I was contacted by a very pleasant journalist this week, who was researching a piece on the ganseys of the north-east of Scotland.
Now, I’m always wary of dealing with the media. Partly this is because, like Mr Toad, I do rather get carried away when faced with a receptive audience (“Well, well,” he said, “perhaps I am a bit of a talker. A popular fellow such as I am—my friends get round me—we chaff, we sparkle, we tell witty stories—and somehow my tongue gets wagging”); so I have to watch myself.
Ye Front
But then there’s the tendency of journalists to behave, well, like journalists. It’s as if they can’t help themselves, the creatures.
Many years ago, when I lived in Wales, I was contacted by the local paper about claims that the Victorian founder of the town of Llandrindod Wells had kept a brothel. This was news to me, but acting with a discretion beyond my years I made a guarded reply, merely saying that I was not aware of any evidence to suggest that was the case.
Next week the headline on the front page of the rag in question read, “County Archivist Denies Brothel Claims” and my mother was on the phone…
Well. Now you can understand why I await the eventual publication of the article in question, much like the dying man in Yeats’ poem, “dreading and hoping all”.
Rainbow south of Wick – I went for the pot of gold but the leprechaun had a knife…
In gansey news, I have reached the beginning of the first shoulder, just the rig ‘n’ fur shoulder strap to go. I made the neck a full diamond deep, or 22 rows, so with a decrease every second row that meant I had to take 11 stitches from the centre to make a nicely indented collar (I hope). Over the next week I hope to finish the other shoulder and the collar.
Wick Marina in what is technically ‘summer’
Meanwhile, Margaret is on her travels again, in America this time. (I’m joining her in a fortnight, once she’s established that it’s safe.) So, once again I’m having to cope with tying my own shoelaces and, more immediately, take my own pictures for the blog—which is why the gansey once again looks blue, instead of the seaspray that it really is.
Finally, a short poem in honour of the true hero of the Wind in the Willows:
“Those fisher girls of olden days
They knitted and they sewed,
But none of them could knit half as well
As gansiferous Mr Toad..”
Even if its not safe please come anyways. We want to see you
Faith
Hi Faith, that’s very kind of you. I’ve already been issued with valium by the doctor (to help me relax on the flight, I said) so I will hopefully have—literally—no worries…
She knit an Eriksay gansey for the Pope
http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b06drczx/trusadh-series-7-20-geansaidh-a-phapathe-popes-eriskay-jumper
Hi Nigel – thank for the reminder – I was going to mention that story but in all the excitement I clean forgot. Judith had previously tipped me off to a story in The Scotsman newspaper – see http://www.scotsman.com/news/scotland/top-stories/island-knitter-presents-pope-with-eriskay-jumper-1-3893905
What lovely work, Gordon, just a super garment. I find it best not to dwell too much on what one has said, otherwise the dark pits of embarrassment and guilt do tend to open up. It is a dark, inevitable process! It will be all right! Now, if it was me, that Eriskay gansey would have muddy cats paw marks or a cup of tea down it!
Now, down South, knitting continues, Spike has been fighting again, three hurty paws now, and twelve baby ducks were hatched yesterday near the little pond. We are bathed in unaccustomed sunshine which I hope lasts a bit longer for the sake of the ducks! Take care.
Hi Jane, my life is an unbroken series of awkward, embarrassed moments, strung across my autobiography like oases in a desert…
My theory is, traditional jumpers were cream-coloured rather than white in order to mask the tea spillages! I once had muddy cat paws across a final version of a report to be in next day, just innocent feline curiosity as to what i was doing, but I came very close to holding a Cat Trial that evening.