Arrrgh plus photos
The bride was over forty minutes late. And she was heard to say something to the effect of ‘gee golly gosh gorblimey I didn’t realise how long everything would take.’
Okay, generally speaking you don’t get married often enough to learn how long getting into a wedding dress and having your hair redone and your make-up trowelled on and your fake nails reglued and your hem where you’ve trodden on the train stapled back up and so on takes* but I find it impossible to believe other than that frelling most of these kittle-cattle just can’t be frelling bothered to jerk themselves out of their little stupor of total self-absorption** and remember that ordinary people with lives are contributing to make their one-off day special. ARRRRRRRGH.
I had a wedding to ring today. You may have gathered.
OF COURSE I had brought my knitting. OF COURSE. Although I’d brought the second green leg warmer, poor thing, it’s been crushed to the bottom of the Mobile Knitting Unit in the excitement of First Cardi. But I have to begin Shaping Armholes on First Cardi*** and I thought attempting this would probably be a mistake, waiting to ring a wedding, either because your ears are straining for Mendelssohn’s wedding march on the organ, which is your cue to leap to your rope, or because you are in a violent temper because the bride is late, and your mind might not be sufficiently free to concentrate on the arcane instructions of your knitting pattern.
So I found a nice bench in the churchyard with a nice view of the countryside and some nice wildlife to commune with† and knitted. Second green leg warmer is almost done.
But the wildlife part reminded me that I never finished our baby robin series.
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* Have I mentioned recently that we got married at a registry office? You show up at a scheduled time with your two legally required witnesses and it takes about ten minutes. Primping strictly optional, although I had a very nice dress. Which you can see by clicking the ‘about’ button on this blog. Which I assume you’ve already done at some point.
** And it’s not that accidents don’t happen. They do. Cars break down, trains don’t run, people fall downstairs.^ But I’ve rung close to a hundred weddings at this point—not all of them were late, of course—but I don’t recall any tower I’ve rung at ever receiving a letter of apology from a late bride. This is the sort of thing a tower secretary would be extremely punctilious about passing on to the troops—tower secretaries want the troops in a good mood toward the successful outcome of future engagements.
^ Or pour boiling water over their feet the night before they’re due at the registry office. It didn’t work. I married him anyway.
*** I spent last night in the bath reading up on knitting language. Have you ever tried to READ a pattern? Iiii aj dork fescule 65 [101 212 4306] drm gggdp sts at each end. Farg. Work 9 [808 9542 12833] 1 zunk each bllg dom tyrpx ending with arrrgh. Cast off in patt.^
^ All patterns insist that you use their yarn. I’m sitting here staring at the large bold caveat on this particular pattern—and no, I’m not using their yarn, I don’t like THEIR yarn—which reads: ZINGOBIBBAB CANNOT ACCEPT RESPONSIBILITY FOR THE RESULT OF USING ANY OTHER YARN. Wait a minute. You mean they are going to accept responsibility if you make a howling botch of their yarn?
† I tried to get photos of the pleasing wildlife but failed. The most pleasing, if not very wild, was a donkey, but he would stay in the middle of the field, invisible to his ears in tall June grasses.
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