|OWLETS showing no sign of PTSD* (unlike me)||*post traumatic steeking disorder|
I used sweary words that should not be spoken over a small child’s cardigan, drank some wine (a lot of wine, rather inadvertantly it turns out) and then came back to it a day later. I had to machine sew the steek, which didn’t exactly look neat, but has the effect of stopping the entire garment from falling to pieces in my hands.
I hoped I could hide the crappiness behind the zip, or in a facing of some kind. At this point it was 23rd December and I still thought (why?) that this child would have an Owlet for Christmas. She didn’t though, because wrapping and last minute trips to the shops got in the way. Such is life, and I think she probably won’t be any the wiser…
I didn’t trust myself with Christmas Day knitting, what with the pre-9am Bellinis and then the wine and the G&Ts during Dr Who. So let’s fast forward to 27th December.
I blanket stitched the steek, then I picked up and knit ribbing on the front:
|I think I got away with it|
I tried to put a zip in but it looked completely hideous. So replaced the zip with poppers, one at the top of the neck and one in line with the owl feet:
I sewed on 24 buttons, 6 during ‘Death Comes to Pemberley’ none during ‘Bill Bailey, Qualmpeddler’ (I was laughing too much, ironically, during a sketch about rescuing a live owl from the menu offerings of a Chinese restaurant in Gaung Dong Province) and the rest during Mark Gatiss’s BBC4 documentary about M.R. James – which may be why I imagine these owlets’ eyes follow me round the room…
|‘Hoot’ said the owl…|
She finally got her owlet on 30th December, which is really only five days later than intended. What a hoot!