Disco Stoat - Expert knitter and wardrobe builder

I am a fan of cream teas. This should not come as a surprise to anyone. Today our staffroom snack was indeed cream and jam on scones. (Yes. We're spoiled rotten, I know.) The scones were halved and there was jam on one half and cream on the other. I don't think those who run the kitchen have encountered much in the way of a cream tea before. I ended up weilding two spoons in an effort to avoid the enormous jam/cream sandwich I made for myself the other day. I managed to make a cream and jam scone with the correct combination of cream BENEATH jam. (Yes it is. Shut up haters. That's clearly the correct way around.) However, the other half of the scone looked as though someone had taken offense to it and attacked it with a shovel. Feeling bad for the abused scone, I ate it as well. It clearly remembered my violent spoon actions and responded accordingly by making me feel completely sick for the rest of the afternoon.

I am in pain after helping The Pook construct a beast of a wardrobe not once, but twice. She paid me off with a chinese takeaway so I can add that to the list of 'Reasons why I am a fat bastard and nothing fits'. It went alright in a 'stare at the pictures in the IKEA pamphlet and try and mimic the positions and facial expressions' way. We did end up with two wardrobes and minimal random left over parts so that was good. Plus you do get slightly quicker when making the second wardrobe.

The "highlights" of this Herculean task were:

Carrying the beast upstairs. There were two of us and we could barely lift it. I swear it weighed about ten stone. Plus, it was about two and a half metres tall and had no clear handholds. If you were advancing backwards up the stairs, you were frequently crushed with some violence against the walls and banister. Then when we were carrying the doors up, we kept getting the giggles as we had chosen to take a door each and all you could hear were sounds of grunting and exertion from different areas of the house. To make matters worse, each door was mirrored and in order to check this, there was a small circular hole in the cardboard. Through which you could watch yourself struggling and sweating up the stairs in close up, glorious technicolour.



Whilst following the wrong part of the instructions (upright assembly for those with low ceilings) we ended up both awkwardly balancing on a little ladder each and holding aloft the top of the wardrobe whilst trying to attach the sides. At this point, The Pook's interesting music choice came into play. (WWE The music. Some understandably dire, some bizarrely hilarious.) This wrestler's music came on - Mr Ass, he was called. The song- 'I'm an Ass Man'. You can imagine. You probably shouldn't, but you can... There is a somewhat dubious line : So many asses - So little time. A charming sentiment, obviously, but the funny thing was the delivery- thusly:

So many asses! So little time...

This unfortunately reduced both of us to childish giggles and made holding a weighty piece of wood above the head just too difficult. It was only the electric screwdriver that made the whole experience completely fun. How long can you last before prancing around the room pretending to be using some kind of ray gun? Until you're alone? Not in my case.

Also this week, being the happy home maker that I am, I learned to knit. Well not quite. I can already knit, but it's the starting and the finishing that always foxed me completely. Thankfully the Internet (that well known granny-replacer) was on hand to teach me all the things my mother doesn't know how to do. And a few things I can't be bothered to listen to her talking about.

The best thing about learning to knit from the internet is that you can be taught by expert knitter Jennie Ong and her enormous wooden needles that I suspect she whittled herself using her own teeth. Sadly, Jennie Ong has chosen to use white yarn on a white backround. You can imagine the trouble this causes. So I learned to cast on and cast off and then when I got back to work, my friend Mair taught me the purl stitch, which I screwed up a few times before getting the hang of it. Now I must employ constant vigilance to avoid forgetting all these new skills. Soon I shall be knitting all my own clothes. I knitted The Pook a bookmark. She "accidentally" left it at my house. Nice. I would like to knit a scarf using this mad chunky yarn I purchased the other day. The knitting shop was hilarious, but I think a trip to somewhere a little more hardcore is absolutely necessary. If I will be knitting - it must be hardcore.

That said, I found myself sitting in bed the other night at around 10.30. Knitting. As you do. I dropped my ball of wool (or string as I keep calling it) on the floor and said "I probably need a cat to get that yarn for me..." then commenced knitting again humming gently to myself. I was unaware that I had probably just committed myself to a life of eternal spinsterdom.

Except I called the yarn 'string'.

...And I was humming 'I'm an Ass man'...