suitable.  My latest purchase fits the bill perfectly, so as soon as I've finished faffing around with my current project I'll be ready to cast on.  In the meantime I shall admire its good looks and tactile qualities as it sits atop my knitting bag.

There were so many colours to choose from at the studio that I was spoilt for choice.  Like a lot of knitters I often play it safe with tried and tested colours when I'm making a new cardi, but after seeing the yarns on offer today it made me want to knit garments in every colour, regardless of whether or not they would go with my existing clothes.  I would just have to go out and buy new trousers, tops, shoes.........maybe that's not such a bad idea after all!

As Blackadder once said 'I'm quite happy to wear cotton, but don't know how it works'.  Anyway, after chatting with Babylonglegs I have some insight into the work that goes into dyeing and spinning yarns for us to knit into fabulous fabrics.  So after today I am happy to wear wool, and I understand a little bit more about how it works.

After a few weeks of being unable to think about topics to write about, I'm back in the saddle at last.  I like to keep my writing muscles well exercised, but sometimes I have to admit defeat and go away until inspiration strikes.

And how it has struck!  Spring is well, springing, the sap is rising and my grey matter is swirling with new ideas.  On the knitting front I have a bunch of ideas for new patterns which I am steadily working my way through, and this morning I received a parcel of lovely yarns to make into samples.  I've had a few thoughts about offering a 'Knitting with Beads' workshop for a while, and my ideas are now turning into reality.

I could just do a demonstration, hand out some beads and yarn and wave goodbye but that will hardly inspire people.  I'm working on some samples for beaded projects that could be started during a workshop, then the attendees can take them home and finish them at their leisure.  I'm hoping to offer four, possibly five designs so that each person will get copies of all the patterns and enough yarn and beads to complete their chosen item.  I have some yarns in mind, and next on my shopping list is beads.

I adore beads!  The colours!  The shapes!  The shiny!  I have many beads in my collection, ranging from tiny glass seed beads right up to big chunky acrylics, and I love them all.  I am looking forward to choosing the right ones for my designs, and finding a supplier that can offer me what I want in the right quantities. Internet bead shopping is fun, but there's nothing quite like seeing them in real life to appreciate how pretty they are.

Anyway, as soon as I log off I'm going to look through my collection for some blue beads to adorn a bag I'm working on.  If I can't find any at least I have a good excuse to go bead shopping!

If you would like further details about my workshops, please e-mail me at mail@bettyknitter.com and I'll be happy to send you information and dates.

My late father was The Original Recycler and it's his genes that are responsible for my 'waste not, want not' mentality.   His shed was stacked from floor to ceiling with all sorts of useful things - jars of screws and nails, lengths of metal, car parts, unidentifiable tools and most interesting of all (to a child anyway) an old-fashioned wooden football rattle. He could probably have built a car using all the bits and pieces in the shed, with enough left over for a couple of atom bombs and a small block of flats.

One of his favourite activites was a trip to The Tip.   He would take a token bag of rubbish and usually come back with something 'interesting' much to my mother's annoyance.   In those days The Tip was basically a big heap of rubbish in a field, supervised by a man in a hut.   People could drive in, add their rubbish to the pile and have a look to see what everyone else had dumped.   Dad became friendly with the man in the hut so he would save toys for me, and once I got a Lego train set which I adored.   Sometimes I would go along with him and I can still remember that strange, musty, damp smell of all the rubbish.   Once we went in the pouring rain, and when we got there the gate was locked.   Much to my dismay I could see an unwanted, unloved teddy bear on the other side of the gate so after my shedding copious amounts of tears for this poor abandoned toy, Dad climbed over the gate to rescue him.   When we got home Mum cleaned Teddy, sewed on some new buttons for his eyes and knitted him some trousers and a jumper.   After many years of being my companion, I gave him to a lady who restored old teddies who would be able to replace his wood-shaving stuffing and repair his bald patches.   I'm sure he's very happy in his new home.

