I was reading a blog post this morning about how one doesn't post so often when working on a single long piece of knitting. Yes, I know, I was reading knitting blogs when I should have been knitting. I'm still bashing on with Mavis and should know soon whether I've got the second sleeve cap wrong too. Once the sleeves are sorted, my friend has to decide what sort of collar she wants; I said initially that I thought the doubled over rolled neck would be too warm and she agreed, so I have been putting forward suggestions for other collars, including a removable cowl which would be as warm as the roll collar but less permanently stifling. We had a lengthy conversation about it last weekend but don't seem to have arrived at a conclusion.
I think I would, paradoxically, be much nearer the end of Mavis if those blessed Boye needles had arrived and I had been able to cast on something else as my alternative knitting. I am beginning to conclude that they have gone to the great Post Office in the sky. As long as my regular postman is on, everything's fine, but he had a few days off and chaos descended. He's back and I told him about the needles the other day, so he is on the lookout for a long, thin parcel, but I don't hold out a great deal of hope. I discovered today that a book was posted to me in January which also hasn't arrived. It's so embarrassing explaining to people overseas just how bad Royal Mail can be nowadays. This has led to my spending yet more time on eBay looking for another suitable set, and therefore less time knitting.
On a more positive note, a Scot is hoping to hold on to her title as the world's fastest knitter this weekend. I came across this clip of her talking after her win in 2004. She describes not being allowed to knit on Sundays in her youth on the Protestant island of Shetland. Coincidentally, I had been reading a Jewish knitting blogger mentioning using the Shabbos setting on her oven and then proceeding to knit on a Saturday and I had been a little surprised. I suppose the difference is whether you regard knitting as work or not; if you do, then you can't knit on the Sabbath. In Hazel Tindall's family, knitting was definitely work - quite different from recreational knitters nowadays who look forward to stealing some knitting time from what they, in turn, regard as work.
One item which has been delivered is the vintage knitting pattern; I think I will give it to Jean to go with her near-perfect collection of Vogue Knitting Books.Isn't it lovely? A must for that thesis someone is surely writing about knitting and Surrealism. The date on the newspaper (The Times, of course) is Monday, 7 November 1949. How on earth were the models arranged behind the newspaper? The only thing which would make it better would be if one of the hands were holding a cigarette.
I watched Picnic the other day. If I tell you that two of the keywords on IMDB are Drifter and Beefcake, you'll get the picture. William Holden spent a lot of his time shirtless, to the distraction of a largely female cast, although I couldn't help feeling that they were actually exploring gay male issues - I thought that before I looked up the author, honestly. It must have seemed so daring then (1955), and now it's on television in the afternoon. I spent some time following up keywords on IMDB afterwards: they're not very well thought out and have lots of overlaps, so you can find films under Drifter and Adultery (if you are so inclined), Drifter and Lust, and Drifter and Sex, not to mention Drifter and Daughter which sounds pretty worrying.