snowballs and other mysteries

bruceinthesnow

Hiya! It is I, Bruce. Today there is SNOW. I like SNOW because when it arrives we get up early and go for fun walks in my favourite places.

One of the many mysteries of taking a walk in the SNOW with humans is how very different their priorities are from mine. Kate, for example is endlessly preoccupied with taking pictures of the SNOW. . .

flurry
holly
bridge
branches

. . . as well as photographing other humans lost property . . .

specs
mitten

. . . and muttering in vague rhapsodic fashion about how Edinburgh looks beautiful in the SNOW.

arthursseat

I on the other hand know that SNOW is best for frolicking . . .

frolicking

. . . and that if you are good in the SNOW, BISKITZ magically appear.

biskitz

However, one thing that is very odd about SNOW is the thing that is called SNOWBALL.

snawball

While other BALLS may be chased after, retrieved, and chewed, SNOWBALLS are mysterious and elusive. They smell of next to nothing, and, when thrown and chased after, they are somehow able to conceal themselves in an extremely vexing fashion!

huntthesnawball

And worst of all, on the occasions that you manage to catch a SNOWBALL in your mouth, it just makes things cold, and then it disappears! Beware! These SNOWBALLS are not at all like other balls, but are confusing and not to be trusted!

confusing

Personally, I find a STICK to be a much more steady and reliable creature, even when it is covered in SNOW.

stickleap

And one of the best things about this particular SNOWY walk is that it visits a selection of my very favourite sticks. Do you remember that I once told you about the sticks that sing? Well, here are the singing sticks, singing in the SNOW.

marimba1
marimba2
marimba3

The obvious conclusion: sticks beat SNOWBALLS paws down.

Hang on . . . she’s off again. . . . I’d better catch up . . .

offagain


See you soon, love Bruce xxx

Snawpaws

snawpaws

An obligatory tree-hugging photograph whilst wearing an outrageously festive gnome-suit can only mean one thing . . .

snawpawcuff

Yes! The Snawpaws pattern is now OUT!

snawpawpattern

If you have a desire to sport hand-wear to match your heid . . .

gnome

. . . and fancy adorning your wrists with cute wee pompoms (these ones are a mere 1.5″ in diameter). . .

snawpawpom

. . .then this is clearly the design for you!

The pattern includes instructions for both mittens and mitts. . .

snawmitts

. . . and if you have already purchased the Snawheid pattern, then the Snawpaws pattern can be yours for half price (£1.37 as opposed to £2.75).

snawmittsfull

To take advantage of this promotion, simply enter the code PAWS when prompted to do so at the Ravelry checkout.

wazznbruce

We had a lot of fun when we were out taking these photographs — sometimes dressing up is all that is required to induce some festive cheer. I have to say, though, that we were certainly getting a lot of curious glances from onlookers — though I reckon that might have been due as much to the get-up of the photographer as my 100% wool tri-coloured gnome suit. . . .

kiltonblackford

What do you think?

Snawpaws can now be YOUR PAWS!

Happy knitting xx

snawpawfull

Good Walk

Hiya! Remember me? My name is Bruce. Today I am telling you about a Good Walk. This Walk begins at the place called Blackford Hill.

This place has lots of grass. If you are lucky, the humans will stop to admire the thing that they call View . . .

. . . while you find a fine bristly stick, and prance with it.

Then the Walk gets even better, because it goes to the place called Hermitage. This place has mud and water and many, many sticks.

As usual, Kate was going far too slowly and stopping far too much to click-click with the camera.

She was also spouting the familiar human nonsense about how the light was changing, the birds were singing, and the gorse was coming into bloom &c.

Personally, I am not a fan of this gorse-stuff, as it is too bristly even for me to rummage in. Give me a stick any day.

Today I located many, many good sticks because of what is called “recent storms”. Here is an excellent example, but I was not allowed to tackle it.

Now, sometimes on a walk, I find a Nice Big Stick, and bring it home, where the humans feed it to the fire-beast. If only Kate had remembered that wheely-thing that she takes to the shops, I’m sure I could have helped to fill it up with these . .

Such a shame. But then later, by the water, we found the most exciting sticks of all. They call this thing ” Woodland Marimba”, but this means nothing to me. All I know is that when Tom hit these sticks, they sang a tune.

Singing sticks?

Singing sticks!

Shall I sing too?

Make them sing!

The more I sing, the more they sing!

They must be mine!

Kate seemed to find my singing very amusing for some reason.

But, predictably, I was not allowed to bring these mysterious and magical singing sticks home with me. Such is life.

See you soon! Love Bruce x

Blackford Hill

Time for the third of the seven hills. Blackford sits to the South of Edinburgh and though the hill is not at all steep, the terrain is rough in places. On Calton or Castle Hill, one is definitely walking in the city – not so here. I thought I’d try using two walking poles today: this would support me on the descent, and also give my left arm something to do. I’ve noticed that when my legs are having to make more of an effort – such as when walking up a hill – that the left arm tends to forget its duties and droops limply at my side. But with two poles, the arm must be fully involved in the walking at all times! Involve the arm!

I am really not the most co-ordinated of creatures with two poles, but once I’d got going it was fine.

Blackford Hill is most notable for being home to the Royal Observatory, which you would be able to see if it wasn’t having a face-lift . . .

But for me the summit of the hill has another signficance. . .

I could see the top of Blackford Hill from the Astley Ainsley Hospital. Many’s the time during my interment that I’d gaze out and wish to be up there rather than down here. Tom works nearby, and at lunchtimes he would go for a run and phone me at the hospital when he got to the top. If I stood at a particular place by a particular window on the ward, I could see his small figure gaily waving to me from the summit. How I wished that I could join him!

. . . and now I can. It felt damn good to be up here rather than down there.

There are excellent views to the North and East. From this angle, Mead Mountain assumes an interesting aspect, like a beast at rest. Some say that it resembles a sleeping lion.

The poles were very welcome on the descent. I will have to work at building up my strength at going down . . .


. . . my legs had turned to jelly by this point.

After our walk, we popped into Morningside to buy supplies: ingredients for a special fruit cake; tea from Falko (I am addicted); and a muthaload of cheese from Mellis‘s. Tom set to work on the cake when we returned. . .

This is what Pru Leith recommends to prevent uneven cooking. A couple of old issues of Private Eye seem to work just fine.

The tea and cheese and cake are rations for my trip – I am going away for a few days to a nice-looking pad that Mel found for us all to stay in near Stirling. I shall be attending a class on Tuesday, and will probably be knocking around the, um, ‘marketplace’ at the weekend, but mostly I am just going to spend some quality time with my favourite knitting comrades. Stop me and say hello if you see me!

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 6,263 other followers