Library Confession

I took a book back to the library today that I've had since 2020. I did not know I still had it. I am recording the episode here because the librarian didn't seem to understand what I was telling her and I feel the need to confess fully, for avoidance of doubt.

Firstly, I have the utmost respect for libraries and value them highly. Mother Hand worked in a library throughout her pregnancy with me so I feel we have a special bond (me and libraries, I mean). 

Here's how it happened. I wanted an obscure history text I heard some nerdy history teachers discussing. It was only available online for megabucks, so I turned to the library system. There was one copy available, but it was in the stack of the library in the next city over. No matter, I thought, I am not in a hurry. This was around about December 2019. 

The book took awhile, obviously. I got the notification of its arrival around February 2020. That was a busy month for me, I had a ski trip and a huge job interview to worry about, so by the time I made it to the library to collect, it was March. I went in during the unmanned hours as this was the only time I had. The book was so old and neglected, it wouldn't scan through the self-service. I tried several times. I even tried to see if I could type in the barcode, but no dice (this was where the librarian started to either not believe me or misunderstand me). 

I considered for a while and decided I would just take the book. Nobody had checked it out for over a decade. I would come back with it during manned hours to check it out properly. 

Well. We all know what happened next. Due to the pandemic, the book stayed with me, unchecked out. Shamefully, I did not read it. It inched gently under the pile of books by my bed, until it was at the very back of the very bottom. Meanwhile, I sourced a copy to buy for not many pence, in the USA, and had it sent to Father Hand for me to collect on my nest visit. In a classic Father Hand-me interaction, he read it and gave me an overview - 'Interesting enough, but it is a textbook'. I collected it when I saw him last. 

Fast forward to this summer, when the pile o'books was finally dismantled. Oh, the shame of finding the book languishing there! I resolved I would take it into the library to explain myself, rather than surreptitiously drop it in the returns box, anonymously.

The librarian gave me short shrift. She told me to hang around while she checked to ensure I had not amassed a hefty fine (I would have loved this, I am constantly running up small fines as a way of contributing funds to the library system, on account of our special bond). Turns out, the book has dropped off the system. This news was delivered in an accusatory way, though I do wonder, was it on the system when I got it? - because it wouldn't scan. The librarian did manage to stop short of rolling her eyes but it was clear my (to my mind, very rational) explanation was falling on barren ground. She would return it to the relevant authority, she said. 

So now, it is here. My confession. I did do a terrible thing, but in my defence, I would never steal a book from a library on purpose. I was just a victim of circumstance. And untidiness. 

The 2025 Grand Tour

This summer, I was inspired to travel with a bit less flying, by my knitting group friend Jess, who completed a two-month-long interrailing trip this year with her partner. I was also keen to go back to Puglia, which I think I can crown as my very favourite place to go on holiday, at least within Europe; at least in the summer. 

Thus, an epic adventure of trains, ferry and one flight home was born. We did as we have done for the past few years: I planned the route and the transport, Zoe provided a selection of hotels that I then booked for us (she is epic at picking good hotels). I thought I'd write up what we did so this post is massive but you don't have to read it, you know, free will is a thing. 

Stage 1: Train London-Milan, three nights in Milan

We took the 9.30 Eurostar to Paris, which gave us around a 2 hour layover to get across the city to Gare de Lyons: ample time for a Parisian lunch and lounge in the sunshine. From there, we took a Frecciarossa train to Milan, which took around 7 hours. The line we took only reopened this past spring, having been closed for a number of years thanks to rock fall. I did think, when we were doing it, that we could sensibly have done this as an overnight train, but the views were so stunning. We went through Oulx, which has prompted me to consider ski-training it to Sauze d'Oulx (my favourite ski resort) at some point for a holiday. The train was very busy but comfortable enough. 

