It has been Christmas! It will be New Year!

Santa brought me a great big bag of fluff. It was intended to be used in conjunction with a Bosworth Midi spindle, but the supplier emailed days before Christmas to say they wouldn't actually have any until the middle of January. This would not have been so bad if I had thought to bring my wee crap plywood-and-cup-hook spindle down to my parents' house, but as it was I found myself fibre-rich and spindleless, a situation whose horror no-one unfamiliar with the addictive qualities of fluff-related activities can appreciate. The itching fingers, the wandering mind, the endless poignant twirling of the hair...

But enough of that. Since I got home I've been banishing the traumatic memory in a tornado of Bluefaced Leicester. Lovely. I got some acid dyes for Christmas too, but they will have to wait until I have a minute and a usable kitchen.

I should be packing. I should also be scraping the mold off the microwave and otherwise preparing our damp and filthy hovel to fend for itself for a few days. Mr Me is already in Glasgow and tomorrow, God and Stena Sealink willing, I will join him. The fast ferry has already been cancelled, so the slow boat had better make it or I'll spend New Year's Eve hanging around a ferry terminal. Such an apt word, 'terminal', for places so redolent of death. It's something about the lighting; together with the hassle of travelling, it makes everyone look like zombies. I'm very excited about going to Glasgow. We used to live there and always have a wild time when we go back. This trip will also reunite me with the pair of adapted Broadstreet fingerless gloves/mittens (pattern on Knitty) that I left at our friends' place months ago. Then I might have something worth photographing! A spindle full of cream single would only come out as a white blur on our camera, even if the camera wasn't lost in a mound of mess.

It's time to clean. Or spin...