As I coast (not an accurate description but unbridled panic isn't a great introduction to a post) into the last ten weeks of my masters, having written only 10% of my dissertation is not an edifying feeling. There's so much research to get through, but … the ideas are coming together and perhaps part of the learning process is about respecting my own process (while not hacking off my supervisor too much by not being able to stick entirely to hers). Displacing anxiety onto the mark (out of my hands once the work is written) instead of onto the actual writing has been distracting so I'm pulling focus back to the point that this year has been revelatory in lots of ways; I have got so much more than an education from it which is more than one can hope for really. So I'm going to get those words on paper for goodness sake. I managed to get these words written after all so it is possible…
|Vase of Flowers, Mary Moser, The Fitzwilliam Museum|
Speaking of photographs, here are some photographs of a new Audrey in action including a boob shot for which I apologise but it's both accidental and knitwear (so unavoidable for seeing the yoke) which means it's hardly gratuitous - it's all for the art you know. Making this again would involve more shaping at the waist and I might go down a size and up a needle rather than going up two sizes and sticking with the recommended needle. The buttonhole band was replaced by a ribbon trim and poppers to which I added some rather nice old buttons that I found in some little dodgy shop somewhere. More information on my Ravelry page.
|Awkward subject, nice cardigan, loving the clogs|
|It's all about the yoke|
|Poppers and buttons. Not easier than knitting a button band as it turns out.|
|The yoke in live action ...|
Having made it through a doctor ordered two week exercise ban without climbing the walls (which presumably wouldn't have been allowed anyway), I got back to running this week, what with being in fine fettle all along, and found myself trotting around Verulam Park.
Anyway, the point is that on my gambols through the park there is always something to see. When I head out early, there are sleeping ducks on the paths or geese lining up like rows of sentinels to brace themselves for that first dip, coots leading their chicks downstream, rabbits lolloping around doing whatever it is that rabbits do with their free time. Later, dogs barrel along trying to interact with some fairly disinterested but not overly intimidated ducks - must take a camera so I can take pictures because it's lovely. It reminds me of the favourite part of each of my days in Glasgow. To get to the university one must pass a dog park and without fail there was a hound capable of raising a smile. Despite most recollections of a Glasgow winter including a crescent of duffle coat hood, I still remember every day as sunny which of course can't be true because I was damp for a large part of November to February. Am sure those crazy collies and loopy labs have something to do with it. Now the duffle coat has been shed, it's Rocky style fitness out there, and doing circuits in the park attracts a lot of canine spectators who assume that people doing the plank in a public space must be subject to sniffs and other often rather personal interrogation.
|Note to self: if you go purple during exercise, don't wear purple - the St Albans Sweaty Betty gang (and me hanging on for survival) ...|