We stayed at the fancy Chateu Montfort, next to a tram stop and a metro stop, roughly 20 minutes' very slow ambling from the city centre. Fantastic spa, I loved it, and super-helpful staff. Spendy, but we usually do spendy for the first few days of the trip, when we most need to rest. We went to the Pinacoteca di Brera, the Duomo and, of course, to the see the Last Supper. 

Stage 2: Train Milan-Bari, four nights in Bari

Another Frecciarossa and this time with spectacular views of the Adriatic coastline for most of the journey. The aircon in our carriage sadly broke so we got (eventually) moved into business class: next time, I think I would book the business seats from the start as they were not that much dearer. The train was also nearly an hour late arriving, which is odd for Italy. I had multiple emails in Italian explaining how I could claim some of the fee back. Maybe I will get round to it. 

We stayed in an apartment in the old town. People were generally a bit nose-wrinkly about us staying in Bari because it's a big port city so, I guess, a bit like staying in Southampton - ie, why there when there are lots of gorgeous places nearby? But it suited us. Great transport links, not masses to see so you didn't feel bound to be constantly out wandering, and really nice breezy climate. We did a couple of day trips, one to Polignano a Mare by train and one organised coach tour to Alberobello and Matera - this on that last day, and they were able to stow our luggage on the coach for the whole day, which was very handy. 

If I had to do it again I might choose Brindisi instead. It's a bit further south, so a bit easier to reach the prettiest coastline and also Lecce, which I would have liked to have revisited. 

Stage 3: Ferry to Albania, one night in Durres, five nights in Tirana

We took an overnight Adria ferry from Bari to Durres in Albania. This was cheap enough that we could afford a two-berth cabin with a window to the outside and saved us a night's hotel fee. Bari port was a little confusing, not many signs or people to ask for info and very few announcements; we walked in at the old town end, by passport control, where a security guard told us we needed to take the shuttle bus to check in and then shuttle back. This we did. I wanted to note that Google Maps told us we couldn't enter the port at the old town end unless we did so by bus - instead, it indicated that we needed to walk for over an hour to get in at the check-in end. This isn't correct, don't panic. 

We queued at passport control for well over an hour with no sign of any staff and then eventually a man came and announced something, so half the people started queuing elsewhere. Unfortunately, he announced in Italian and very quietly so we couldn't hear him anyway (strong shades of Laura Ramoso's Chiara character here). For a while we haplessly stood around. Then Zoe went to ask someone and it turned out it was the queue for our ferry, while everyone else was standing in a queue for another ferry to Durres leaving an hour later. Clear as mud. When we got through passport control (shout out to the Port of Bari passport control people for being the most sullen I have come across, possibly ever - please do consider getting other jobs as this one clearly makes you miserable) we were left with no indication of where our ferry was, and nobody to ask. Someone else in our position had to go back to ask the grumpy passport people. 

I mention this only because obviously I did extensive Googling while waiting in the queue and couldn't find much, if any, information about going out through the Port of Bari as a foot passenger. If this is you: it will be fine. Ask lots of questions. I'd also say that, in common with many large passenger ferries, they don't really have a process for managing foot passengers. There was very little information, even on the boat, about where to go. So, you have to hold your nerve. Perhaps I should have booked direct with Adria instead of using Direct Ferries, they might have sent through more information. 

After all that palaver, the ferry ride was mercifully delightful. Very comfortable cabin, the crossing was extremely smooth, the shower was a bit dribbly but very welcome. We slept soundly all the way until it was almost time to get off and breakfast was widely served, though we did not partake. It was difficult, again, to get off the ferry - various staff kept telling us to wait to be called, as foot passengers, but eventually it became obvious that nobody was going to call so we walked off while they were still unloading the lorries. 

Durres port had no bureau de change, that we could find, and a very punitive ATM, which we had to use because we needed lek to pay for our hotel. It charged me around £18 of fees to withdraw £250. Still recovering. We planned a slow walk to our hotel, in stages, as we were very early to check in and it was about an hour and 10 minutes' walk, but they said this wasn't wise an booked us a taxi. The taxi driver was not prepared for the last 2km to be gravel road though I was then quite relieved we hadn't tried to walk it. 

