The photo was taken in the early 1950s outside her cottage and she is with two of her sons, K and T.

I have several photos of her; my other favourite is from the 1930s when she was approached by a travelling salesman who wanted her to become a hair model. I presume she shot him one of her withering glances. The photo shows her with long, gorgeous hair. I was told it was chestnut-coloured. The photo is black/white.

I was lucky enough to grow up around her. She minded me when I was pre-kindergarten and I spent most of my school holidays in her cottage. Her cottage did not have running water until I was maybe seven or eight and never got central heating. I can still envision her sitting in her chair in front of the kerosene-fuelled stove. She’d knit long garter stitch strips from yarn scraps and sew them into blankets. I think she was the one who taught me to knit. She was certainly the one who taught me how to skip rope.

Happy birthday, momse. We may not always have seen eye to eye, but we loved and understood each other. And I still miss you.

Title comes from this beautiful farewell song (youtube link). Post reposted from 2009, 2010 and 2011 with Momse’s age amended. I continue to miss her.

But it is lovely to see Denmark + fashion + knitting. It makes me feel proud (and very homesick) to see this video:

KAFFESLABBERAS // MADS AND ERNA (SUBTITLED) from Kaffeslabberas on Vimeo.

‘Kaffeslabberas’ is a knitting club in the Copenhagen neighbourhood of Amager. Its members are female pensioners, whose rich history and zest for life overshadows their advanced age. This project partners up these ladies with Danish artists and designers, with the intent of creating a connection across generations, through the strengths of craftmanship, diversity and experience.

I wish the subtitles were grammatically correct and the spelling was better, but we can’t have everything.

Thank you to Angela for pointing out the article and video.

Following Carol’s pattern (from an old Rowan magazine), I made a necklace from some mercerised cotton and a leather string. It was super-easy and very quick. I think it took me about an hour from the initial idea to the finished object. The leather string’s a bit too skinny, but I’m still quite pleased with the result.

My partner snapped a photo of me wearing the necklace that very evening. I do apologise for lack of make-up/styling and the crap indoors lightning, but you can clearly see how smug I am about my lovely new accessory.

In other crafting news, I have purchased some black corduroy and I am very excited about making another skirt. I have a very, very specific idea for this skirt. I’ll need to try my idea first, though, as it could be a complete disaster. I tried googling my idea but everything I find is twee crap. I am many things, but I am not twee.

This week I have been grabbling with Apple as someone in Canada has set up an account using my email address as her AppleID. Personally I would have thought that Apple have checked that her email was her own, but apparently not. I am currently on my fourth (rather terse) email to Customer Support. I am not impressed. Definitely not impressed.

This week Something Very Good happened. Denmark finally decided that they had had enough of xenophobic party Danish People’s Party being the kingmaker in Danish politics. Cue Denmark’s first female prime minister.  The DPP played a part in me deciding to leave Denmark and when I heard they were not longer the power behind the throne, I shed a small tear. I cannot begin to express my relief – although I think it will take a lot of time to undo their damage (Denmark has some of the strictest immigration laws in Europe and you encounter casual racism everywhere).

The Danish essayist Carsten Jensen wrote an excellent column (google translate + tweaked quickly by me). I do not agree with everything he wrote, but this passage really struck a nerve.

Something went terribly wrong in Denmark during the past decade. We did not just damage the foreigners who found themselves among us, whether they were refugees or immigrants and their descendants. We did not just damage the countries whose domestic problems became ours thanks to reckless wars.We also did moral damage to ourselves, and the marginal, ambiguous election victory of the Left shows a lack of willingness to confront ourselves – something which we must inevitably must do, if we are to forge ahead and not only think about growth, but also morality and humanity. We have toyed with callousness too long, and this has left an unhealthy cynicism within us.

Here is to better times.

Felice Cohen lives in a 90 sq-foot/8 sq-metre apartment in Manhattan, New York. This is her choice and I respect her for the decision. However, it brought me back to the eight years I spent living in a 16 square-metre/170 square-foot pad in Copenhagen.

