I don't like them

No, I don’t like them at all.

I don’t like the colour and I don’t like the holes.

But they’re not for me, so it’s all right.

It’s fun sometimes to knit things you don’t like, because otherwise you’d never do anything different. The person these are for picked the yarn and will like the pattern. And this pattern was just the right amount of complicated – not boring, but not ripping it back and weeping every row

because of my inability to count to five repeatedly. It’s sort of pretty, in the sense that I wouldn’t want to wear it.

The black behind the holes, by the way, is not part of the sock; it’s just so you can see the hole pattern. It turns out, after spending November to February emphatically not kicking around New Zealand in Birkenstocks, my feet revert to the pallid blue-ish colour of, well, these socks, so you can’t tell what’s sock and what’s hole.

Ugly socks done with, can you have a look at this for me?:

Purple, meet orange.
Was this a huge mistake?


It’s going to be a bag. But is it the sort of bag I might have knocked around travelling with, say, ten years ago? Should I have grown out of purple and orange by now?