We spent one night in Durres at the Kallmi Eco Rooms. One night was not enough. We were stupid and should have booked two nights. Once again, people were a bit nose-wrinkly about Durres as a holiday destination; this was a little north of the port but it also seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. The two-room hotel was attached to a beach club and, as Zoe and I had booked both rooms, we essentially had the beach and surroundings to ourselves when everybody went home for the day, and before they arrived in the morning. I had a very peaceful and private swim the next morning. The hotel let us lounge in the private garden until our rooms were ready and really pulled out all the stops to be helpful, booking us a taxi for the next day and even providing a cat. We had the freshest fish for dinner and a sumptuous breakfast. 

It was paradise. 

Anyway, then off to Tirana, the taxi was about 45 euros which we felt was very reasonable, particularly as we had no interest in figuring out the buses. This is what back-packing looks like when you're both in well-paid jobs and unwilling to put up with any unnecessary discomfort (aka, middle aged). 

We stayed in an apartment in Tirana close to Skanderberg Square. It was a lovely studio, with a bed on a mezzanine platform that unfortunately was a little bit too protected from the aircon. The apartment building next door to us was also being torn down and work on this went on until at least midnight every night. The first night was the worst as the active destruction meant our whole building was shaking on the regular; the other nights, they were just trucking away the rubble, so it was just noisy. And dusty, so dusty. But the place was very good value and they weren't to know this would be going on. 

We did a couple of day trips out of Tirana: to Berat, and to the Albanian Alps ('the Accursed Mountains') with a hike to the Blue Eye for swimming. I was very excited about this one as I read a book about this area when I had just finished uni and was keenly anticipating seeing a reconciliation tower. Sadly the guide did not take us there. Nor did he guide the whole party to the Blue Eye - just the half that were at the front. We hung out and swam in the river for an hour before he reappeared, much too late to take us to the end destination. Very disappointing. I keep telling myself that I would have been very happy with my hike and swim had I not known that I missed out on swimming through a waterfall, but ... sad face. Maybe I will go back again some time. 

We also did a little explore of Tirana: BunkArt2, a secret police museum housed in a former nuclear bunker; a tasting dinner at Cerem Ismet Shehu in the castle and more traditional food at Oda; an explore of Skanderberg square. Lazy lunches at Luara bakery. It was a very pleasant city to walk around.  

So that was Il Grande Tour of 2025, with only one flight involved and no car rental. I can recommend all of it. If I was changing anything, I'd consider Brindisi instead of Bari and spend longer at the beach in Albania than in the city. I think I could also have done a bit more research into things to do, particularly in Tirana, as I wonder if we missed out on anything that was must-see. But then, nobody wants to do too much on holiday. Next year I am quite keen to just go to one place, for a change. Unpacking would be nice. 

For logistics - all train tickets booked on the Trainline (even the ones in Puglia, it was easier than figuring out the machines); all accom booked on Booking.com; ferry booked on Direct Ferries; most of the tours booked on Viator which meant the Berat one was half price as they offer rewards. The internet, eh? Makes things so easy. 

2025 Week 30

Nearly gave myself a little jolt there by typing 'Week 40' I thought - surely we are not that close to the end of the year. Thankfully not. Though let us dwell momentarily on what things might look like by week 40 of this year - the assignments will be in and the marks received; the dissertation topic will be chosen and the work will be underway; mark reviews will be pretty much completed; hopefully the next ski holiday will have been booked; the tasks I need to do for the start of the new school year will be complete, or will no longer matter. 

