congrats

It’s Dollheid prize time! Congratulations to ten randomly-selected commenters: Celia, Luisa, Arndis, Lillicroche, Yulian, Maaike, Lizzi, Pat (J) and two Marias (one German, one Canadian) to whom I’ve just emailed a copy of the pattern. And thanks for all your comments, everyone, which I enjoyed reading: I was thrilled to discover that dollheid translates into Dutch as ‘frolicky madness’, and particularly liked Kristi’s tale of her psychedelic dream knitting — a phenomenon strangely familiar to those of us who Dream in Wool.

For those of you who are interested, here’s a little more about the design. The shaping is that of a traditional tam, but with a greater number of crown-points than is usual (eighteen dolls = eighteen points of decrease). I began with stitches to fit an average head circumference of 21 inches (those with very wee heads might knit the edging on a 2.5mm rather than a 3mm needle). The brim edging is worked in corrugated rib, and then stitches are increased rapidly to the finished diameter. Despite the relatively long areas of colourwork, I didn’t weave my strands at all — and found that the yarn stabilised quickly at the back of the work (warning: this will only work with a very even tension and a pure-wool yarn!). My finished dollheid is ten inches wide and eight inches deep – a roomy fit that would enable you to wear this tam in a slouchy fashion on the back of your head, as well as pulled down over your ear-tops (as I like it). Knitting towards the top of the crown, paired decreases are worked in the spaces between the dolls, and then in corresponding sets up through the crown pattern, until three stitches remain, which are finished as an i-cord stalk. Finally, I blocked the tam by pinning it out — rather than stretching it over a plate. This is simply because I find that putting a tam onto a plate over-stretches the ribbing, and I like my ribbing to stay as ribby as possible.

Well, dollheid is now “live” and if you are interested in the pattern, you can find it here or here. But I want to conclude this post with another congratulations — to Tom, who ran the Islay half marathon on Saturday in a speedy personal best.

Look at him go! More about our weekend on Islay shortly.

Jura fell race

I’ll complete the Jura series by telling you a little about one reason we were there. For much of our time on the island, as the photograph above suggests, the weather was just fantastic. Tom was pleased about this, since he had to run up and down this hill:

. . .and six others in the Jura Fell Race. For hill runners, this is a legend among races: sixteen miles, seven summits, a true test of navigational skill and physical stamina. The race’s key peaks are the paps of Jura — three huge quartzite cones that are visible from the mainland and which dominate the island’s distinctive landscape. I have only walked up the paps, and they really are fabulous mountains, but from my pootling, boot-shod perspective I would say they form a challenging landscape at the best of times: bog, and rock, with little inbetween. Their tops are crazy boulder-strewn moonscapes and what might look from a distance like a fine scree turns out at close quarters to resemble the gigantic rubble from a demolition site.

As I said, the weather had been gorgeous, but by the morning of the race it certainly was not. The mountains were swathed in dense cloud, and a thin rain was falling to complement the nice, chill wind. These were evil conditions in which to scale and descend several rocky mountains at speed! Visibility is very important in this race because of the particular navigational challenges of the terrain. For example, to the north of Beinn Shiantaidh is a sheer precipice which, when cloud is low, is very difficult to spot.

The crowd of locals, runners and supporters assembled here number more than twice the existing population of the island. Very few people live on Jura.

Tom ran while I waited (and knitted). The weather seemed at times to want to clear, but then it became even more grim. I hope you don’t think I’m romanticising my own position (I wasn’t running, or owt), but conditions were so bad that I felt the same kind of concern as if my feller had been out at sea in a storm.

A few hours later, I took a walk up to the three arch bridge to watch the runners coming down off the hills.

The terrible conditions meant that times were very slow. But, after a while, gaunt and muddy figures began to appear out of the mist. Tom was one of them. Hurrah!

The sense of achievement and (for me) relief was immense. And from my non-participant, outsiders perspective, I would say this is a truly great race in all senses: the intensity of the challenge it presents, the camaraderie and atmosphere, the local support ( which is tremendous), and, more than anything, the brooding majesty of Jura’s landscape. From the runner’s point of view, I can report that the conditions made a genuinely difficult race deeply unpleasant at times, but not so unpleasant as to contemplate not doing it again. I think we might be back next year.

first pitch

(Old Bridge, Dumfries)

This weekend was the first time this year we’ve had the chance to really get outside — by which I mean, not just go for a walk, but get in the tent. I can’t tell you how happy this makes me. We’ve had such a nice couple of days. There were ruins to explore . . .

