Knit one, purl one, drop one, curl one

What with my estranged relationship with football and the increasing emphasis on here to gardening and wildlife, I’ve been detecting a few suggestions that I am losing my masculinity. I had this in mind when looking for a new pastime and so tonight I found myself enrolling at Streatham Ninjas: Ultimate Fighting Training.

HRNK! Not really, this evening I was actually to be found sat outside the National Theatre merrily knitting with my new friends from I Knit London. That’s right. I'm learning to knit. Deal with it. My first knitting project is a scarf:

As you can see, I’m being a little adventurous for a beginner by making it ribbed (more obvious on this one but the colour doesn't come out as well):

I actually started it at Christmas but then forgot what my mum and gran had taught me and so it lay in my cupboard for six months. And it may have stayed that way had I not spotted a flyer for I Knit London at Spitalfields Market recently. It’s a brand new knitting club that meets every second Thursday at venues across the city, and also has a stall at the market. Tonight the setting was the South Bank and we were entertained by ‘Mario: Queen of the Circus’ who juggles to Queen tracks, which was actually very impressive.

It being Thursday, I decided to give 5 a side a miss and go knitting instead (I can almost hear Ak slapping his forehead in Sydney from here), and I’m glad I did. Everyone was very friendly and I must thank Vanessa for helping me get started again. I did make one mistake after getting a bit overconfident and trying to chat and knit at the same time (I did 3 knit stitches instead of two, knocking out the rib) but fortunately she fixed it for me and I could continue. I added several rows to the scarf this evening and now I need to keep on at it so that I don’t forget it all again. I’d like to have taken my knitting on the plane to pass some time but that’s probably a non-starter.

I would also like to promote the current charity work that the knitters are working on: Knit a River. They are collecting blue squares to produce a river and act as a petition to promote the work of WaterAid. Squares have been donated from all over the world.

For those who are interested, the yarn I am using is Sirdar Denim Chunky:


And on that bombshell, I’m off on my hols! It’s possible that I will blog while away, but I wouldn’t count on it. Cheerio!

In Tom's Inbox #2

Yeah, so I'm recycling stuff here but sod it - this is still making me chuckle and I want to keep it for posterity. This greeted me this morning:

They must have been bloody desperate for a soundbite if they had resorted to emailing random British Psychology researchers... Sadly it did not reach me in time. I had a prior engagement discussing Led Zep on MTV Switzerland.

PS

You can listen to Felix's report on Syd's passing here: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=5549695

I'm not sure where I would have fitted into it.

POST SCRIPT

Mystery solved! A Mr TIM Willis wrote the biography of Syd Barrett. Thanks to Dad for that.

and all the world is football shaped, it's just for me to kick in space

From the BBC website:

Former Liverpool midfielder Dietmar Hamann has joined Manchester City on a two-year contract. Hamann, 32, signed a pre-contract agreement with Bolton last month but then changed his mind, telling the club he wanted to join City instead.


Two things:

1. He clearly is an intelligent chap

2. Looks like my intolerance of players names being shortened is about to be tested to the limit. Check out the statement from Bolton's website:
"Although Didi Hamann signed a contract with the club, he has since had a change of heart and will sign for another football club within the next 24 hours." AAARGH!!!

Calm down, dear!

Tonight I was planning to write a catch-up piece of stuff since my last entry. It was shaping up to be a cavalcade of fun: going to Brighton, comedy sunburn, not watching the England v Portugal game (bloody hell, you’d think I’d punched a nun in the face by the reaction I got after that), crying at the separation of Dr Who and Rose Tyler, my new bird feeder (take that pigeons!), my impending jaunt across the world, the real live debut of DJ Disco Factors, my fab idea for a post-wedding gift, celebrity updates… but all that will have to wait.

It’s not the clearest photo, I know. It looks like the kind of shots you get on the front of the Mirror showing clumsy-footed biddy fiddler Wayne Rooney exiting a Toxteth knocking shop. But the paparazzi-style snap above was taken earlier this evening in my kitchen. I know because that paparazzo was me. That blob in the centre right? It’s a mouse. Not a rat in me kitchen, thank god. I’ve christened him Chester, which I think is a rather good name for a mouse in Brixton.

Months ago I thought I spotted a mouse scurrying across the kitchen floor but I’d seen no signs since and had pretty much forgotten about it. True, there are the odd squeak noises that sound like they’re coming from the back of the fridge, but I thought that maybe they were, er, wonky pipes or something. Tonight, while making my tea, the squeaks seemed to be more prominent. For the first time I tried to find out where they were coming from. I shone my torch round the back of the fridge and under the cupboards. No sign of anything untoward though. Later, returning to the kitchen… what was that?! I was sure I heard something dashing across the worktop. It was time to get to the bottom of this. So, after putting on my trainers (like pulling up your duvet to prevent being attacked in bed, I always feel far more secure when wearing shoes. Maybe it’s from watching Die Hard too many times as a kid) I stood quietly in the kitchen doorway with the light off. Sure enough, there was soon some rustling and a shadow dashed across behind the taps. The light went on but by now the mouse (I’d not christened him by this point) was getting pretty cocky. It strolled back along the top, and climbed down the back of the fridge.

Now I decided that I wanted a picture. So in true cartoon style I stood on a chair like that woman out of Tom and Jerry. I waited with my camera poised and aimed at the area where I’d last seen Chester. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. After 30 minutes of squeaking but no sign of anything murine, I was getting pretty bored. I had been standing very still, on a chair, like David goddam Blaine. Hello…here he comes… And just to muck me about, on the opposite side of the kitchen, Chester peeped his nose out from behind the oven. As soon as the above photo was taken, he scarpered. I then got all Ray Mears and searched for clues. Here are my findings (with cockney rhyming info labels. Apart from ‘crumbs’. I think they really are crumbs):

So what happens next? Well, I email my landlady telling her we are infested and then bugger off to Australia/New Zealand for 3 weeks! Pip pip!

Like the bird with no teeth, I was determined to succeed

Quick bird feeder update. The pigeons had worn me down and I’d given up. The only solution appeared to be to get a new feeder. So I did. Here it is, complete with the now rather sorry looking original behind it.


And after only about 12 hours in it’s position swinging from the washing line, I was delighted to see this from my bedroom window:


Take that, pigeons!

Nature's law

I went to the London Wetland Centre on Saturday. The highlight was the pair of avocets that were raising two chicks. But only the serious birders could take photos of them because of the distance involved. I had to make do with getting close to insects: