They Stole My Haggis
Look what I got done on my research trip -- besides the research:
The long thistle panel was done already; what I knit during this last month was the side panel -- these take longer, naturally, on account of being wider. Doesn't that just make sense. I also got most of another side panel done, as well, but it looks just like the one in the photo, and you don't need a picture of it as well. Also I had trouble arranging it satisfactorily.
I think I may someday get this done. Once the side panels are over -- just 2 and 1/4 to go -- I'll do the rose panels that go under the thistle; then, the sleeves. I think it can be done. Maybe by next year. Here's what the finished "Margaret Tudor" sweater looks like. Mine, as you can see, is not green.
So there you are. Knitting content galore.
The household's happy to have me back. Lots of hugs and cuddles. That's just from the humans; the cats are in on it too, though -- they don't sulk. They throw themselves ecstatically on the homecomers, whoever they may be. In fact, one of them -- Maggie -- runs to the door like a puppy -- except that she's meowing instead of barking.
And I'm very happy to report that I made it back home, and through customs, without actually getting arrested, even though the customs officials, in their enormous power and profound stupidity, confiscated my haggis.
Haggis, for God's sake! In a can! We're not talking about a hunk of roast beef here, or one of those giant cheeses that I remember Lucy trying to smuggle in, disguised as a baby (that'd be Episode 153). We're talking about a tin of haggis. A canned, processed food. And this was not a slam-dunk, believe me. They had a long conversation about it. I heard one of them saying "This is not a problem. This stuff is ok. Let it in." But he lost out and they confiscated it. Then they got sanctimonious. "This is meat," they said. "that's not a good idea."
Those of you who know me well will be pleased -- and perhaps surprised -- to hear that I did NOT lose my temper, even though it was the sort of situation in which People In Authority With Uniforms On were telling me stupid things.* Also, taking food away from me. No. I kept my mouth shut.
Hence, I am here, and not in jail.
Mind you, it wasn't my food exactly -- it was Sam's. But I'd been especially pleased about using the last of my pounds to buy it at the duty free store. And it was a little haggis, too. He and Maggie would have enjoyed it immensely, but the child and I wouldn't have had to eat any of it.
But it's now gone, being thrown out by the stupid powerful customs officials.
I should have tried to pretend it was a baby.
***************
*Once, in the long long ago, when I was about 24 or so, I spent some time thinking about joining the Army. This lasted for a few weeks, until one of my best buddies -- a mild, kind person, who doesn't get aggravated easily, finally lost his mildness and said, "This is ridiculous. You are out of your mind. You're not going to last two weeks before some sergeant orders you to do something stupid, and you deck him and get court-martialed. This is enough. Stop it." And he was so serious about it that I abandoned the idea. I figured he must know something. I didn't really believe him at the time, but as the years have gone by, I've come to know myself nearly as well as he did (he's a lot brighter), and I now believe he was right. But I got through customs.
The long thistle panel was done already; what I knit during this last month was the side panel -- these take longer, naturally, on account of being wider. Doesn't that just make sense. I also got most of another side panel done, as well, but it looks just like the one in the photo, and you don't need a picture of it as well. Also I had trouble arranging it satisfactorily.
I think I may someday get this done. Once the side panels are over -- just 2 and 1/4 to go -- I'll do the rose panels that go under the thistle; then, the sleeves. I think it can be done. Maybe by next year. Here's what the finished "Margaret Tudor" sweater looks like. Mine, as you can see, is not green.
So there you are. Knitting content galore.
The household's happy to have me back. Lots of hugs and cuddles. That's just from the humans; the cats are in on it too, though -- they don't sulk. They throw themselves ecstatically on the homecomers, whoever they may be. In fact, one of them -- Maggie -- runs to the door like a puppy -- except that she's meowing instead of barking.
And I'm very happy to report that I made it back home, and through customs, without actually getting arrested, even though the customs officials, in their enormous power and profound stupidity, confiscated my haggis.
Haggis, for God's sake! In a can! We're not talking about a hunk of roast beef here, or one of those giant cheeses that I remember Lucy trying to smuggle in, disguised as a baby (that'd be Episode 153). We're talking about a tin of haggis. A canned, processed food. And this was not a slam-dunk, believe me. They had a long conversation about it. I heard one of them saying "This is not a problem. This stuff is ok. Let it in." But he lost out and they confiscated it. Then they got sanctimonious. "This is meat," they said. "that's not a good idea."
Those of you who know me well will be pleased -- and perhaps surprised -- to hear that I did NOT lose my temper, even though it was the sort of situation in which People In Authority With Uniforms On were telling me stupid things.* Also, taking food away from me. No. I kept my mouth shut.
Hence, I am here, and not in jail.
Mind you, it wasn't my food exactly -- it was Sam's. But I'd been especially pleased about using the last of my pounds to buy it at the duty free store. And it was a little haggis, too. He and Maggie would have enjoyed it immensely, but the child and I wouldn't have had to eat any of it.
But it's now gone, being thrown out by the stupid powerful customs officials.
I should have tried to pretend it was a baby.
***************
*Once, in the long long ago, when I was about 24 or so, I spent some time thinking about joining the Army. This lasted for a few weeks, until one of my best buddies -- a mild, kind person, who doesn't get aggravated easily, finally lost his mildness and said, "This is ridiculous. You are out of your mind. You're not going to last two weeks before some sergeant orders you to do something stupid, and you deck him and get court-martialed. This is enough. Stop it." And he was so serious about it that I abandoned the idea. I figured he must know something. I didn't really believe him at the time, but as the years have gone by, I've come to know myself nearly as well as he did (he's a lot brighter), and I now believe he was right. But I got through customs.
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