And talking of silver; whether it's complementary to, inspired by, or simply an illogical reaction to our shocking soggy Summer, I've chosen a paint shade for the new kitchen called "light rain" and it is undeniably grey. My current feeling is that it is achingly sophisticated, but if we get a few more weeks of this weather I might start to regret my decision. And when I look at the door of paint tester patches, it becomes clear that all the colours reflect the shades in the blanket that is currently underway for the new baby.
Is this all life imitating art, or art imitating life? I'm never quite sure which way around that's supposed to go.
So, come September (if not before) I shall have a matching kitchen and baby and sky. In certain lights all three appear to be the colour of a dirty dishrag that ought to have been discarded (with tongs) some time in the late 90s. At other times I am sure the kitchen and baby will be painfully chic (because the blanket will look like a dishrag with divine heft and drape after all, and the grey kitchen will have clashing bright yellow light flexes - fabulous). The grey sky? Not so chic, but there's little to be done in that department.
The blanket is half finished and on course to be humungous. 90cm x 120cm at a conservative estimate. I could swaddle my coffee table in it. But there's nothing worse than cot bedding that's not quite big enough to be tucked in.
For Yarn Along this week I've got lots of reading to update you with. But since I just wrote this whole post and then lost it to the blogger gremlins (naughty buggers), I'll give only the briefest synopsis.
- In the orchard, the swallows by Peter Hobbs. Short novel with an interesting kind of pace to it (do I mean meter?). And themes around preconceptions and people not necessarily being products of their environment... I think.
- How to eat out by Giles Coren. A gift for my husband for fathers' day, but I read it before he got a chance (because secretly that was the purpose of the gift). Very British and sweary, self-deprecating and cocky all at the same time. Not for you if you're easily offended or prone to a class-based chip on your shoulder. Definitely for you if you ever so slightly (a tiny weeny incy wincy bit) have the hots for Giles Coren. Just a smidgeon.
- I just started something by Rose Tremain, but I can't even remember the name... I'm sure it'll crop up in future posts when it's had a chance to imprint on my mind. It's upstairs and I'm very pregnant, therefore I'm not going to go and find out for you, sorry.