autumn

Oh autumn should be the season of mellow fruitfulness, however up here in bonny Scotland (at least on the western side) it is usually not. Don’t get me wrong, we have our days of bright clear weather when the place glows with an intensity of stained glass. But really autumn to this neck of the woods means dreich. Which is exactly as it sounds - sort of “dreek” but with a lot of phlegm at the end… “dree-eghkkkkk...” as if you are spitting the soggy drizzly weather out with distaste. Still at the weekend, this was a brief interlude of something bright and sunny, so number three and I headed off to Stirling to do the "messages" – which is what locals call grocery shopping or any other shopping that is necessary as opposed to the other sort. Stirling can be a bit of a grim place down in the city centre – new shopping mall with every chain store and chain-smoking poverty on the streets, but up in the old town there are marvels to be had. For instance Mars Wark – a huge town house up near the castle built in the late 1500s for the Earl of Mar.

Then slightly lower down is the Cowane Hospital – built 1630-40s by John Cowane. I love the inscription above the hospital door – “…for the entertainment of decayed gild breither”. Note, there are no wives of these decayed breither in the gild mentioned – they were probably at home silently fuming as they paired socks or whatever as their menfolk entertained their decaying selves. I think it is proof if ever proof were needed that man-flu has been around a long time. These men are decaying dammit, whilst the women are carrying on as usual. Things just don’t change.

I have finally finished the baby cardigan for my friend the expectant-non-knitter. I have spent a pleasant hour in the kitchen making Fimo buttons but now can’t decide which ones look best, still as I was waiting for the Fimo to bake I found some Rowan Kid Classic in the perfect red for some bootees/socks to add to the outfit. The husband as I was pootling came and peered over my shoulder and sighed – and then inquired as to whether or not I was regressing back to childhood just a little, the answer to that is heck NO! Some of us have never left it (and do not intend to). Even at the ripe old age of 41, I am still surprised each morning when I wake up and realise I am not 8 anymore (or maybe I am inside still).

Finally, I have cast on and even progressed a little with my slouch socks – in winter I get such cold feet that they wake the husband up when I put them on him to thaw them out when I go to bed (and I thought it was a man’s job to provide the warm bod to do this smallest of tasks). So, I have found some nice bright yarn to knit some good thick bed/sofa-slug socks to mooch about in, now this (and the mug of something hot and calorie laden) suggest the nights are finally drawing in. Isn't that the perfect mug for a librarian? No one knows who's body it might be......