Monday woes

After a happy Sunday making progress on the shawl, I've got sore eyes, and remember that mohair often has that effect on me. Thinking back over the stash, I've got at least seven shawls worth of mohair. I know the trick of keeping the balls in the fridge - but I'm not sure about putting the wip in the fridge between days. I'm going to try having alternate days knitting mohair. There is no way I'm giving up the shawls I have already planned out!

So it's back to the stash (gloating grunt noises). This is the lovely silk/cashmere from Soup Dragon; I've also got the cashmere from Hipknits, which took me an HOUR AND A HALF to wind, and a cone of rather pretty grey lambswool from Uppingham wools. I'm having a play with the grey - no winding required! - it would make a lovely soft cloud of shawl, but need to block a bit first, I think, to see if the springy naure can be tamed.

I nearly bought a winder in the summer but talked myself out of it. The puritanical bit of me thinks it's good for me to do boring stuff like that, as a way of paying for the pleasure ofknitting it.

Today I need to get back to the gym, as all this sitting still knitting goes hastily to the mid section. Even the strenuous walks with the dogs don't seem to do enough in protecting me from fat. So my shopping trip was rigorous - NO TREATS, just good GI food. Now, of course, I'm worrying that the noodles, which I like a lot, are not GI. My problem is, I like carbs. I can do without cake and biscuits, but bread and potatoes ... yum. Perhaps it's the influence of having a grandmother born in Ireland. OK, her family came from Devon, but she always claimed to be Irish.

I remember her photo in the local press when she was in her 80s - crocheting a blanket for some cause. My aunt was amazingly skilled at crafts; I can remember watching her reproduce a fancy cushion she'd seen in a shop without any sort of pattern. My father actually taught me to knit; he'd spent some time in hospital and had been occupational therapied extensively. My mother's family always had some form of work in their hands, mainly crochet. That was the age of the doily! How much time did I spend as a child lifting ornaments and doilies up and dusting? As soon as I had a place of my own I declared a doily-free environment.

Yes, I'm wittering because I'm putting off going to treadmill and cross train myself. After that - weather permitting - it's dogwalking time, and then - oh, then - I can at last get back to the needles.

I've talked myself out of the Monday woes, though.