Wick (John More): Week 6 – 21 November

Well, it’s been quite a week: a CT scan of my sinuses, handing over a gansey to the Fishermen’s Mission (more on that next week), a talk on ganseys, and the double-header of a flu and covid jag on Saturday, all in the teeth of the sort of wind and rain I usually associate with Snow White fleeing a wicked stepmother. (There’s a character in the novel Catch-22 who’s worked out that time passes more slowly when you’re bored, and who as a result decides to spend his whole life bored out of his mind on the grounds that it’ll make his life seem longer; at this stage all I can say is, hmm, sounds like a plan.)

Rushing waves

The CT scan was mercifully uneventful. This time last year I had a scan of my throat and chest, and that lasted far longer than I found comfortable. This time I could just about have recited Gunga Din in the time it took. You have to keep perfectly still while this things zips above your face making a noise like a hair drier having a panic attack. I’ve developed this technique where I lie on the couch and pretend the device is an enemy drone with a motion sensor, and the slightest movement would give me away: the only downside is that I keep forgetting to breathe, with the result that when the air finally rushes back in I leap like a gaffed salmon experiencing an attack of cramp, which rather ruins the effect. The test results will now be sent to the consultant in Inverness, and then we’ll see.

The gansey talk was a lot of fun. We went down to the seaside townette of Brora with our friend Elizabeth on Thursday night to meet the lovely people of Clyne Heritage Society. (And I must apologise, I hadn’t realised that it would also be on Zoom, or I’d have posted a link.) I talked about the history of the fishing, the fishermen and gutters, showed some photos from the Johnston Collection and laid out some ganseys for people to pore over. Anyway, I had a blast, as I often do. Someone mentioned that the knitters would often knit some of their hair into a “Sunday best” gansey, personalising it, a lovely idea which caused me to reflect ruefully on my own shining pate and realise, as the saying goes, that that particular herring boat has sailed; and wondering if dandruff counted instead?

Finally, I had my flu and covid jags on Saturday. I started out being impressed at the rapid throughput, then slightly alarmed; with good reason, it turned out. Previous vaccinations involved about the same degree of precision as Tiger Woods lining up an approach shot to the 18th green; this was more like Professor van Helsing hammering a stake into Dracula’s chest. I must have flinched, for the nurse asked “All right?” in much the same tone, and degree of menace, as the enquiry, “What you lookin’ at, pal?”, delivered by someone called Spud at 11.00pm on a Saturday night in Glasgow’s Sauchiehall Street. I squeaked something that might have been audible to a bat with a new hearing aid and fled. Next time I’ll be prepared, and will just scream hysterically at the top of my lungs.

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TECHNICAL STUFF

The pattern is slowly establishing itself, though I haven’t got a lot of knitting done, what with all the social whirling this week. It’s a simple combination of two panels: an 11-stitch chevron and a sort of 5-stitch moss stitch border. (The original can just about be seen here, in the gansey worn by the lad sitting in the right with his arms crossed.)

The yarn is a flecked, tawny colour, so the pattern definition isn’t always as obvious as it would be if the colour was flat and uniform. But this is exactly the subtly dappled effect I was hoping for with this yarn—the pattern is clearly visible when the light catches it, as in the photo above, and if you look for it; otherwise it’s more of a texture than a pattern, which relies on simple repetition for its effect.