Father Christmas (that is, the English branch of the family) brought me a copy of the marvellous and insane book Knitorama.
It's even more absurd than the review in Bust had lead me to believe. Not a single sensible pattern in the entire book. Fried eggs, sandwiches, speaker covers, and mohair underpants.
And the masterpiece -- a crocheted pint of stout. I've been meaning to learn to crochet for a while now, but haven't really had any incentive. Until now.
It was slow going to start, and not just because I ignored my own rule and started with black yarn. International terminology differences ahoy! A UK DC is US SC. That is, what my grandmother taught me was a double crochet is what the North Americans call a single crochet.
At least in knitting the names of the stitches are the same.
I'm pleased to pick up crochet, as I can truly follow in Hilda's footsteps. She made the most wonderful Granny blankets. Simple crocheted blankets from leftover yarns. I have one of the two that remain... I can identify various sweaters from my childhood in the yarns.
A perfect use for all the Kureyon leftovers I'll have after the Vass Variation is done.
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