|From: Action For Greyhounds (click to visit)|
November has become synonymous with Na(tional) No(vel) Wri(ting) Mo(nth) but some wag on Ravelry (basically - it's knitting porn) came up with Na(tional) Swe(ater) Kni(tting) Month where you have to knit a sweater in a month.
My lovely knitting pals Viv and Ania are doing it. It seemed churlish not to join in. But I know my limitations. They have chosen beautiful sweaters entwined with cables and bobbles and all sorts of gorgeousness. I am kitting a sweater too. For my dog.
Like I say, I know my limitations.
I decide to begin with a snood because greyhounds really feel the cold in their wittle ears. This one in the picture is pre-made - you can click on the link and BUY one from the girl who knits them!!
So, here we go: My diary of Day One of NaKniSweMo
I download the pattern and get my needles organised.
I spend an hour and a half looking for my needles.
I find them. With all the other needles after all.
I start knitting Nero a heather-pink snood.
Three rows in, I decide that his pride won't allow him to wear a pink snood.
I rip it out
I run out to buy different, butch, wool
I buy black wool.
I cast on four times, each time I have not enough wool in my tail to complete the 84 stitches.
I rip back the fucking aborted casting on four times.
I settle down to start knitting properly with the lamp on, my specs on the end of my nose.
The greyhound is sleeping soundly beside me.
There is some hideous pedigree chum inspired farting.
I pull my poloneck up over my nose and mouth and knit, hijab style.
During Autumnwatch I get engrossed in an owl eating a starling.
I get my stitches wrong.
I realise that I have my stitches wrong in the FOLLOWING row.
I am knitting rib.
The shame of getting ribbing wrong is overwhelming.
I rip all the fucking knitting out again and re-cast on.
I am so stressed that the stitches have been cast on so tight that the wool squeaks and I barely force my needle down through the stitches to complete the first row.
Emboldened by this first row success, I decide to knit another row in bed.
I get halfway down that row and realise that I've made a mistake.
I cannot bear ripping it out for a sixth time.
I jam the wool onto the needles and fling it onto the floor beside the bed.
I fucking hate knitting.
Lay your bets - how much of this Grouse will be left by the end of the NaKniSweMo.
Clue: I have another two bottles.