I had a few capsules of glucose-amine sitting on the coffee table. The kitty saw them, pounced on them and got a couple, which were taken off underneath the coffee table, where kitty proceeded to deftly open up the capsules, and lick at the powder within… who trained it to do that?! Darren, Vashti, I’m beginning to have serious doubts about your cat raising techniques.
So, I have now taught myself to cast on, and to knit. Excellent. Now I just need more wool, and to work out how to make my stitches looser, and stop myself from overgripping. I shall have a scarf in no time! (Although that little rectangle took an awfully long time to knit, I’m assuming it might get a bit faster)
Pleasant views while out a-mountain-biking near St. Andrews on Saturday morning. We were going to be in Kinglake National Park, but they were shooting goats apparently. Despite our lack of resemblance to goats, we decided to go and ride our bikes elsewhere.
Meanwhile, I have come up with the brilliant plan of teaching myself to knit so I can knit myself a Doctor Who scarf for the Winter (yes, I had trouble believing someone has devoted a website to the subject too – then I remembered it was the internet).
Ok, this is the story of my day yesterday. I carefully pack my bag for work – laptop, wallet, food, change of clothes, some work I’d done, make sure I’ve got my access card. I run around the house making sure I haven’t forgotten anything, as I’m cycling to work from where I’m housesitting, and it’s quite a distance. So I hop on my bike and cycle…. cycle cycle… cycle past school children studying Melbourne’s creek systems… ponder the fact that I forgot to bring my shoes, so I’ll be clomping around in bike shoes… cycle some more… cycle past people walking their dogs… cycle cycle… 20km or so later, I arrive at work, and hang up my bike on the bike hook, then go to reach around for my D-lock, packed safely in my bag. But my bag doesn’t appear to be there. I pat around at my back from the other side, then look around my feet in bemusement. Where can it be? I look up and down the bike storage corridor… no bag. And the realisation slowly dawns that I never had it in the first place, and it is infact sitting safely back at the house.
Which is one reason to look forward to getting old, as then I’ll at least have an excuse for this sort of behaviour.
(NOTE – The ‘what happened next’ goes something along the lines of “I cycled back home in disgust, and was glad that I’d actually left the bag in the house, rather than sitting on the verandah to be stolen, and was vaguely relieved by the fact that at least I had my keys on me, so wasn’t faced with the prospect of breaking and entering as well”)