Nowadays The Tip has changed beyond all recognition.   Cars are directed to the appropriate area depending on what is being dumped, and items are thrown over a wall into large containers.   Much of what is dumped is sent for recycling, so there are areas for wood, garden waste, metals, old TVs and white goods as well as the usual plastics and cardboard.   No sorting.   No man in a hut saving toys for his friends' children.   Anything useable is put aside and sent to a weekly county auction. It would break my Dad's heart to see the new system and be unable to have a good rummage for some potential treasure.

Dad always firmly believed that one day he would find his 'priceless manuscript'.   My browsing takes me around the local charity shops rather than The Tip, but I live in hope that one day I will find my own personal treasure.

When I do, I'm sure Dad will be watching me with delight.      

When I wrote about 'my' empty building in February there had been no signs of life there for years.  This week, scaffolding was erected all around and workmen have started to strip the roof.  Being such a tall building it's hard to see exactly what they're up to, but it looks as if the tiles have been carefully stacked on the scaffold boards so they can be re-used.

I feel very pleased that this wonderful place is coming back to life and I shall watch with great interest as the work continues.  Let's hope that should it re-open as a shop, it's a good one that's worthy of such a beautiful building.

I can't resist a bargain.  My spare room/office/stash warehouse is full of yarns that were bought in sales and rescued from bargain bins.  Some of these yarns are odd balls from charity shops and leftovers from previous projects but there are also many full packs, ready to be converted into cardis.

My wardrobe is already fit to burst with cardis in various styles and colours, but I always seem to need just one more.  I used to be a jumper person, but that changed a few years ago when I was looking through my pattern collection and happened across a booklet from the mid 1980's.  It was a supplement, free with a magazine, and I had worked my way through and knitted practically every design, some of them twice or three times.  Anyhow, I decided that I would knit one again - a large, cabled jumper with saddle sleeves and a high neckline.

What a mistake that turned out to be.  In the mid 1980's I was a skinny slip of a thing, and photographic evidence shows that sweaters hung off me in that oversized, baggy way that was fashionable at the time.  In the mid noughties I was considerably larger, and a figure-hugging ribbed hem was the last thing I needed to emphasise the belly that stuck out above it.  Added to the fact that chunky jumpers make a person look even chunkier - well I was on a hiding to nothing here.  Eventually the jumper was unravelled (ginger coloured pure wool) in readiness to be converted into another cardi.

Since then I have avoided jumpers and stuck to cardis.  They're easier to get on and off if we're having a typical British summer - hot one minute, cold the next - and they don't muss up my hairstyle.

The moral of this story is that what looked good at 18 won't necessarily look so good at 40, and unless you have a bum like Kylie's don't wear hot pants.  Or baggy cabled jumpers.

I'm off to look through my yarns to decide what to knit next.  Unsurprisingly, it will be another cardi.

The Winter Olympics.  Hours of TV coverage filled with lithe, Lycra-clad athletes doing exciting, fast and sometimes downright dangerous things on snow and ice in the hope of winning Gold, Silver or Bronze.  Then afterwards they pack up the thermals and all go home to prepare for the next time.

I'm not in the least bit sporty.  There's not enough Lycra in England to go around my butt but still I dream of one day being able to whizz down an icy tube on a teatray at 90 miles an hour, or grab some air as I shoot vertically out of a half-pipe.  My personal Olympics are of a more sedate, but no less challenging type.

www.ravelry.com is hosting the Ravelympics, a challenge for knitters, crocheters, spinners, weavers and dyers.  The basic premise is that whatever challenge you accept it must be started and finished during the timeframe of the Vancouver Olympics.  There are lots of categories to choose from, and the Ravthlete can choose from such varied disciplines as Hat Halfpipe, Flying Camel Spin, Cable Cross Country, Lace Luge and many others.  I signed up for the Designer Biathlon which involves the design process from swatching to having the finished pattern published, all in 17 days.

Many participants start their challenge during the Opening Ceremony.  Not me - it was at 2am UK time and I was asleep.  However there are Ravthletes from all over the world (over 9,000 at last count) who began their projects as the torch was lit. It's a big commitment and a bit scary too - although I was 'only' designing a scarf and hat I still had to work out a cable pattern that made sense, get the patterns typed up, checked and re-checked as well as actually make the items ready to be photographed.

