Rain warming.

Its raining today. It rained yesterday. There's fair chance that it will rain tomorrow. The builders working on the roof across the road are wearing oilskins and every photo I take is edged with grey. A person has to try hard to find colour in this dripping world.

But I am trying. A chum brought me some of her Japanese Quinces, enough to fill one and a half tiny jars with jelly. As a time and motion exercise it fails at every turn but the smell of the kitchen and the pale orange glow of the jelly, shining like a weak winter sun made every minute count.

It was raining on Monday morning when I walked to the Doctors to get my (not swine) flu injection and as I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my coat I found two ear plugs and a crumpled gathering of paper streamers. The reason? A Sunday night adventure with The Flaming Lips. Joyous, openhearted and absolutely colourful. Have a look at the little Youtube clip for details. The sound quality is rough but the images are perfect.

Imagine.

In between Soctoberfest and Mousecapades, I went on a trip.

First of all was a visit to London and the delights of Bethnal Green
( thank you very much Sammy Leigh.) I visited Grayson Perry's tapestry which was an overwhelming delight. Next to be seen were Anish Kapoor's grey worm casts and red wax cannons. It was half term and the gallery was filled with children trying to get their hands on the red goo.

The BFI film festival was on at the Southbank and I spent hours in darkened rooms watching films. The absolute highlight was nearly three hours long, black and white and silent. It was also set in Norway and filmed in 1929. If you ever get the chance to see Laila, grab it, especially if there is a real silent film pianist to help you along.

I was thrilled to find Prick Your Finger, a yarn and spinning emporium which sells all sorts of glorious things. When I visited the fibre being prepared in the shop was given the title Paris Hilton and it was as pink and sparkling as it's namesake.

Off I went to Kent for the weekend and the company of two small girls and their lovely mum. I learned all about High School Musical and the potential perils of chicken flying into beds. It was fabulous to spend time with small people whose every sentence begins with; " Imagine if....."

* embiggen the pictures of Grayon Perry's tapestry to enjoy the detailed beauty and Anish Kapoor's shiny sculpture to see the wee face peering out of the bottom layer.

Sometimes it is better if the cat loses.

Rescued.

Refuelled.

Rested.

Released.

I wish I could have kept him.

With one lousy pair of socks.

I'm just about to head out of the door for a week of friends and culture in London, followed by a weekend of children and more friendliness in Kent. Probably followed by a further week of sleeping while I recover from the excitement.

I've been lying low, gathering my energies and getting a new haircut, ( a fringe! a fringe! ) Not much to report then except some very tasty eating and my puny contribution to Soctoberfest. I do have another pair on the go and have packed some sock possibilities to knit along with the culture. I'm planning to sit in the BFI cafe knitting and people watching. I can't wait.

The peanut that tasted like Halloween.

I ate a peanut this week and was immediately reminded of the taste of the nuts that we would eat from their shells on Halloween evening as we wandered around the neighbourhood. Scottish kids of my generation didn't know anything about the dangerous sounding Trick or Treat activities of children across the pond. We went guising instead and tried the patience of those we visited with half remembered rhymes and bad Knock Knock jokes.

I have a terrible memory for dates, names, places but give me a taste or a smell and I'm transported to another time. And if that wasn't Proustian enough, on Saturday I made madeleines.

Long shadows.

It's getting dark at around 6.30pm and that's before the clocks go back. Time to settle in with the instructions for my new sewing machine - it's a Janome something or other. Sewing seems a lot more complicated than knitting even before I get down to thinking about patterns and fabrics. Even the Beginners guide I took out of the library today jumps stright into seams and interfacing and all manner of fiddly things. I think I may have to sit down with the machine and just practice going in a straight line for a while. That's a lot harder than you might think.

One good thing about the new machine is that it gives me a great excuse to go to the charity shops hunting for cotton and prints. I bought the most amazing dress yesterday that can only be described as a muumuu. I have plans to turn it into a skirt and use the rest for patchwork. I would take a photo but, as I said, it is already growing dark.

Sewing is dangerous.

I've been trying to coax my grandmother's old sewing machine out of retirement but after days of fiddling around I have decided that it is beyond me. Some essential parts are broken and if I knew more about sewing machines I might be able to work around them but as a novice, I fear it may be time to give up and buy a new one.

Not that I haven't had fun trying. I made a bag out of a lovely old apron that I bought from a charity shop and it is now the holding bay for socks awaiting handwashing. And this lovely pin cushion rectangle that should have been a square had I followed the directions properly. I've been trying to improve on my hand sewing too with the result that I now have about four squares of crazy patchwork that I don't know what to do with. Maybe when my new sewing machine arrives I'll have learned enough to make them into some semblance of a quilt.

Its dangerous stuff this sewing. I've kitted myself out with a special quilters' ruler, a cutting mat and a rotary cutter. I was warned to be very careful of the rotary cutter on account of the deadly accuracy of the blade. No-one warned me to be careful of the packaging and I still managed to cut myself - on the box.