New Year, Old Habits ….

So the twelfth day of Christmas has been and gone. The decorations have been packed away for another year, the turkey has finally been all eaten up and the Christmas tunes have been deleted from our mobiles to make room for new artistic stash photos (used for gloating that our not-so-subtle present hinting regime paid off this year). 

Now it’s January, we’re back with our noses to the grindstone and the air is thick with the smell of broken resolutions …. Ah Cheesecake Factory how I’ve missed thee!

  

It’s at this time of the year that my thoughts turn to rewarding myself for all the hard work of the holiday season, and so, I pick out some luxurious yarn for a selfish knit to spoil myself with … and then I’m rudely awakened by the alarm clock. I wake to the physical embodiment of my Christmas knitting failure. 

  

That, my friends, is my fathers Christmas jumper. Or it should be his Christmas jumper, instead it is ten inches of body which may not even fit him and yet I’m knitting on. No measurements, no swatching, I didn’t even try it on him when I went home … Doomed to failure from the get go.

As I blink into the morning light, I contemplate the many possible reasons why I do not complete my gift knitting by the deadline. Resignedly I shrug my shoulders and pull myself away to collect my clothes for the day ahead …

  

A crochet blanket spills out of the wardrobe, landing in a colourful heap at my feet. A very wide, very short, but very appealing crochet blanket. It is a gift for a couple that I love to pieces and it’s not ready. Still not ready. 

An ever hopeful part of my mind suggests, 

“Maybe they would like a nice scarf instead and then it’s actually, already, you know … finished?”

“Are they going to timeshare it or just walk about the street tied together at the neck?” replied the pragmatic (if a little bitchy) part.

To break up the argument I abandon the search for clothes and make my way to the bathroom instead. 

  

Where I’m faced with the pattern for my mother’s Christmas poncho. The Christmas poncho that I started with Aran weight white yarn and too few stitches, which met it’s end at the frog pond and has now been repurposed. Clearly the pattern decided while it was waiting for the inevitable LYS trip, it should make itself useful by providing some light reading for anyone ensconced on the throne (if it’s good enough for Albus Dumbledore …). Even the cat seems to be intrigued by the gauge requirements. Bathroom literature with a side of guilt … time for a coffee. 

  
As the kettle boils, a work colleague’s Christmas hat spills out from an overstuffed project bag. 

“Remember me?” Jacques Cousteau calls out, “I just need two ends woven in and a bath.”

Did you hear something? Did that hat just speak? It couldn’t have … 

Clutching my coffee in my hand, I seek refuge on the sofa. What has been going on last night? The UFOs seem to have taken over the house. They are ganging up on me! This is some sort of revolt!

“Don’t be so ridiculous, Nicola, your knitting does not have a mind of it’s own,” I tell myself. “Drink your coffee and pull yourself together.”

But, wait … is that … another one?!!?!

  

NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!

to be continued ….