Monthly Archives: February 2012

February Round-Up

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It’s now the end of February, and we have an extra day!

Sadly I spent my extra day at college, potting on seedlings and cuttings and talking about my horticultural future, the latter having had me on edge for a week and has now left me with a massive reality check. If I had any confidence, it would be bruised right now, but as I’m realistic, it didn’t hurt too much. There are still good things to consider, though, so that’s all right.

I didn’t quite finish any spinning this month. I have one bobbin spun up, the first of a three-ply, but not much else. I also haven’t finished a project I was hoping to finish this month, but as the deadline is actually for the end of March, I’m not beating myself up too badly about it.

I am nearly finished with this, though…

… so you’ll get to see that soon.

And here’s the rest of this month’s round-up. I think I’ve done pretty well!

Read: The Boys Vol. 1-9, by Garth Ennis, illustrated by Darick Robertson (Vol. 1-2 from home, Vol. 3-9 from the library). Not for the faint of heart. So much so I almost couldn’t believe that the library had all the volumes in. There is a lot of wince-inducing stuff in The Boys, but I can’t help but find it very entertaining. A bit like a really hilarious, really high-body count train wreck. It does get a little wordy when it’s filling out back story, as in the chapters I Tell You No Lie G.I in Vol.3 and Barbary Coast in Vol. 9, but I doubt I could’ve come up with a better solution. Can’t wait for the next volume to come out.

Hounded and Hexed, by Kevin Hearne (paperback). I picked this up on impulse. You can’t have a critical tagline that reads, “American Gods meets Jim Butcher’s Harry Dresden” and not expect my ears to prick up. There is a third book, Hammered, which I’ve yet to read, and in my opinion the books are better if you treat all three as a single story stretched over three books, rather than separate episodes of their own a la The Dresden Files. Atticus is perfectly wise, clueless and powerful as a Druid ought to be, and remains believably human, but as with books of this sort, gods are either petulant, manipulative or utter arseholes. Guess which Thor is…

Watched: The Hurt Locker, dir. Kathyrn Bigelow, 2009 (Film4). I waited way too long to see this. I loved it. It’s hard to say that I adored it, because as a scholarly Muslim I found many things in the film hard to accept. It’s funny that I avoid the news so that I can avoid seeing what some Muslims are willing to do to each other for their own agendas, but this film made me see it, and it is no less true. As a war film it is clean, sharp, pared down to the minimum – the sniper siege is electrifying – and covered in dust and grime, and that is how it should be. Totally need to own this on DVD now.

My Dog Tulip, dir. Paul Fierlinger, 2009 (BBC4). I kind of tripped over this one in that I sort of knew in the back of my mind that it was on but I wasn’t sure at what time. But there it was, and I remembered that Empire liked it, so I cuddled down. It’s a very sweet animated film, quite surreal in places in terms of the art style, but Christopher Plummer’s narration and characterization of J. R. Ackerley completely make the film. Not really a kid’s animation as it’s quite preoccupied with a dog’s sex life and bowel movements, but perfect for a juvenile adult like me. I’m quite glad I watched this the night Plummer finally won an Academy award.

The Artist, dir. Michel Hazanavicius, 2011 (Greenwich Picture House). Firstly, the Greenwich Picture House is now probably going to be our go-to cinema. It is quiet, beautiful and comfortable, and the staff are crazy-friendly. Secondly, the film is made of perfection. It is sparkling, wonderful and beautiful to look at. The score is appropriately cheeky and dramatic in the right places, and everything about this film is timing. It’s the timing of the performers that make this film the wonder that it is. I am so happy that I went to see it.

Sweet Sixteen

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True to my word, this year I started my chillies off earlier.

Last year I only planted my seeds in mid-February, in fact after the recommended cut-off time to plant them. This year I was prepared. I got them in in mid-January. I had the propagator ready, I cleared out the airing cupboard, I got planting.

The Super Chile seeds are from last year, and I wasn’t sure how well they’d do, so I planted the whole lot. The Krimzon Lee packet only had 10 seeds, so I planted all of them. And as insurance against the 10 Krimzon Lees’ odds and that of the Super Chiles, I chucked in all the Hungarian Hot Wax, too.

I probably needn’t have worried.

My Miniature Allotment

All but one of the ten Krimzon Lees germinated. A surplus of Hungarian Hot Wax. Nearly all the Super Chiles. Crikey.

So on Sunday I decided that it was time to move them into pots of their own. But being limited in space, I could only have sixteen plants to grow on. I chose the best seedlings with the strongest root systems.

I’d somehow run out of the plastic terracotta-coloured pots and had to get new ones, but they only had these slightly inferior black ones. It worked in my favour, I guess, as it means that one tray has five of the Super Chile (right), the other has five Hungarian Hot Wax (left), and between them six Krimzon Lees.

It’s really hard having to sacrifice so many other seedlings, some which were quite strong in their own right. But this windowsill is all I have, and is the best place for them as it’s south-facing and gets plenty of warm bright sun. Bizarrely I find this bit the hardest on my heart, harder than eventually giving away a number of these plants once they’re established and growing large and healthy. I’m hoping to keep maybe four or five plants eventually; the rest will go to new homes, cast to fortune.

So grow on, my sweet little seedlings. Grow big and proud and full of promise.

A and Z

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This is me and Zaa.

If I’d known I looked that confused in the photo, I would have asked Nick to take another. Oh well.

Now, remember the red hat with the tassel I finished last month? Zaa saw it and immediately declared that when she visited I’d better not be wearing it as she would steal it from me. And she’s bigger than me. So she’d win.

