Image Details: ‘My cunning plan comes together’ by wifebot, via Flickr.
This is an excellent and timely topic to be writing about today, one with which I feel inspired to make a triumphant return to my usual witty repartee. That is because I am British, and therefore obsessed with the weather. I didn’t realise that it is indeed the first thing we always talk about and that we are all indeed just like all the comedy sketches make out. And do you know what? I am so down with that.
Image Details: ‘Sun’ by craftastrophies, via Flickr.
I have been living in SA for 8 months now, from the end of the antipodean winter (which was the same temperature as the UK in August, I’m not going to lie to you) through the balmy regular 30-40 degrees of the austral summer. I can’t remember the last time I wore socks or proper shoes: I have been rotating 3 pairs of Havaianas since getting back from the UK post Christmas and as I am not German, I don’t rock the socks and sandals look. I am well aware I could knit socks with a toe in them, enabling me to comfortably wear my Brazilian rubber footwear of choice, but answer me this: who in their right mind wears socks in 40 degree heat? Certainly not this Englishwoman. Or her mad dog. And I am so bored by the beautiful sunshine that I get ridiculously excited by the mere snifter of rain. It’s only rained 3 times since I got back here in January. For a Northern girl, that just ain’t enough rain.
Image Details: ‘rain’ by mxgirl85, via Flickr.
Yesterday, however, it rained. Well, it drizzled and bit all day and it was cold. Nay, Baltic. 16 degrees. 16 degrees! This sudden change in the ever-so-predictable climate of Northern Limpopo has me in a casting-on tizzy of Biblical proportions. Three days ago, I was Being Good and finishing off 2 projects that don’t have much to go: one is just a collar and a bit of sewing up. Since then, I’ve cast on a Wingspan, been unable to prevent myself casting on a blanket buddy toy in some hideous Snuggly Snowflake for the baby and have only managed to resist casting on my Owls jumper as I have no cable long enough to accompany such a large amount of chunky at the moment. I should have had one, but somehow managed to have a really small sock cable in my deluxe Knitpros rather than the 100cm it should have been. I know we’ve just gone into double dip recession, but seriously, that is austerity gone too far, my friends. How is one supposed to support the British Wool industry without the pre-requisite advertised equipment!?
Image Details: ‘Knitted decoration with snow’ by Dicko2007, via Flickr.
It is clear to me then, then, that knitting does have a seasonality of sorts. I want to knit all the time. When it’s 40 degrees, I put the aircon on and knitting can be committed. Isn’t that what aircon was invented for? Although I know it is unlikely that I will be able to wear my woollens for most of the year, I can knit away, happy in the knowledge that they will get plenty of use when I return to the UK, where even there merest hint of sunshine on a Spring morning gets more Facebook status updates than the latest dimwitted behaviour by the chimps on The Apprentice. Because, my friends, talking about the weather is just what the British do. Prevailing meteorological conditions have no bearing on what I choose to knit, but as it gets colder, the castonitis tightens its grip on any unsuspecting knitter in its path.
This brings me neatly onto Shinybees’ Law of Thermodynamics, which states that urge to cast on is directly proportional to decrease in temperature.
Move over Newton. There’s a new kid in town.