(Dundrennan Abbey)

(Sweetheart Abbey)

(grave at Dundrennan)

. . . there were textiles in the Dumfries Museum for me (I like local museums and this is a very good one.)

(‘receipt’ book. 1840s).

. . . there was a hill race for Tom. . .

(Warming up for Criffel Hill Race. . . )

And best of all, we found a well-placed pitch, complete with red squirrels scampering in the trees above. Watching squirrels from my tent with a giant cup of tea! What could be better?

(tea!)

functional

Earlier today I crouched, covered in snow in an 80mph wind at the top of Arthur’s Seat, and felt a near-spiritual sense of thankfulness for my Walshes.

These shoes are deservedly a design classic (well, among the hill running community at any rate) because of their incredible combination of form and function. They are really one of the most favourite things that I own. They have a glove like fit, a feather-like lightness and are really, really grippy. You can scamper up a hill and zoom down it without worrying about where you are treading, for in the Walshes your feet will stay sticky as an insect whether on grass or mud or rock. They are shoes designed by hill runners for hill runners. The design is basic, unfussy, and entirely functional, and thus has stayed the same for more than thirty years. Many runners sneer at the Walshes ubiquitous blue and yellow, but I find the lo-fi look of the shoe rather pleasing. The pyramid-like studs produce a footprint that is as immediately recognisable as a rabbit’s paw when one is out in the hills, and I like this unobtrusive and temporary way that runners’ feet can add to the language of a landscape. And Walshes are also made in Bolton, not far from where I grew up, so I feel an absurd and meaningless sense of Lancashire pride as I pootle about in them.

They did some pootling today. Here is a view of the hills from my back window after I returned:

Arthur’s Seat is there, just behind the chimney. There were no walkers up on the peak at all. Visibility was nil, and charging off the top into a white-out felt strangely like insanity. But the Walshes did their job skimming over icy stones, through sticky bog and squelchy grass. In them, I hardly notice the grim conditions, for I am nimble as a weasel.

odd socks, who cares?

got

Among the lovely things I received:

A ‘ballerina‘ kit from Hanne Falkenberg . . .

. . . some fabulous vintage fabrics, of which these bellhops were my favourite . . .

. . . coasters made of Japanese washi and shaped like wee kimonos . . .

. . . and this wonderful quilted table runner, made by hand by my sister from several different recycled fabrics.

O lucky me!

The other thing I may have got recently is a taste for hill running, having begun the new year by dashing up and down Arthur’s Seat. I found the speedy 800 foot ascent and descent very exilherating and it was also interesting to reach the top and meet the amused looks of those who had ascended the hill at a more sensible and leisurely pace. Time to strap on the fell shoes, I reckon.

brown things

For several months now, I’ve been going into the bathroom and discovering sights like this:

And strange things like this have been appearing in the kitchen:

These objects are signs that our flat has now fully realised its second function as a brewery. At first this transformation caused me some concern. For example, when Mr B said he was bringing home a mash tun, I envisaged an enormous vat in which I would be forced to spend evenings of unbearable heat and grueling physical toil, relentlessly treading malt grain. Then he turned up with an innocuous vessel that resembled a picnic basket and all was well.

In any case, I am completely reconciled to the year-round supplies of (very) tasty beer and my drone-like role in the process. For my lowly task is to apply the bottle caps. Here are the fruits of yesterday’s labours:

A delicious red ale using Irish yeast.

As well as the beer in its nice brown bottles I have another brown thing to show. A while ago now, I started making Mr B a vest for the cross country season. He runs for a club whose ethos embraces the idiosyncratic and handmade. Their colour is brown and in my vest he fits right in. I finally finished off the neck and armhole edging yesterday, and am very pleased with the results. Here he is obligingly modelling said vest this morning, together with the number of a race he ran a couple of weeks ago:

And here is the vest from the back. (Yes, I have become completely obsessed with duotone)

I think it has a hokey, yet dashing Chariots of Fire air about it. But only a knitter would appreciate the ludicrous contradictions of this vest — being, as it is, a utility garment fashioned from a rather luxe yarn. For it is made of Rowan Calmer and has a satisfying spring and cashmere-like softness. I knitted it in the round to the armholes, then divided for front and back, and kind of made up the racer style armholes as I went along. The curve could have been a bit less severe across the back but I quite like the airy effect the edging has produced. He’s off trying it out this morning at Jedburgh.