on wearing a giant flower on your head
You are either the type of person who can get away with wearing a giant flower on your head, or you're not.
I clearly think that I am because I walked the streets of wintry England with this giant, pink flower on my head. I walked tall and I walked proud knowing full well that some people were walking past thinking blimey! I meanwhile was thinking that I looked the bees knees and no doubt about it.
I love this pattern, I'd been planning on making one for my giant head (it really is super big) for ages, since making this beauty, but I had to wait for all my Christmas knitting to be done before I could begin. Last year was a mega knitting year for presents and whilst I do love making things for people, it is quite stressful knitting to a deadline especially when you're not really all that good at it. I wish I was proper good at knitting but instead I knit in a state of mild terror that if I make a mistake, one, tiny mistake, then I'm doomed because I have a very poor record at fixing mistakes. What happens is, I try to fix said tiny mistake, but do it badly and cause another mistake and pretty much a minute later the whole thing is unravelling and I have to angrily frog and start again.
So to be able to make something where mistakes didn't matter was bliss. I sat on the sofa and knitted with relish, delighting in every stitch. There is something about knitting without a care as to the result that entirely calms the soul, focuses the mind and soothes like balm. Heavenly.
It's a good job I was so relaxed about this project because whilst I planned for the flower to be giant, wanted maximum impact, therein lay my fatal error. I over-cooked the goose, so to speak. It's so big and heavy that it causes the headband to droop down over one eye, not a pleasing result and let me tell you that the last thing a lady wants is a drooping flower as she's walking down the street.
But never defeated, this girl will start again, well remove the flower and try again, with less grandiose aspirations. The sad lesson being that sometimes the biggest flower does not win the day.