I have spent much of the past week working on said assignments, though not as much as I should have done. I am meant to be working on the least favourite of them now, but find myself doing some extra bits of exam work that have come through today and chipping away at this blog post. I'm not sure if it's self-sabotage, a hint of burnout or just plain being stuck that is to blame for that. The preferred assignment is going well - so well, in fact, that I divined I might well spend all my available time on it and then fail the other one (I have already resigned myself to barely scraping a pass and am wondering what might happen if I did indeed fail, but since the answer is undoubtedly that this would just mean I have to work on it EVEN MORE and in September, when I'm busier...well, fine) so I have had to set it aside for now. 

In true navel-gazing style, I have been trying to work out what it is about this that is causing me so much stress. Whenever I make a concerted effort to actually do some work on it, I feel much happier and more hopeful about the whole thing. As soon as I stop, or look through what I haven't yet done, I just feel completely overwhelmed and out of my depth. Is this a feature of me as a learner? It has been an extraordinarily long time since I've done anything that I found academically challenging. As in, I can't actually remember a time. Maybe Year 9 algebra, with poor Father Hand explaining it to me over and over again on the phone from Florida. Maybe that assessment course I did with the exam board in 2016, writing those assignments was not fun, but they were short and a simple pass/fail. 

I think a big part of it also is that there is so much (SO much) that I don't understand. I read studies similar to the one I'm supposed to be writing, as we've been advised to do, and it's like reading something in a foreign language. I cannot write something similar because I simply don't know what they're on about. 

Anyway. This isn't helping, obvs. I just wanted to record it because the process of being a learner is currently so difficult and I need to somehow grasp on to this and remember it when I'm back in my classroom. I maintain that learning history can never be this difficult because it doesn't involve impossible tasks like testing for biases...oh actually. Yes, I did just write that and yes, I am having a word with myself. 

Other new this past week. We got to the end of the exam work on the predicted day: this is the first time that has ever happened, hurrah. I went to the gym four times, to yoga and to swim in the quarry, which is pretty warm now. I opted to do the oft-closed 750m loop but it felt waaaaaay more than 200m longer than the regular route and I was pretty tired by the end of it. My Z and I went for a nice brunch up the 'wood which is becoming a very pleasant habit. I tentatively packed for a little holiday I should be going on this week, to Oslo, though it may not go ahead as Mother Z is very unwell. 

We finished watching The Good Wife and I was reminded again how women in American TV series cannot ever really be strong and independent, enjoy sex or have power, without being ultimately punished in their story arc. Not much reading happened, I chipped away at Seven Killings but am put off by the fact it is a physical book and I need to take my Kindle on holiday, for space reasons, so I started Homegoing by Yaa Gyasi, which is proving very readable so far. 

Back to the assignments!

Weird Gym Man

As a woman who has been a confident free-weight user for over a decade now, I frequent the free weights area of the gym regularly. I am always on the prowl for anybody out to give me guidance. In case you weren't aware, there is a large body of evidence out there demonstrating that (in particular) men like to interfere with (in particular) women's technique, weight load, just general business when they're in the free weight area. Some women are so intimidated by this that they won't use the free weights section. This sort of thing is why there are women-only gyms. I expect there are men who are intimidated as well but I haven't come across any stories about this. 

Not me, though. I am practically begging for someone to come at me. I have honed my icy glare, my single raised eyebrow, my polite but definite eye roll. I have good technique and I lift heavy. Please, let's talk. 

Well, I thought this was the case, anyway. Years passed with no interaction. I suspect I was becoming one of those horrible intimidating gym bros myself, so often did I scoff internally (and we know this internal scoffing can always be read on my face, I give everything away) at poor technique or not re-racking weights or not wiping down after use or, my personal bugbear, men staring at their phones for 10 minutes between sets. 

(I don't want to make it a gendered thing but it just is, at least at my gym). 

Fast forward to last month. I have my usual gym turn out - loud music in noise-cancelling earbuds, no glasses so I can't really see anything beyond the equipment I'm using, refusal to meet anybody's eye. I'm setting up for deadlifting. I've waited a while to use the deadlift platform. Man walks into the deadlift platform in order to retrieve the Olympic bar that I had intended to set up to superset squats with deadlifts. 