So I sent her a couple of photos of yarn from my stash that would work, and knitted one for her.

Pattern: Wood Hollow Hat, by Kirsten Kapur (Through The Loops)
Yarn: Dream in Color Classy in Chinatown Apple
Needles: 4.0mm

Not being a lover of tassels, I gave her hat a big fat pom-pom. Which she adored. And this is the great thing about Zaa.

We’ve known each other since my first attempt at university, back in 1999. When I returned to Southampton University, we lived together in her house for four years. And how we did that is pretty cool, considering that we’re somewhat opposite people.

She is terribly, fastidiously neat. I live in a bomb site, and she wonders how I know where everything is. She works stupendously hard. I am a slacker and master of the last-minute assignment. She is very independent and enjoys her own company. I am fairly clingy and feel more at ease around friends. She runs marathons. I did kung-fu. She’s vegetarian. I am a solid meat-eater. She loves football. I love rugby.

At the same time, we have similar tastes in music and film. We both enjoy trying new things. We love dogs. We prefer baking over cooking. We love great conversation and good food.

So for all those years, we orbited perfectly well around each other. I don’t think we necessarily get each other, but we each respect what the other does and the choices we each have made, and we’ve always been interested in what the other is doing, even when we haven’t got the slightest clue.

So even though I know she’d be horrified if she saw my stash, and mystified as to how I could spend what I spend on yarn, she loves my knitting. She is that ultimate non-knitter friend who completely and utterly appreciates and loves the things knitted for her. True, to date it’s only been this hat and a pair of socks (they were from 2009, Zaa; I checked), but if she asked for a knitted thing I would not hesitate. I would happily offer.

Plus, I think the pattern looks better in the yarn she picked than mine. The semisolid colour gives a bit more texture to the pattern, and I think makes the pattern more interesting. Not that I’m going to steal it from her, of course: she’s bigger than me. And I’m too small to get away with a big floofy pom-pom.

I think she may be overdue a pair of socks. I have yarn and sock club patterns. Hmmm….

The A and Z hats. Similar, but different. As they should be. 

A Sort-of Valentine’s

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My gorgeous Nick, on his 29th birthday back in January

I don’t really believe in Valentine’s Day. I think I did in my early, stupid days with earlier, stupider boyfriends, but not anymore.

Firstly, it’s a little unnecessary for us. Nick’s birthday is in January, mine is in April, our anniversary is in August and then comes Christmas. Our times of personal celebration are perfectly spread across the year that we can always have a good meal out and celebrate at our own pace, in our own time. We used to celebrate the anniversary of when we started going out, but we became an old couple very quickly and we did away with that one.

I mean, you try going out on Valentine’s Day. You need to pre-book and compete with all the other people wanting a Valentine’s Day dinner, and more often than not you’re saddled with the set menu because most restaurants are out to make a killing, and you probably have to leave your table in about 90 minutes. Don’t do it. Go out when you want when everyone has a fair playing field, eat whatever you want off the menu and know you’ll have at least two hours unless it’s busy.

Secondly, I think Valentine’s Day makes people feel bad. It magnifies loneliness, raises bitterness or sadness and forces obligation. Do we need an engineered holiday that isolates people who happen to not be in relationships? No. Do we need an unwelcome reminder of past relationships that ended, for better or worse? No. Do we need a specific day to buy flowers, have a nice meal, tell each other we love each other? No. And if we did, there is something very wrong with how we run relationships.

Thirdly, Valentine’s Day, as far as I’m concerned, has very little to do with love.

In times of depression I’ve had great difficulty liking who I am, nevermind loving that person. For a time I didn’t even know who that person was, so I was still getting to know the stranger inside me, even when she seemed familiar. And if I wasn’t very good at loving myself, how honest was I in loving the people around me? What did I know about loving other people if I didn’t even like myself?

As things got better, though, I became very aware of one thing: I felt like a person that was easier to love. I was getting more comfortable with myself, and that feeling spread to the people around me. So while it’s still a struggle, things are more at a balance, and I feel a lot more honest about how I love the people around me.

I got to thinking recently about what love meant. I’m a very lucky person in that I’m married to my best friend, and we love each other in ways that are weird, wonderful and sometimes may contain swearing. But nothing about us came to mind.

Instead I came to one abiding image that I have never forgotten, ever, and doubt that I ever will. I am going to share it with you, and I hope you’ll agree with me.

This was in the early days of living in London. It was Waterloo Station, on the Jubilee Line concourse. I was passing through to get home, and I saw them.

Two of the most gorgeous men I have ever seen, hugging each other as if for the last time. One had long locks of wavy dark hair and olive skin and dressed in a smart suit. The other was fairer with shorter blonde hair and was dressed more casually. There was a small suitcase between them.

Neither was willing to let the other go.

Clearly it was a business trip. I think this must have been during the last days when you could still take the Eurostar from Waterloo. It didn’t look like it was going to be a long trip, as the suitcase wasn’t very big. Half a week, maybe.

But they held each other for what felt like forever. They were smiling, they were sad, and they said nothing. They radiated so many things: I’m going to miss you. I wish you didn’t have to go. It won’t be long before I’m back. You are the most gorgeous thing in the world and I adore you.

London’s commuters flowed on either side of them, moving like water past twin rocks in a river. It’s not that they took no notice, though this being London, ignoring others can be the norm. It was that I think they did notice, and gave this couple the space they needed. There was so much love that it made a space.

The very idea of Valentine’s Day would be smashed to pieces by the force of it.

I remember walking past those two men. I remember stopping briefly. And I remember smiling my entire journey home.

Love who you are. Love who you’re with. Love whenever, wherever you damned well please.