I'm pleased to say I did it.  Every Ravthlete who finishes their event gets a virtual medal to proudly display, as well as the satisfaction that comes from a job well done.

The finished patterns are available to purchase, so everyone can knit themselves a little bit of Olympic magic.

Slalom Scarf Knitting Pattern, price £1.50, click on the following link buy now

Slalom Hat Knitting Pattern, price £2.00, click on the following link buy now

One of my previous blog posts (20 January 2010) described my adventures with knitted spirals, and I'm pleased to say that the instructions are now available as a downloadable pdf file so you can make one too.

Click on http://www.ravelry.com/purchase/elizabeth-jarvis-designs/30106 and you will be directed to www.ravelry.com where you can purchase your pattern, cost £1.50, and take a look at my other designs as well.

Today I made a cake.  Not a fabulous one, but it's edible.  I have been trying for years, on and off, to bake a good cake and I can't seem to get it right.  I follow the recipe, measure the ingredients carefully, set the oven to the correct temperature and still the cake comes out mediocre at best.

Anyway, my friend visited today so I asked her opinion and she suggested that next time I bake it for less time and at a slightly lower temperature.  My friend - I'll call her M - is a Baking Genius.  Her chocolate brownies taste divine, her cookies are amazing and she also makes the most melt-in-the-mouth-marvellous fudge.  A few years ago she baked a cake for my mum's birthday - it was scattered with little sparkly stars that were actually edible, and it was a truly magical treat.  Many decorated cakes hold a lot of promise but the inside rarely lives up to the outside, with a centre that has the texture and flavour of loft insulation.  However M's cakes are as delicious to eat as they are gorgeous to look at, so whenever I suffer with cake failure she's the person I always turn to.

Whilst I was covering the kitchen with a fine coating of flour my thoughts wandered to knitting, and how creating a garment has a lot of parallels with baking.  You need to choose your pattern/recipe, carefully select your yarn/ingredients, and follow the instructions.  A lot of the time you make familiar designs/dishes but then along comes a new designer/TV chef with an eye-catching/mouthwatering garment/dessert that you just HAVE to try out.  Suddenly all the shops have sold out of Blended Siberian Yak and Silk/Imperial Jamboree Berries, and the scarcity just fuels the desire that everyone has for this new trend/taste.  Before you know it, the fad is over and everyone is tired of The Latest Thing.  People wander happily back to their old familiar patterns and recipes, and settle down for a little normality.

That's it for me and baking, at least for a little while.  Sooner or later I will get the urge again and out will come the scales and cake tins.  Until then I'll stick to what I know best and keep on turning balls of yarn into cardis and bags, or maybe even some knitted cakes.  At least they won't be overcooked.

There's an empty shop in town that I'm rather fond of.  It's an old building, dating from the early to mid nineteenth century, and is of very pleasing proportions.

When I was very small, this shop was occupied by Noons the Haberdashery Shop.  The doorway had a mosaic floor featuring the local coat of arms and 'NOON' in large letters.  Walking in was like entering a wonderland of buttons, ribbons, fabrics and embroidery supplies, and to the left of the shop through an archway was the 'Ladies Undergarment' section .  I don't remember ever going in that part.  The main shop had huge glass counters with wooden drawers in a stepped arrangement in order to see the goods easily, and the assitant would pull out whichever drawer the shopper wanted to inspect and put it on the countertop.  I still have my first embroidery hoop, bought from Noons, cost 52p, written in ink on the outside.

Eventually Noons closed down and a newsagent moved in.  The mosaic entrance was kept in place, but the large windows were covered with ugly metal grilles - not the sort that roll up discreetly out of the way when the shop is open, but they were padlocked in place permanently.  The room to the left through the arch was where the greetings cards were kept, so I used to go in there to buy a birthday card and a newspaper or sometimes a magazine.

After a while the newsagent packed up and went, and the building has sat empty and unloved ever since.  The mosaic doorway is still there, and through the rusty grilles a discarded ladder can be seen along with evidence of a half-hearted attempt to do a little interior demolition.  What was once a stylish, beautiful house has turned into an almost invisible building - one that many hundreds of people pass every week but never give a second glance to.

