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.