Admittedly, he perhaps wasn't to know that, but I think it's bad form to walk into someone's workout space and take something from it without asking. My face says this, loudly. He scuttles off with the bar to the chest press rack I have recently vacated - the one with the Olympic bar in the rack next to it, where I had placed it, where he sets it up to do the exercise I had just finished. I am confounded.  

For a short time, I consider just modifying my work out, but in the end I decided I can go and retrieve the Olympic bar not in use for my squats. I do this, trying not to make eye contact or talk, but it turns out, his stolen bar is in the way, so I have to ask him to move. He speaks but I pretend not to hear or notice, in case he's trying to tell me off. It turns out that all my bravado is worthless in the face of potential confrontation. I return to my area and do my deadlifts and squats combo. It's hard. I'm slow and tired and sweating. 

At some point, Weird Gym Man comes back to the deadlift area and sets up the deadlift hex bar on the mats next to me. He puts 30kg on. This adds up to about half what I'm deadlifting (interior smile). There is, again, some attempt to talk to me, particularly when I am re-racking weights, but again, I pretend not to notice. It's not that hard to do this as I have become temporarily mostly deaf and blind. But eventually, his persistence gets to the point where I just can't ignore him anymore. 

Him: I said, you have a strong back

Me: Er...yes

Him: You're stronger than me

Me: Yes. Well, it has taken a while (thinking: I weigh a lot more than you)

Him: What's the heaviest you've done?

Me: Er...I did 120kg once. But it was a long time ago

Him: But you're lifting 90 there and you make it look like it's floating

Me: (I didn't think this sort of interaction was supposed to be so ego-boosting) Thanks...haha...er, well like I said, it's taken a while

Him: I reckon you could do 200kg easy. That's what I'm training towards. If you watch the world's strongest man, they do maybe 1-3 reps of a very heavy weight and then they don't deadlift again for a couple of weeks

Me: Oh, right, well I do it [this way]

Him: I guess that's one way to go. I am no expert. I can guarantee you that within 18 months, I'll be deadlifting heavier than anyone else in this gym but you...you'll be a close second

Ahhhhh! There it is! Wow, I cannot WAIT to be a close second to Weird Gym Man. That's going to be a CV-worthy accomplishment, particularly considering he is currently nowhere near a close second to me. 

The positive of this is that he has made me lift heavier. I tend to wait until I can do three sets of 10 at a weight for a few weeks, before going up. I am going up quicker now. Tbf, lifting very heavy is not really my goal. I am strength training for (1) better skiing ability and, at a distance behind that, (2) higher resting metabolism because I still eat too much and (3) better health in my old age. But the very idea that Weird Gym Man might outstrip me has lit a fire under me. 

We have had a couple more interactions now. Once I was using the chest press and he wanted it next. I asked him if he wanted my weight. 'No! You're much stronger than me! For now...give it 6 months though...' (oh, we're down to 6 now!) and then I sprayed the bench down and he told me how pointless he thought all this wiping of sweat was. We're in a gym, everyone sweats, why do you bother with that? I resisted the urge to point out the multiple signs instructing gym users to wipe down their equipment and muttered something about it being a habit since covid. He wouldn't let it drop though. I had to do an awkward 'oh heart rate's dropping, gotta go exercise some more' to get away. Now I moved him firmly into Weird Gym Man territory because nobody not weird likes other people's sweat THAT much, surely. 

I have moved deadlifting to Friday's session for the summer holiday. I still go on a Sunday, though. Quite often he is chatting to someone who looks like they've been caught at home by a double-glazing salesman, so I'm thinking - just socially awkward. Last Sunday, I clocked him, recognisable even to my glasses-free blur by his unusual sartorial choice of dark t-shirt and white shorts. He came and dangled off the bar next to where I was doing pull-downs. I fastidiously ignored him. 