Except me.  I love this house.  I love what it could become - the promise of resurrection, of breathing life into a dormant building, of bringing something back from near-death.  I would keep the mosaic and the handsome curved window of the room to the left.  That would be my coffee shop, where people would drop in and sit on my comfy leather sofas, enjoy a warm drink and some friendly company.  The main room would be my wool shop.  I would bring back some of those old-fashioned glass counters, and what fun my customers would have as we hunted through a drawer for the stitch holders or row counters.  My yarns would be arranged in diamond-shaped pigeonholes along one wall, and there would be a large table with chairs so that customers could sit and browse through the pattern books without having to stand at an old rickety lectern.  There's a smaller room at the back of the shop, raised a little higher, and that's where I would keep all the different types of knitting needles, as well as larger pieces of kit such as yarn swifts and spinning wheels.  The front window would be stylishly arranged to showcase beautiful knitted items as well as the latest yarns and accessories.

It's a big three-storey building, so upstairs I would offer workshops and classes with visiting experts, as well as talks and get-togethers.  All of my staff would be friendly and knowledgeable and whether you wanted to call in to buy some yarn or just felt lonely and needed to hear a cheerful voice, we would welcome everyone with open arms.

There are two major downsides to this plan.  Firstly, the building has been empty for many years now and would need an incredible amount of work spending on it to make it useable, and its' listed building status means that even a seemingly simple task would involve lots of paperwork and liaison with the local council and English Heritage.

Secondly, I would need a Great Amount of Cash.  Which I don't have and am unlikely to have anytime soon.  Hey ho, back to the daydreaming. 

But as Captain Sensible once said 'You've got to have a dream, if you don't have a dream, how you gonna have a dream come true?'

A few years ago I knitted myself a long waiscoat.  The yarn was beautiful: pure wool in earthy tones with an uneven twist which gave the finished fabric a lovely texture.

I should have known better.  I'm a big lass, and chunky yarns on a chunky body just make the wearer look even more, well, chunky.  I wore the waistcoat a few times,decided it made my bum look like a bouncy castle, then it was folded carefully and went to live at the dark end of the wardrobe. 

Last week I was in my favourite charity shop and on the 'reduced to £1' rail was a hand-knitted tank top in the same mottled shades as my waiscoat.  I examined the tank top, and it looked unworn so I quickly paid up and took it home.  It's way too small to fit me, but after a therapeutic session of unravelling I will have some yarn to play with!  I don't know what the fibre is - if I'm very lucky it will be wool and I can use it for felting.  If not it's still pretty and I will definately find a use for it.  A while ago a knitting friend bought a woolen cardi from a charity shop, unravelled it and made a wonderful felted tote bag for less than a fiver.  How I covet that bag!

Recycling and re-using are not new concepts.  Generations of knitters have been unravelling discarded cardis and outgrown jumpers so that the yarns can be used for something else.  I have fond childhood memories of Mum winding the wool into balls as Dad gently pulled it from an ever-shrinking piece of knitting.

Anyway my bargain tank top purchase reminded me of my forgotten waistcoat, so I went to the dark end of the wardrobe and liberated it.  In more ways than one.  The seams were carefully unpicked, and the yarn was unravelled in readiness for re-use.  My unflattering garment will find a new lease of life as a pair of felted slippers.

That's what I love about knitting.  If you make a mistake, you can just undo it and start again, and the ugly frog really can turn into a handsome prince.

I was watching my son and his friend playing on the Xbox 360 the other day.  They have a preference for noisy, messy wargames which usually involve bumping off as many computer-animated characters as possible.  I asked them why there aren't any nice console games featuring flowers, bunnies, knitting and chocolate.  I got a dusty answer, which I guess I should have seen coming.

In order to rectify this definite gap in the market, I have written a proposal for a new, user-friendly, compelling and challenging console game.  Nintendo, Sony and Microsoft take note.

Knit Challenge 3000

Your mission is to choose a design, purchase sufficient yarn, make your garment and finally take part in the prestigious Catwalk Show.  Along the way there are various pitfalls and mistakes to avoid, as well as some exciting bonus levels to be found and unlocked as you go. 