I moved into my place when I was 19 and just started university. The first few years I loved my haven: I shared a huge kitchen with other students and we had a great time getting used to living away from home. Then the building was refurbished; my little pad suddenly had a kitchenette where I once had storage; and student life got mixed up with people who lived there because they had split up with their partner or because the authorities thought it a good place for “vulnerable adults” to mix with “normal people”. Things got very claustrophobic. These were the times when I bought an obscene amount of interior design magazines just to fly away on escapist dreams.

Copenhagen is a very expensive city – including real estate – so moving elsewhere was not an option for many years. One of my friends coined the phrase “3D Tetris” which was terribly apt. Finding room for your tin of baked beans became a competitive sport at times. I look at that video of Felice Cohen and I can see several ways she could use her space better. And I’m not a naturally organised person. The space has a high ceiling and I’d utilise that height a lot more.

I still miss this view

Eventually I got my own flat with a separate kitchen (it felt like such a triumph), but it was a real Copenhagen apartment with no bathroom (the shower was in the bedroom I rented out), a tiny toilet (you’d bang your knees on the door when you sat down), and no laundry facilities.

At the time I thought I was happy there but it was a place where time fell into the cracks between the floor-boards and I was actually terribly unhappy there. I lived there for two or three years. I miss the view from the kitchen but that is all.

What home means is such a difficult thing to pinpoint but I know what it is like not having one (I lived in my suitcase for a year. I cannot recommend this). Home means privacy. I shut the front door and shut out the world. Home means space. I can stretch out my arms and not touch walls. Home means peace. I can relax and be quiet. And home means my partner. This is exceptionally sappy, of course, but it is very difficult to imagine a home without him curled up with a book.

Now I’m off to grab my iPod (loaded with Danish-languaged postcasts on culture, society and language), my work and I’m heading out into my Glasgow version of Ms Cohen’s Central Park. Enjoy your day.

Sometimes I tell myself: “I’m way closer to Four-Oh than I am to Two-Oh. I should start dressing my age. Maybe tone things down a bit. Invest in sensible, long-term wardrobe staples. Get a couple of timeless pieces in neutral colours.” Clearly I don’t listen to myself.

Pictured alongside my favourite coat: the very gawjuss Kaffe Goes Bollywood wrap. You can find the specifics at the Ravelry page, of course, so it suffices to say that I am pretty damn happy with it. It is too long, though, as you might be able to tell and so I’m primarily wearing it as a scarf (wrapped around several times) so next time I make one, I’ll cast on fewer stitches and do 130-150 rows total.

Headline of the day comes courtesy of a Danish local newspaper: Knitting Ladies’ Vandalising Rampage Through Broager (equivalent to the UK’s Flitwick or Crewes: tiny and outskirtsy). If you are really keen, you can try Google Translate on the article but, in short, even rural Denmark has discovered yarn-bombing.. Bless.

Food is such an expat thing, I tell you. I never used to care so much about traditional Danish food as I do now. I saw tea rusks in my local supermarket today and could almost taste hot elderberry soup right there and then.

(And seeing this little guy try out salty licorice (salte fisk!) made me beam. He’s a very cool kid even if he says that salty ammoniac licorice requires “an advanced palette”.)

Happy new year – happy Hogmanay – godt nytår! I’m off to try and balance four pots cooking at the same time..

Guess which type of brain I have.

Ten days in Denmark. The longest I have been back since my big move some four years ago. Today I was standing in my local supermarket wondering why an elderly couple was speaking Danish. As it turned out, they were not – but right now my brain automatically assumes background noise must be in Danish and I have to makes a conscious decision in order to recognise the language as Scots English. Likewise, I’m searching for words: what’s English for parabolantenner or ‘Bare på beløbet, tak’? I know these words, of course, but I have to dig deep before they pop into my head.

Interestingly enough, I only have these problems with spoken language, not written. I’m sure there is a perfectly good (neurological) reason for this.

