Bright Shiny Morning

For anybody who knows the song 'Bright Shiny Morning' (on Norma Waterson's album of the same name), don't worry. For anybody who doesn't, it's a folk song, so the narrator goes inevitably a-walking, but instead of meeting a young maiden of a greater or lesser degree of willingness, he encounters instead a funeral procession. The title just seemed to fit the weather today, which, contrary to the forecasts, was sunny, along with my mood. My job seems to be going well, I'm not completely prostrated by working five days a week instead of three and a half, I haven't made any significant mistakes yet, and I like my new colleagues even more than I thought I would. The bump on my forehead has gone down, too.

So I didn't entirely mind that my first finished object of the year has become two skeins of yarn drying over the bath, in a picture that Blogger won't let me upload tonight.

Not the pattern's fault; it is excellently written. Not the knitter's fault; I followed the instructions and my finished beret looked very much like the picture on the front of the pattern. The problem was that I had knitted the largest version, described as slouchy, because I thought I wanted a slouchy beret, as seen all over the place this winter, but it quarrelled rather horribly with my face. I looked like a non-hat wearer trying on a hat: an expression of acute discomfort, like someone trying urgently to disassociate herself from the object on her head. It wasn't improving, so I took the awful decision to pull out the hat, and knit the smaller, 'regular', version as soon as the wool has dried. Better than having a beautiful hat that I won't ever wear, and I wanted to knit the pattern again anyway, as it was such fun the first time.

Dear Knititch

I bought another album on your recommendation today (Robert Plant and Alison Krauss, 'Raising Sand'), that I love already. Then I opened up Googlemail and found your comment about the amount of money you've been encouraging mum and I to spend. Well, I can't speak for mum, but I don't mind at all. 2007 was a year when I broke out of various ruts by following recommendations that I trusted, and I look set to carry on in 2008. Why would I stop, when I'm discovering such wonderful music and books that I wouldn't otherwise have come across? So carry on recommending, you're doing a wonderful job so far!

Now excuse me, I'm off to get drunk and watch 'Primeval', a very silly series about dinosaurs which features a former member of a choir that Chris was also a member of wandering around in her underwear.