Level 1 - Let's Go Shopping  Knittyville has four yarn shops, as well as two department stores, all scattered around the city centre.  Starting at the bus station, you need to find your way around the shops, visiting all six retailers in order to build up Shopping Credits.  You can easily lose credits by being tempted by a bun shop, busker or boutique.

Level 2 - Pattern Selecta  Time to spend some of those credits!  This time you are searching through six online pattern retailers, and you can choose from many categories, ranging from Easy Scarves and  Intermediate Sweaters all the way up to Advanced Expert Lace Shawls.  Don't forget to save some credits for the next level.....

Level 3 - Shopping for Yarn  It's back to Knittyville again, and you need to visit the yarn retailers to select your yarn and needles.  Shop wisely though - if you spend all your credits now and find you need a little extra later in the game you're in trouble!  Look out for the hidden Special Deals and Clearance Bargains, but don't be persuaded by pushy sales assistants.  Those accessories look good too, but remember they're there to tempt you!  There is a hidden haberdashery shop in this level, and if you manage to find it you can choose from their impressive selection of buttons, beads and trimmings to adorn your garment. The stakes are a lot higher in this level - the cake shops are displaying their finest wares to entice you in.  Stay strong.  You know you can do it.

Level 4 - The Knitty Gritty    Now you have to create your masterpiece.  Each piece of your chosen garment has been hidden in the Woolly Warehouse, and you have to navigate your way through an exciting platform level full of adventure and danger in equal measure.  Banish The Clothes Moths by throwing big balls at them, avoid The Big Kitty who's just after a nice ball of your wool to play with, and use your needles and skill to outwit Miss Calculation who is always trying to catch you out.  You can earn extra credits by collecting stitches as you go - but you can also drop them so beware!

Level 5 - The Catwalk Show  Phew!  Your garment has been assembled and finished, your chosen embellishments have been attached and it's time for The Big One.  You have to negotiate your way along The Catwalk (not easy in those towering Christian Louboutins) and impress the judges. 

NB. Knit Challenge 3000 may be habit-forming.  If you find yourself spending more hours pressing buttons on a handset rather than doing any actual knitting, you have a problem.  Unfortunately, I won't be able to help you with it - you're on your own now, pal. 

There's a well-known urban legend amongst knitters regarding The Boyfriend Sweater.  Many have laboured for countless hours, out of devotion to their beloved, only to have their carefully-crafted garment consigned to the bottom of the wardrobe, never to be seen again.  After a few enquiries along the lines of 'have you worn it yet?' but no actual sightings of it on his body, the knitter quietly resolves to never waste their precious knitting hours on HIM again.  In some cases, it even leads to the end of the relationship altogether as the knitter realises they would be better off finding a soulmate who loved both them and their creations.

I fell into this trap once.  He loves me, so therefore he'll love something I make for him. How wrong a girl can be!

It was 1986, or maybe ‘87. I decided to knit The Boyfriend a Jumper (I know, hindsight really is a marvellous thing) so I bought some brushed chunky in black. Very fuzzy. Very black. And the jumper ended up very large, which at the time was rather fashionable anyway (well, that was my excuse). I presented the finished garment to The Boyfriend, who tried it on, and that was the last time it ever got to adorn a body.

I never forgot this poor, sad, neglected jumper. However, resurrection was just around the corner. We were going to a fancy-dress party as Frankenstein (him) and Bride of Frankenstein (me). I had sewed my dress, Frankie had his clothing sorted out but we needed to get him a bigger, squarer head than the one he was born with. I fashioned a head from a cardboard box but we needed some hair……..

So my labour-of-misguided-youthful-love jumper was unravelled, cut into little pieces and glued onto Frankenstein’s cardboard head. The Boyfriend was very impressed with the result, then I told him where all that black hair had come from. Even though he had never worn that jumper, he still mourned it.  Sadly there is no photographic evidence of either the jumper or the head.  It's probably for the best.

To this day I have never knitted The Boyfriend (now The Husband) another jumper.  I knitted him a cardigan in the early 90's but I soon nabbed that one for myself when I realised it would look better on me.  Last Christmas when I made scarves for other, more appreciative menfolk he made little yearning noises but I only had to say 'Frankenstein's Head' and he got the message.

