Hookey

Dear souls, whilst I have become inordinately fond of the craft of knitting, I do also enjoy a spot of crochet. There are times when a soothing repetitive small garment is useful to have at hand should the need arise, thus I found myself awaiting a delivery of yarn, with idle hands. Now, my dears, my seamstress friend is of a petite stature and has noted on many occasions the difficulties of obtaining the simplest of garments, the woollen hat, correctly sized for one so petite. Whilst surveying my stash of wool I did realise that I had some perfect yarns of which to create my friend some correctly sized garments in a variety of colour ways. My dears, the excitement and joy at the very thought, really was quite palpable. Straight away I sought a simple but effective pattern and began; why, dear friends, 13 simple rows later, a woollen garment lay upon my lap. I cannot tell the delight and the very next day I did present my friend with said garment. She was, it has to be said, most taken and therefore I find myself utilising any spare moments creating garments to keep my friend snug and warm as she walks to her professional toil each morning. Oh, the joy of being able to return her most generous abilities in the art of the seamstress. This arrangement affords us great enjoyment, along with our other friend and colleague, and further "making" days are in the offing in the run up to the festive season before it gets too busy.

Whilst the male guardian is once again at his professional toil,  I have ensured sufficient foodstuffs are stocked in the larder, delivered items to some charitable establishments, visited a most tempting hardware store, and undertaken the necessary housekeeping chores. I do so enjoy a clean and freshly aired home as you know, with beautifully fresh linen, glowing surfaces and a semblance of order. The fire is lit ready to welcome the male guardian home and lamps are ablaze to ensure an ambient atmosphere it which to relax after toiling the day. As I survey our little estate from the parlour, I am reminded of the beautiful poem by Keats, so perfectly atmospheric in its opening line when describing autumn as a "season of mists and mellow fruitfulness", a season of which I am inordinately fond. There have been a number of frosts in the mornings and glorious sunrises as I walk briskly to work, enjoying the farmland around me with the sound of the livestock abound. In the words of the song "Oh England, my lion heart"...