However, I refuse to believe there is a valid neurological explanation for the way the Danish language is being mangled by people who really ought to know better. Danish is being invaded by English – and it is not even correct English in many instances. I have never been a militant language purist (the way I acquire and use language prevents me from being too holier-than-thou) but I think I am becoming an old grumpy lady. WHY write “den perfect carwash du altid har drømt om” when the correct phrasing would be “den perfekte bilvask du altid har drømt om“. WHY WHY did my gran‘s woman’s weekly write about “en crunchy banankage” when Danish already has several words meaning “crunchy” AND most of the magazine’s readers do not understand English in the first place? WHY WHY WHY would a major national newspaper gleefully write “livet er one long bundy jump” in the middle of an interview with a Danish designer thus mangling BOTH Danish and English? I nearly cracked when I was sitting next to a bunch of Swedish golf-buddies on the plane back to Scotland who kept shouting “EXACT!” but I’m told that is a valid Swedish expression which admittedly feels a bit deflating after I’ve been foaming at the mouth since Monday night.

Last day of my holiday today. I shall celebrate with some knitting and some tidying. I finished reading David Mitchell’s latest novel last night but I need to mull over it before writing anything about it.

I have a few rants to share – the state of the Danish language, how embarrassing people can be in an airport, biased TV-journalism – but I’ll save them for a rainy day. Likewise, I have a few knitting-related things to discuss but I’ll get back to them after I’ve done the laundry (it is so good not living out of a suitcase) and unpacked my things.

It’s good to be home. I just miss people already.

This is a roundabout way of saying that I am in Copenhagen once again.

During the 90 minute train journey I was working on a shawl. A girl came up to me asking if I knitted the jumper I was wearing. Seeing I was wearing my Snorri jumper, the one with the Icelandic yoke, I was happy to confirm her suspicions. This led to a long discussion about how she did not knit, how she admired people who could and where she could learn to knit .. and how I found the time to knit. I maintain that most people should be able to find pockets of knitting time: I knit on public transport, I knit during my commute to and fro work, I knit during lunch, and I knit whilst watching TV or listening to the radio. Knitting is an addition to my daily routine, not something which stops me doing things (Except reading. I still haven’t cracked how to knit and read at the same time. No, audiobooks do not count).  I do not think I convinced the girl to give knitting a try, but I demystified a few things. I’ll continue to preach the gospel anyhow.

A crafts happening was taking place in the Central Station when I arrived. It was a good omen.

Copenhagen has been lovely. I picked up some Faroese, Icelandic and Swedish yarns (mostly laceweight and “sheepy”; definitely things I could not find in the UK) as well as some .. fabric. I learned that I’m getting a sewing machine early next year, so I thought I’d get a few interesting fabrics whilst in Denmark. Do not give me that look..  Anyway, I’ve also been biking around the city and seeing some very lovely people. It’s almost like I never left .. except a few things have changed such as my leg muscles (tomorrow my muscles will ache in interesting places) and my ability to deal with impolite customer service (eyerolling may have been involved).

I’ll be in Copenhagen for a few more days. More people to see. More muscles to re-discover. I am breathing again.

PS. Actually, right now I could be anywhere. I’m listening to BBC Radio 4, the rain is pouring down, and I’m typing away..

My parents live on the outskirts of a large bog area famous for its archaeological finds (link in Danish) and today we went for a long drive through the area: small lakes, rolling hills, undisturbed bogs, Viking settlements and numerous megalithic tombs. I always wonder why Denmark does not market its history as a major tourist attraction (Scotland has already twigged that tourists love history). My childhood landscape is steeped in impressive history and I think tourists would love to visit these places.

I spent the afternoon having a mutual brainstorming crochet workshop with my mum. We were armed with crochet hooks and various balls of wool. It was a lot of fun and super-inspirational. We were both tossing out ideas, workshopping to find solutions to conundrums, and trying out techniques. Crochet has always felt more intuitive than knitting and I really enjoyed what we ended up working on .. I’m the latest one in a long line of crafters and doing a workshop with my mum felt fabulous. If we lived closer, I could definitely see us collaborating on a few projects.

Incidentally, iSketch is way too much fun.