So my warning to all star-struck lovers is be wary of whom you knit for.  Unless you have a fancy-dress party coming up in the future that might require an unravelled jumper as part of your costume.

I've been intrigued recently by the North Pacific Gyre.  It's an area of the Pacific Ocean where currents meet, collecting debris and swirling it round in a never-ending collection of trash.  There are smaller ones in other oceans, but the North Pacific is the biggest. http://marinedebris.noaa.gov/info/patch.html  This link has more information, written by proper scientists.

I wanted to make my own gyre-inspired piece of knitting, so I set to work.  Like the ocean gyres, mine would be made of leftovers so I raided my stash for suitable yarns.

Circular blankets usually start with a tiny number of stitches in the centre, and increases are worked on each round as the circle gets bigger until eventually there are several hundred stitches on one circular needle.  I didn't want to do this so I did a little experimentation. My aim was to create a spiral from one long strip, starting in the centre and curling round until either the blanket was big enough or I was bored with the project.  So I started out with one stitch, and with the aid of increases and much short-row shaping I made a curl.  As it started to grow, I joined the strip as I went by picking up a stitch on the edge of the circle and knitting it together with the 'live' knitting.  To keep the curve correct and the circle flat I used short-row shaping at intervals. The strip is only 10 stitches wide, so I don't have to worry about having hundreds of stitches on the go at once. This is now an official 'work in progress' and it's about 30cm across.

The North Pacific Gyre is a lot bigger than my blanket, so I have a lot of catching up to do.  My solution to marine pollution would be to sift out all the plastics (which comprises the bulk of it as far as I understand), melt them down and make recycled yarn to knit circular blankets with.  Now there's an idea.

I found the Perfect Buttons for my cardi.  http://www.buttoncompany.co.uk/ is a marvellous online shop selling buttons, buckles, beads, threads and kits.  I love their 'Lucky Dip' bags and colour assortments, and I found my Perfect Three in a 'Girls Night Out' selection pack.  This particular pack was full of pink and purple buttons, and I enjoyed sorting through them to see what I got.  A while ago I ordered a 'Pearly Kings and Queens' pack which was full of the prettiest buttons imaginable.

If you're starting a stash, like the excitement of mystery packs, or are looking for The Perfect Button I can highly recommend The Button Company.

I went on a little trip round my local charity shops today.  I didn't find any yarn, but I bought a purple chain belt to dismantle for the beads (£1.95), a pair of bamboo bag handles (20p), two pairs of chunky clip-on earrings (£2.00) and a little inlaid wooden box (50p).  All that fun for less than a fiver, and I had a good chinwag with one of the volunteers in the Mind shop as well.

I don't wear clip-on earrings.  I tried it once when I borrowed some fabulous diamante jewellery from my sister but after that lobe-numbing experience I stuck to pierced earrings only.  So, dear reader, you may be wondering what exactly I have in mind for the clip-ons I bought today.  In a flash of inspiration I decided they would make fantastic bag decorations, so although I have nothing they can adorn at the moment it will inspire me to make something that I can use them for.

The big drawback with earrings is that they only come in pairs.  There's a design theory along the lines of odd numbers which says that when using embellishments, an odd number is always better than an even number.  For instance, my latest cardi has three buttons.  I have three candle holders in a little group on the mantelpiece.  Gardeners are told to plant in threes, fives and sevens.  Painters and photographers divide their compositions into thirds.  A dado rail is placed at one-third the height of the room.  I could go on..........but I won't.  You get the idea.

Obviously this rule can't apply to everything (spectacles with three lenses and three-cup bras would be plain weird) and because my earrings are in pairs they will have to be used that way.  Unless I separate and use them singly, which would satisfy the 'odd number' rule, but then I would be breaking up a partnership. I never thought that buying bargain earrings would lead to such anguish and difficult decisions. 

Maybe I should have left them in the charity shop after all, to be purchased by someone who has a thing for big 1980's jewellery and no nerve endings in their earlobes.

