Archives for posts with tag: jane brocket

1) An interesting swatching experiment about whether crochet takes more yarn than knitting. However, some people are loose knitters/crocheters and some people are tight knitters/crocheters, so I don’t think controlling tension by using the same size crochet hook/needle is entirely scientific.

2) I think there is another error, a small one this time, in the directions for the Kingfisher Capelet: the instructions where the pattern instructs you to purl on at the end of a row seems to be a typo. Substitute “cast on using any method you like” or “turn, then knit on.” Sorry about that, but at least this one isn’t a showstopper.

3) Erqsome posted a link to this great review of The Gentle Art of Domesticity. It’s a negative review, but unlike the others I’ve discussed, it’s articulate, intelligent, and well thought out, brings up specific examples, and acknowledges and addresses the counterarguments from the pro-Jane camp. Oh, and her description of Nigella is hilarious. I’m adding needled to my list of regular blog reads right now.


I downloaded a couple of podcasts to listen to today:

The new Stash and Burn podcast (mp3 here), discussing Single Skein September. (The cabled Zara hat the ladies mention is a pattern of my own design knit with two skeins of Filatura di Crosa Zara, color 1503–sorry for not tagging my Flickr photo with this, but the details are all on my Ravelry page–I’ve had a couple of inquiries about it, so I should get around to figuring out how to represent cable crossings across pattern repeats so I can write up the pattern and put it up)

Here’s the hat. It looks screwy around the ribbing because instead of doing a gauge swatch, I knit the hat from the bottom up, then picked up stitches around the bottom and knit the ribbing downwards. If I write up the pattern, it will not use that ultra-ghetto technique.

And the new BBC Women’s Hour podcast where they interview Jane Brocket/yarnstorm about her new book. I was sitting here doing my work and half-listening, and heard Kate Saunders‘s dry, proper British voice say, at minute 2:08:

“I’m overjoyed that I don’t live in these times. I’m thrilled that I don’t have to knit and bake, because I don’t do it very well. My knitting always looks like an old scrotum, no matter how hard I try, and I don’t find it relaxing.”

It startled me like anything! I had to go back and listen again because I was sure it must have been a mondegreen.

The rest of the interview was kind of interesting, too. Basically more of the same yarntempest in a teacup I wrote a bit about earlier. I liked the phrase “pinny porn.” I love that word. Pinny! It always makes me think of The Tale of Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle, where I first encountered it.

Today I also found this Finnish web magazine named Ulla. Look at all those beautiful knitting patterns. (Link from Talvi) I especially like these leafy Bombadil socks and this insanely gorgeous white cabled jacket.

And in my personal knitting news, I am about 1/3 of the way done with the first sleeve on Jess. I’ve finished the fronts, back, and collar already. Nearly there! Plus, I’m proud to say that I achieved my goal and am currently the #1 Google hit for “starfish pig.”

A comment I posted in response to this review in the Daily Telegraph about Jane Brocket (yarnstorm)’s new book, The Gentle Art of Domesticity:

Ridiculous. If you feel insecure about your own choices in life, don’t pin the blame on Jane Brocket/Nigella Lawson/Martha Stewart. “Impossible standards”? Blame yourself for wanting to live up to them, or, if you’re getting flack from your husband, blame him. Don’t complain about how someone else is spoiling everything for you just because they take pleasure in something you don’t. I think Jane Brocket’s blog ( is a real pleasure, and I’m looking forward to reading her book once I can find it in the States. It’s a real shame you were able to see only your own bitterness and discontent in its pages.

My house is a mess, a jumble of mismatched thrift-store and Ikea furniture, because I don’t choose to spend my energy on that part of my domestic life. But I do find a great deal of pleasure in cooking lovely, elaborate meals every now and then, and hand-knitting clothing for myself and my loved ones, and I grew my own vegetables when I had a garden. “Why should we when we can buy it?” Sure, I could buy cheap machine-knit sweaters at Wal-Mart for a fraction of the time and cost it would take to make them by hand, but it’s a wonderful, relaxing feeling to feel the yarn passing through my fingers, and as fulfilling as anything I’ve known to look at my beautiful finished pieces and know that I made them from scratch. I don’t see any of this as a chore, and, in fact, it’s a worse mindset in my opinion to think that the key to feeling better about yourself is to go out and buy stuff. (And just where do you think those hand-knitted bed socks come from?) The enjoyment, for me, comes more from the process of creation than from just owning another cardigan.

If you don’t enjoy doing any of this, fine. Don’t. Go enjoy doing whatever it is you like doing better. Just don’t imply that Jane Brocket is a self-absorbed, terrible person unthinkingly ruining everything for the rest of us, and don’t imply that anyone who does enjoy the “domestic arts” is doing so in a frantic attempt to live up to someone else’s impossibly high standards, or because they’re backwards, deluded slaves stuck in a pre-feminist era.

Are you just jealous that she has the means to stay at home with her kids?

Should she go back to doing an office job she doesn’t like and doesn’t need just because it’s considered more “worthwhile” than working in the home?

Should she stop doing the domestic things she enjoys, or stop sharing them with the world, because it’s making you feel bad about yourself?

I have to admit I do have a certain degree of insecurity about this myself–I’d feel deeply ambivalent, at this point in my life, about quitting work and becoming a housewife, I think mainly because the societal pressures in the circles I run in hold up fulfillment of intellectual/career-oriented potential above domestic duty, and I’ve internalized these expectations. But I have dreams of a life where I can spend my days spinning and knitting, growing organic vegetables, gathering fresh eggs from my backyard chicken coop, cooking fresh and lovely locally grown meals, sewing my own quilts and clothing. Oh well–I’m not going to blame this disconnect on the Domestic Goddesses.