Now I will shorten him to WGM so if you're reading future entries and wonder who that is - here is the key. I have noticed a surprising amount of traffic to my blog lately, you ten regulars are joined by 80-100 more readers in the week or so after I've posted, so I can only assume I'm being crawled by 80-100 LLMs who are learning my writing style for nefarious AI purposes. Joke's on them, LLMs are never going to be in with the chance of being a close second to a WGM. 

2025 Week 29

School's out! We broke up on Tuesday and, for the first time in many years, I didn't join in the partying at the end of term, because I had a root canal (second half) at 8am the following morning. The weather was grey and windy so I went swimming in the quarry, a swim I booked some week ago so of course the weather was bad. The water was warm compared to the wind and I was reluctant to get out at the end; I really felt like I had left the school year behind me when I eventually stepped back onto dry land. As if by magic, the work issue I had been turning over in my mind for a week without solution solved itself on the drive home. Some school work needs to happen some time, but it can happen in the future. 

Meanwhile, the exam marking finished, then it finished a bit more, then it finished completely - days earlier than it usually would. I'm working through the endless reading that goes on at the end of the process but it has been managed differently this year, so the work is a small fraction of previous years' (243 half scripts to read, as opposed to 900 full scripts. No, I have not got those numbers wrong) and it's all set up on a nice online system for me, instead of me having to open 1800 separate pdfs and fill in 60 separate Word docs. Common sense finally prevailed - at least for this year. The reading and the reports represent the final tasks of the series, bar the mop up, which means I should be finished a full week earlier than usual. 

This is just as well, because rumbling in the background of this are the two MSc assignments that I really just need to get on with. Some of that has happened this weekend and I am trying to force myself into the work, on the basis that if I can continue to work hard now, I won't have to take any work on holiday with me. And I could do with the break. 

Oh yes, the root canal! Don't read this if you don't like tooth things. Back in November I had an abscess that absorbed two rounds of antibiotics but did not actually go away. It didn't hurt, that was the main thing. Every so often I'd get a weeping pustule on my gum (lovely) but - it didn't hurt. I had a check up booked for April so I waited. That check up got pushed to the end of May. The dentist x-rayed me and said words you really would prefer not to hear from the dentist: 'The human body never ceases to amaze me'. Rather than heal, the infection had spread from the old root canal it had been festering around to the tooth that had actually hurt last November, even though it had been infection free. No, it doesn't make sense. Yes, it necessitated a root canal. The dentist, Bianca, love her, got me in for said root canal last Friday, only after an hour of drilling, terrifying words like 'calcified' and 'sclerotic' and appalling smells, she was not even close to finished. 'My next available appointment is on August 1st,' she said as she patched me up, and I nearly cried. All weekend long I religiously double-dosed ibuprofen and paracetamol every four hours, including through the night, and it had thankfully lessened to a dull ache by Monday morning, sort of like a jaw punch. I stalked my emails, waiting for the appointment. Happily she squeezed me in on Wednesday - happy holidays! - and managed to get it finished. I was braced for another 48 hours of horrible pain but it hasn't materialised. 

I have to say that a silver lining to having such terrible teeth is that I don't get so phased by the dentist anymore. I was almost asleep in the chair on Friday. I would prefer to have good teeth, though. I think it would be one of my mythical three wishes - perfect teeth, teleportation, the ability to speak, read and write all known languages fluently. I'd be unstoppable. 

What has happened since then? Not much. I've been to the gym twice, woo - I've been missing my Sundays lately. I'd kept up quite a good streak of Sundays until marking season hit. This reminds me that I have a Weird Man At The Gym to write about, the falling off of the weeknotes means he remains in obscurity for now but I will try to come back and write about him some time this week, when I'm avoiding my assignments. He was there today but I successfully ignored him, something that doesn't happen very often. 

I went to knitting for the first time in a little while and made a start on a unicorn jumper for the niece. I figured out I might see her in the last week of August so I would like to finish it for then. It would make perfect train knitting for my upcoming rail adventure to Milan and then Bari. 

