Linking up with Ginny for this week’s Yarn-Along. What’s on your needles right now?
Hopefully, this is the last time I scold Jake from reading my blog.
Hopefully, by next week, I will have something different on the needles.
As it stands, today I am still working on the leg of my second Gravel Grid sock. In all honesty, I am completely smitten with this pattern. When I showed it to my mom, she replied that they looked like traditional haberdasher’s socks. I’m not entirely sure what she meant by that, but I took it to be a good sign that they looked old-fashioned and somewhat posh.
While searching for new patterns on Ravelry, I came across Amanda’s socks, which look rather similar and are called Gentleman’s Fancy Socks, and was immediately even more buoyed up that what I was producing was something rather dapper.
I will be excited when I have the heel done, I expect. The leg seems to take forever, but once you’re shaping the heel turn and then working the foot itself, the sock seems to take shape quickly. I’m surprised to say that rather than feeling like second sock syndrome is setting in, I feel excited to be nearing the home stretch. I don’t know if that’s because these are a gift, or just because it’s my first pair of proper socks. Whatever the reason, I’ll take it.
This week I finished Henry Green’s Loving, and am now on to Nancy Mitford’s Wigs on the Green, a British satire from (when else?) the 1930s. It’s a novel that was only reprinted last year, and I expect hasn’t been read much in between its publishing date and now. I actually had my heart set on Mitford’s The Pursuit of Love, which unfortunately was missing from the library.
Wigs on the Green is a typical societal farce, full of bright young things suffering the usual degree of London ennui while they flirt, marry, divorce, and, of course, party. It reminds me of Adam Fenwick-Symes speech in Evelyn Waugh’s Vile Bodies:
“Oh Nina, what a lot of parties… Masked parties, Savage parties, Victorian parties, Greek parties, Wild West parties, Circus parties, parties where you have to dress as somebody else, almost naked parties in St. John’s Wood, parties in flats and studios and houses and ships and hotels and nightclubs, in swimming baths and windmills. Dances in London so dull. Comic dances in Scotland and disgusting dances in the suburbs. All that succession and repetition of massed humanity. All those vile bodies. And now a party in a mental hospital… “
Perhaps my gentleman’s sock are a fitting compliment to the Mitford novel this week – fancy gentlemen indeed.