Happy birthday, Stanley McCracken (aka Billy Avenue)! He's the one on the right.
Ribbited the entire Lace Wings - sorry, those of you trying to convince me to keep going; I just wasn't happy with it - and have started agin. I've got some serious knitting to do if I'm to wear it for m'birthday in less than a month's time.
Speaking of bdays, happy 28 to mon petit frere Alex! Despite feeling like such poo that I missed the monthly drunken knitters' night and spent Sat mooning about like a particularly
consumptive John Keats (or, to be fair, perhaps Lord Byron. I could never claim to be Keatsian in my accomplishments...or Byronic, for that matter, but Byro was a bad, naughty man and so am I except I'm female) and could barely knit even in solitude, I dragged myself to Al's bday extravaganza at the Halton County Radial Railway Museum, where we rode vintage streetcars (on which I knitted, duh), and ate ice cream.
How's that for an insanely-crafted sentence? Who do I think I am - Lord Byron? Evidently.
Boom bag is at 70 rows and counting. And so am I.