frizzyLogic

I’m cold and, frankly, miserable. Sad and difficult stuff. Stuff that pokes at my “yeah, yeah, all in the past, gotta be strong, worse things happen at sea” veneer and makes me howl as said veneer collapses after a brief but bitter struggle. Makes me want to go to bed and sleep for weeks, months, years.

So I’m compromising. Ok, I say, let’s howl. It’s not a weak and snivelling concession of victory to the forces of darkness and nihilism, I say. Really, it isn’t. (Gotta work harder on this one.) Instead of going to bed I’ll curl up on the sofa under a blanket (with the hot(waterbottle)dog of course). And instead of sticking fingers in a wound the nature and extent of which I don’t really understand I’ll do knitting stuff. Because that makes me happy. Even when howling. And it’s national knitting week.

So here are my beautiful malabrigo socks, just finished. So warm, so soft, so gorgeous in every respect. I’m wriggling my toes in them as I type.

FirstBoy insists it’s his turn next (true, both SecondBoy and I now have two pairs of socks each, he only has one). And these are what he wants. I’ve adapted the chart a bit for a smaller size.

I’m glad, of course, that the boys love their socks. I can understand it, having some of my own. So much warmer and more comfortable than shop-bought. But with great love comes… great holes. And darning. In fact this one had to have a whole new bit of heel knitted in to the gaping void which had been worn through the bottom.

I have to confess to a certain amount of impatience with children’s socks, though. Because really what I want to do is make more for ME. The autumn Knitty is out and there are some storming patterns – Garden Gate, Interlocking Leaves and Hourglass for a start. Not to mention the other hourglass sock project, Los Pequeñeos de Arena over at the AntiCraft.

And there’s also the blanket, hovering in the background, awaiting further strips.

So much knitting, so little time.

I haven’t been watching the BBC’s Tess of the D’Urbervilles – mainly because I never watch the TV at all but also because, even had I known it was on I would have chosen not to because of the less-than-gleeful subject matter. But F has, and she’s much enamoured of Tess’s shawls.

I have had to watch an entire episode on the iPlayer to get these screenshots but did so with the sound down to protect my delicate depressive sensibilities. I mean, really. It’s just too corrosively gruesomely capriciously unremittingly tragic for the likes of me. And it was one of my A-level O-level set texts. I had more than enough of it then.

Anyhow. The point is not the programme but the shawls. F has some wool which would be ideal for the purpose and wanted to reproduce the garment which, for the knitlit among you, is garter stitch, but not a simple top-down (or bottom up) triangle, rather garter stitch constructed in such a way that the ridges run aslant. And there’s a “spine” of “holes” running up the centre from tip to top.

How, we wondered, is this achieved, since neither of us is a shawl-head. Was it short rows? something like entrelac picking up stiches on a bias whilst also making holes? We just didn’t know. Luckily such is the geeky joy quota of ravelry that an answer can easily be found. Search the hugely sophisticated pattern database for knitted shawls tagged with “garter stitch” and the perfect, and free, pattern is soon revealed. Turns out it’s hugely simple – yarn-over increases on either side of the centre resulting in both the holes, the triangular shape and the angled ridges.

Tess has two – a brown one as well as the black one. Rustic, definitely – thick, plain and unadorned. Homespun, probably. Hand knitted – certainly. But above all versatile.

Here we have the brown one worn over the shoulders, crossed at the front and tied behind. Practical warmth for physical labour.

And here the black version (appropriately enough for this moment in the narrative which involves the death of an infant) over the head with the “wings” wrapped scarf-like around the neck and tied at the nape.

And, for those frequent bouts of particularly hard manual labour in freezing conditions – both at once:

And here we have a brief, lighter, spring-like moment (existing of course only and entirely to make the stygian gloom even blacker) with the brown shawl draped loosely over the shoulders. It’s huge, incidentally, the “wings” come down almost to her knees and the central point behind reaches below the small of her back.

The black one is smaller with the ends of the “wings” not even reaching her wrists, as can be seen here:

Clothes appear to be loaded very heavily with symbolism in the production, from my random sound-down viewings, and I love the whole late Victorian vibe. There’s a particularly delicious red, scooped neck, button-fronted garment which flares over the hips as well as some exciting peplum action. Apparently most of the costumes were destroyed in an arson attack and had to be remade at great speed.

There are many different shawls on display in the programme:

enough perhaps to fill a book, but pride of place would have to go to the baby’s:

His name? Sorrow. You don’t need me to tell you it all goes horribly wrong.