Sarah Jane Humke

The life of a traveling, reading, writing, spining and knitting shepherdess.

So, one of the many things that are going to be difficult to get used to in this country is the customer service in the stores.  I’m hoping that it will be a bit different out in the country but I’m not terribly hopeful.  I did end-up going to a yarn store in London.  I’m not going to name it here since, well, I’m not going to be really super nice in my review and, as they say, if you haven’t got something nice to say it’s best not to use names:-)

There really isn’t all that bad to say about it to tell you the truth.  It was about the same size as the front room of the Sip and Knit in Maitland, which is pretty normal for this continent I think.  They did have beers and bottled wines for sale in the back but no place to really sit and enjoy them.  The thing that really, well, put me off is that they did not even acknowledge my presence in the store.  An American knitting store who’s owner didn’t even try to acknowledge customers when they walked in the door would be out of business within the year.  Here, it seems to be the norm.  Anyway, so I found two interesting yarns in this store.  One I took some pictures of for the pimp.  It’s called “Jelly Yarn” and it is a plastic yarn that can be knitted and crocheted.  Here are some pictures:

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It looks a lot like (boy am I going to date myself here!) the jelly bracelets that we all wore by the arm-full trying to imitate Cindi Lauper except all in one roll.  Here is one of the things that they had made from it (the rest of the stuff was smallish and really hard to tell what the heck they are in the pictures!).

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But that wasn’t the real shocker of yarn materials.  It was this:

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Yes, you are reading that right, Possum.  Now, if I hadn’t had a conversation with a lovely New Zealander just a couple of days before about this specific animal, I would have been seriously grossed out.  I mean, have you seen up-close an American Possum?  I am usually pretty non-judgemental about animals and how they look/smell/act but possums, well, they’re just nasty.  I mean, they can be sorta cute when they are little, but when they get older and sort of greasy and nasty and smelly and they hiss with those mouths full of teeth.  If you don’t know what an American possum looks like or want to be reminded or are just trying to give yourself nightmares click here.  Anyway, the possums in New Zealand are actually a completely different species and look, well, cute.  Click here for some pictures and info.  They were introduced to the island nation and have become quite a pest there as introduced species tend to do.  However, you can imagine how much of a disconnect there was in that conversation for a bit when our New Zealander friend said that people use possum fur for clothes and things like that and that it was quite soft and nice.  

Yesterday I spent most of the day looking at a view like this:

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I sort of went from train to car to train to tube to train to car to train.  Had at least one lead on a house.  It’s nice.  It has a jacuzzi tub!

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I’m not going to put any more pictures in here of it for fear that y’all will jinx it again with your good thoughts sent this way.  For some reason, that doesn’t work too well over here!  I think it’s because of the national mood of the British, especially Londoners.  I swear, I feel as though I am in the middle of a funeral of gargantuan proportions walking around here.  The uniform is definitely BLACK.  All black and nothing but black all the time!  I feel like a freaking peacock and I am not exactly known for my colorfulness in dressing!  Seriously, it’s like everyone here is taking their fashion cues from Severus Snape!

Anyway, I have another appointment this afternoon to look at yet another house in yet another area.  I’ll be glad to just have the matter settled one way or another!

I am going to have to find a farmer to buy wool from as it is ridiculous to buy it at sheep and wool festivals when there are sheep ALL OVER!  Hopefully I will be in a small enough village that somebody will know a sheperd or two that I could buy some decent wool from even though I get the feeling that most of the sheep here are for the table, not the sweater. (Damnit, need to start saying “jumper”.  What the fuck is that about?  Sweater is much more descriptive than “jumper”.  I mean, you are WAY more likely to sweat in one than you are to jump in one right?  Ugh.)

Anyway, I’d best be getting back to the Liverpool Station to catch the train out.  

Until later…. Cheers!

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