My short-sleeved cardi is finished now and is in need of fastenings, so my first stop was, as always, my Button Tin.  I passed a pleasant half-hour or so sorting through the delights within, but this time I couldn't find exactly what I was looking for.  The lid went back on, and it got me thinking about buttons and fastenings in general.  After much deliberation and thought I am pleased to offer my definitive guide to the perils of finding that elusive Perfect Button.

1.  The Button Tin promises so much, but delivers so little.  However much I enjoy having a casual browse through the many hundreds of buttons, press-studs, old currency and curtain rings contained within, when push comes to shove and I need a button for an actual project I rarely find anything suitable.

2.  Sorry Madam, I only have five of that style.  I've lost count of the number of times I've tipped out the entire contents of The Tin, spread them all over the table, sorted through them and put the rejects back in The Tin, then found out there's only five of The Perfect Button.  And I need six.

3.  The Button Tin has a secret portal into another dimension.  I know there were more of those little green oval buttons.  There were at least seven - I remember counting them and thinking they'd be perfect for a cardi.  So why can I only find four?  Doe the Button Tin secretly transport them to another planet for research purposes?

4.  Never mind the style, look at the quantity.  The Button Tin has many, many complete sets of buttons.  Some styles come in sets of twelve or more!  Unfortunately they are guaranteed to not be the ones you want for your project, or are ever likely to want for any project ever.

5.  Shirt Buttons are our Speciality.  Sometimes a shirt is so worn that it's not even good enough to send to the charity shop, so it's ultimate fate is to be dismembered and used for cleaning the car.  Often these shirts are relieved of their buttons which inevitably find their way to The Button Tin.  They will never, ever be attached to a garment again because every shirt has a spare button sewn inside which matches the others perfectly.  If you melted down all the recycled shirt buttons in the world there would be enough plastic to make one huge button the size of the Pacific Ocean.  Probably.

6.  The History Channel.  It's easy to become sidetracked when you go rummaging through The Button Tin.  Ooh look, here's a button from that dress you made when you were 17.  Ah yes, remember that coat?  Don't be embarrased, everyone had one so you didn't look any sillier than anyone else.  These historical buttons will never, ever leave the safety of The Button Tin but will provide nostalgia and embarrasment in equal measure every time you take off the lid.

7.  Know Your Limits.  Sometimes you just have to face facts.  The Button Tin can't deliver every time.  On these occasions you just have to take your completed garment and hotfoot it to your local yarn shop, haberdashery or department store and buy some buttons.  And while you're there, don't forget to buy an extra one to put in The Button Tin, just in case.  Which leads us nicely onto......

8.  Just In Case.  Every time I buy buttons I get an extra one, 'just in case'.  So my Button Tin has lots of odd unused buttons.  Maybe I should be proud that my button sewing skills are such that I never need the spare, but I still buy one.  Well, you never know.

9.  Oooh, Shiny!  It's incredibly easy to be sidetracked when button buying.  In my Button Tin I have several buckles, a very elaborate iridescent clasp, a selection of odd beads and some metal cowboy collar-tips.  These will probably still be in The Tin when I'm beyond caring, but I still bought them.  Why?  WHY?

Anyway, I still haven't got any buttons for my short-sleeved cardi.  I shall have to forsake The Button Tin on this occasion and go to The Shops instead.  Reader, I shall let you know how I get on.

It looks terribly pretty outside with all that snow.  It's a real winter wonderland, and it's nice for the kiddies to finally have enough of the white stuff to build a snowman, go for a slide around or just sling it at each other, get wet and cold and come inside complaining that they're wet and cold.

I like to look at snow, but I much prefer to see it through a window.  I can think of no better reason to stay inside with a bag full of wool and needles and a head full of ideas for what to knit next to keep the chills at bay.

Currently I'm working on a no-sew, sideways cardi with cap sleeves.  It seemed like such a good idea when I started it but now those mini-sleeves are looking rather inadequate in the face of such chilliness.

I have a bag of lovely, squishy superwash merino to knit a hat with.  It's a new design and after being complemented on mine I will be starting work on the 'official' one to give to a friend.  After being worn to death for the past few weeks mine is looking a little flabby ( it was made in super-cheap stash yarn to see if the idea worked).  I like to photograph projects as newborns so they're looking brand new, pristine and unused for their official portraits.