The process of sitting down to try to write a blog post makes me realise just how out of blogging I have been lately. Not much blog reading. Next to no blog writing. A bit of thinking about- mostly to do with whether I'm ever going to find time to catch up with the backlog of blog worthy things I have to show and tell. One step at a time I suppose.
Earlier this week I managed to remember to take photos when there was both daylight and opportunity, and today I finally remembered to download them from the Camera. But my brain is all fog when it comes to concocting a wittily relevant title and interesting angle for the content. I suppose I could blame it on pregnancy hormones (thanks for all the congratulations by the way- it's lovely to be able to share the exciting things in life with a responsive, supportive audience), and the fact that I am newly addicted to MasterChef, although it does make me feel like a horrifyingly amateur cook. Certainly the mash I served up last night would have been sent back to the kitchen by Matt Preston. Although I think the crumbed lamb cutlets stuffed with pancetta and parmesan were quite spectacular and I would have been content to eat a few more of them. But I digress.
Last weekend I managed to finish my Skew socks. I knew I had to knit these as soon as I saw the pattern go up at Knitty. The construction had me intrigued, and after the Passaggio socks I was keen for a simpler, less detailed sock to knit. I also was fortunate to have been gifted the perfect yarn, a mottled red Handmaiden Casbah- a heavenly mix of fibres including a portion of cashmere (so soft) and nylon (so they will hopefully wear OK). As soon as the Passaggio's were cast off I cast on sock #1. A good chunk of sock #2 was knitted up in Queensland, which already seems like a long time ago. Following the tips of other Skew knitters I checked out the fit mods on the designer's blog, and included the high instep alteration, which I have to say was a good idea- the result is a tight-ish fit to get on and off (although no worse than any other socks I've knitted) and a perfect fit when on (although I probably could have made the foot section a little bit shorter, which is a first time experience for me!).
I would say they are a fairly straightforward knit in terms of technique, but they do require you to keep track of rows and remember to do the increases and decreases at the right moment (I did have a couple of stuff-ups along the way, some of which I frogged, and some of which I left and compensated for somehow). The construction however is the amazing thing. It's truly as intriguing to knit as it is to look at. I couldn't see where it was headed as I worked my way through the strange sequences of increases and decreases, and even when I worked sock #2, which in the ankle area is a mirror of sock #1, I was entranced with a sense of wonder as the foot form materialised. As is my usual line of thinking when I'm looking at or making something that I find really interesting, I couldn't help but wonder how on earth the designer figured out the method and pattern. Where did this strange idea come from? How did she develop the pattern? Was there much trial and error? How did she know that it was going to work out in the end? Or perhaps she didn't- she just had to see where it might lead? I think she has written a blog post about it, but then I wonder if reading the story behind it will diminish it's mystique.
Regardless, I now have some deliciously soft and cosy socks to wear when I take over the sofa each evening to watch MasterChef. I wonder if someone will make a strawberry dessert that is this colour....