Just a few rows to show this week, as I’ve been otherwise engaged bringing my car up from Somerset to Edinburgh, an 8-hour journey which turned into an epic worthy of legend and song. Here’s the short version.
I took Friday off work, and flew down Thursday evening. I’d got on the plane quite early, and bagged an aisle seat near the rear (it was a row of three, with another chap by the window; the centre seat was empty). Imagine my feelings when I saw the fattest man in the world waddling sideways down the aisle (the only way he’d fit) towards us, ours being the only empty seat left. Well, he squeezed himself into the middle seat in the manner of someone crushing a sofa cushion back into its cover, and the pressure effectively forced me out of my own seat so I found myself rising like dough in the oven. All through the flight I was a sort of flying buttress for him, poor chap.
This was uncomfortable enough, as I was sticking out into the aisle like a man peering round a fence, but one there was a particularly beefy stewardess who kept barging into me with her thick, meaty hams every time she passed, several times a minute. Indeed, when she first backed into me as she manoeuvred the snacks trolley down the aisle I became so intimately involved with parts of her anatomy I thought I’d end up with a paternity suit. In the end I got so fed up I leaned in with the shoulder in the manner of a footballer body-checking an opponent next time I saw her coming, and that seemed to sort her out. Got her right in the escape slide, as it were.
Other highlights included one of the most spectacular lightning storms I’ve seen, bolts of electricity sparking to the ground like a gigantic van de graaf generator, followed by a power cut of several hours which started within five minutes of reaching home. And is there anything more discouraging than getting stuck in a traffic jam, not on the motorway itself, but on the slip road to join the motorway, even before you’ve started your journey?
Ah, well, not to worry, I’m here now, doing my own small bit to increase traffic congestion in Edinburgh, a city which increasingly resembles Gondor in the third Lord of the Rings movie the more I get to know it. Weathered stone buildings, a castle atop the hill, cobbled streets, knights in shining armour, and a distressingly large orc amy besieging the place and flinging severed heads over the walls (the latter probably a feature of the Highland Games)…
As the story had it, “it’s good luck – but messy.”
Congratulations on keeping your sense of humour.
The sleeves begin!
Hi Tamar – I don’t know the quote, but it seems apt. And I wouldn’t want to blame the guy on the flight, who was very considerate, leaning forward the whole time to give us as much room as possible. But still.
It’s great to be on the sleeves, as you know it’s the beginning of the end, even though in terms of knitting it’s probably over a third of the whole – 4-5 balls out of 12-13. But it’s academic just now – the heatwave has finally reached Scotland – it’s too hot & sticky to knit!
Gordon
Flippin-eck, what a giggle! And then that drive north. I’ve done it a few times. It’s especially difficult once in Scotland on the M74 when there are no lights and precious little road markings for quite a stretch (at least that was tge case a few years ago).
By the way, you may have forgotten but you asked me in what colour I am knitting the gansey for my daughter: it’s raspberry. I was thinking, maybe, a cream stripe although I might be able to match it, but I bought the wool two years ago so I need a plan B
Hi Nigel, no I hadn’t forgotten – I was just too polite to nag! For what it’s worth, I’d be inclined to try one of the suppliers who offer a range of shades, such as Frangipani, as look for the closest match you can. You could always try sending them a sample of the wool you’re trying to match – I’m sure they’d be happy to try it against their yarns in stock to look for the closest match for you.
The drive north was made worse by the fact that my car’s air conditioning isn’t working, as Renault seem unable to source the component from France – all on the hottest weekend of the year. Ah, well – at least I had a Terry Pratchett audiobook to help the miles speed by (Feet of Clay, read by Stephen Briggs – thoroughly recommended).
Thanks, what a good idea