(no subject)
Knitting's kinda cool. Before Christmas last year, the last thing I'd knit was a jumper in September 1988 and that was enough to put me off for quite a while, especially as it was so loosely knit it still fits me and I'm a good bit bigger now than when I was 10. I'm working on my second big project for me, a rather fetching geansaí in grey acrylic cos a) acrylic is cheap and b) acrylic doesn't make me want to take a brillo pad to my skin. So far it's been ripped back entirely once and one of the smaller cables fixed once. Need to do the same crazy juggling of crochet hooks and safety pins tomorrow, as in my frazzled and exhausted state this evening I managed to make the same sodding mistake again. It's all learning.
My first sunflower is properly out, my first courgettes harvested and thoroughly nommed. There's probably going to be way too many of them to be eaten here so any extras are going up to one of mum's nuns who keeps sending us the most delicious waxy potatoes. I love waxy spuds, don't give me any of those awful balls of flour because I like my food to have a good chance of remaining on my fork until it gets to my mouth. Balls of flour are useless for anything other than boiling anyway, whereas a good waxy spud is so versatile. There are two baby cucumbers on the only surviving plant (they really don't like being potted up or disturbed at all) that are about 3cm long. SandyDog has killed near enough all the onions and I've given up on them. Unlike slugs, I'm not allowed kill her. Martha would be quite upset. I'd love to know what she thinks she has buried in my raised bed that needs to be dug up, but the hole is now big enough that she can lie in it without being seen.
Yeasties are brilliant, too, though I've got nothing fermenting at the minute bar the chocolate mead as I'm out of room and need to figure out some things about storage and whether or not I still want to do it anyway. This is the sort of weather I like for bread, so blaas are going to feature heavily in my diet over the next couple of days. I'd give a firstborn for some real blaas from the Waterford blaa mines, though. Not my own, obviously.
Social things have been happening lately, some of which were an awful lot of fun with pretties and others which weren't so much. Have roped poor S into spending a good portion of tomorrow with me as I need some immoral support and who better than him to provide. Need to get to Cork again soonish, want Cake and hugs and kittehs and giggling and movies but also need Dublin and beer and hugs there, too. Have barely left Drogheda in months and this self-imposed exile is starting to get to me. But onwards, upwards. Still breathing.
My first sunflower is properly out, my first courgettes harvested and thoroughly nommed. There's probably going to be way too many of them to be eaten here so any extras are going up to one of mum's nuns who keeps sending us the most delicious waxy potatoes. I love waxy spuds, don't give me any of those awful balls of flour because I like my food to have a good chance of remaining on my fork until it gets to my mouth. Balls of flour are useless for anything other than boiling anyway, whereas a good waxy spud is so versatile. There are two baby cucumbers on the only surviving plant (they really don't like being potted up or disturbed at all) that are about 3cm long. SandyDog has killed near enough all the onions and I've given up on them. Unlike slugs, I'm not allowed kill her. Martha would be quite upset. I'd love to know what she thinks she has buried in my raised bed that needs to be dug up, but the hole is now big enough that she can lie in it without being seen.
Yeasties are brilliant, too, though I've got nothing fermenting at the minute bar the chocolate mead as I'm out of room and need to figure out some things about storage and whether or not I still want to do it anyway. This is the sort of weather I like for bread, so blaas are going to feature heavily in my diet over the next couple of days. I'd give a firstborn for some real blaas from the Waterford blaa mines, though. Not my own, obviously.
Social things have been happening lately, some of which were an awful lot of fun with pretties and others which weren't so much. Have roped poor S into spending a good portion of tomorrow with me as I need some immoral support and who better than him to provide. Need to get to Cork again soonish, want Cake and hugs and kittehs and giggling and movies but also need Dublin and beer and hugs there, too. Have barely left Drogheda in months and this self-imposed exile is starting to get to me. But onwards, upwards. Still breathing.