I've been reading a bit of A Brief History of Seven Killings which I bought in May last year when I heard Marlon James speak at Toppings. I know it's going to be all-consuming but I haven't really got into it yet. What I really need is that Thursday Murder Club book I bought for light reading and have now put somewhere safe and can't find. We continue to rewatch The Good Wife which takes very little effort and I continue to be jealous of how many banging red jackets the female cast members have between them. It's not fair, I can't find even one red jacket that isn't really a strong orange. 

This week? Getting things DONE. Hopefully. 

Weekend FO

This is from a weekend some time almost a month ago, but it still counts. 

As an aside, I really love these new red shorts I got from Boden. The only sad thing is that Boden seems to have been the victim of its venture capitalists because the quality is just really poor compared to what it once was, so I'm already mourning this gorgeous red colour, which I fear can't last more than this summer. 

This is the Tolsta tank from my last post - square neck version. The only mod is that I went down a size during the body of the top, by decreasing 4 stitches every 6th row until I got to the stitch count for size 4. 

It took about two skeins of the Namolio yarn, so maybe 600m, and I love the glimmer from the secret strand of sparkly linen thread. 

Nothing else has been cast on yet but I have wound the yarn for the niece's unicorn jumper, I just need to look away from my phone for long enough to cast on. Well, if I have to be honest, the blocked is that the pattern is not immediately to hand. I know it cannot be far away, probably it has fallen down the back of the sofa, but mental energy has been somewhat lacking as I mark and mark and mark and then spend much of the rest of my time worrying about the aforementioned university assignments. I did make a start on one them 10 days ago but it made me cry so I have not been back to it since. The very opposite of a sensible, rational reaction. 

Still, school's out now. Today I have seen the dentist, the optician and the beautician. The house is filthy but relatively tidy. The end of marking is in sight. It's two weeks until my first holiday. Time to get cracking. 

Weekday WIP

Whirr, whirr, continues the brain, full of all the things I want to do but constrained in a tiny box called 'only 24 hours in a day'. And of course now it is exam season so nothing can happen for ages, apart from those two MSc assignments that are haunting me. Obvs that's why I'm here, writing this, because I should be going to bed and I've been sitting at my computer for at least 12 hours already today. Exam meetings have all moved online. Cannot believe I have to get my own lunch, don't they know who I am?

When I haven't been at my computer, I've been plugging away at this summer linen top that I cast on at roughly this time last year, did the ribbing on and then set aside. Naturally when I picked it up, I remembered nothing. Why was I knitting the size up? Why was I using a smaller needle? Why had I seemingly not used a smaller needle on the ribbing? And so on. Of course, I did not rip back. Nobody has that much desire to do 1x1 ribbing in 4-ply linen, that they'd willingly do it twice. Its sins will be blocked out. THEY. WILL. 

I got this linen at Wonderwool last year, five skeins of Namolio 4-ply and one teeny skein of glitzy orange thread, which you can see carried along here and there. It's showing as orange in this picture, but in real life the bit that really shows up is the sparkle. I think I might be a bit past very sparkly things (it's less club, more cruise at this age, if I'm honest - no shade) but I love the odd bit of sparkle it is providing and I particularly like it against this very sack-like beige, which in turn makes the coral really pop. I knitted the ribbing and therefore neckline and armholes (will be) in the beige rather than the coral, even though I bought three coral skeins and only two beige. Another wacko decision from past Sally. What was she thinking?

Nevermind, because this is the little top that does not eat yarn, probably since it has no sleeves. It's a Tolsta tank top which a square neck. I've finished the front and am about eight stripes off finishing the back, which will go quickly as there's a decrease on every right-side row; I'm still on my first skein of coral and not very far at all into the second skein of beige. Very economical, and quite quick: I took this to Oxford with me and predictably did nothing to it until I came home, so it has only taken about three weeks to get to this point. It might actually be finished in time for the summer.