I swear to all that is sheepy and sacred that I am in clog hell. I knit some clogs for my friend and her husband and turned them over to her for felting. Later that day she calls, sounding a little worried. She's felting the clogs, and apparently the clogs look...strange. I tell her to drop them off and I'll fix them. This happened with Ken's clogs at Christmas. The wool didn't felt evenly and it just took some hand-felting in the bathtub to convince them to be nice clogs. No problem. Whatever the problem with these clogs I can fix them. I am super knitter. Yeah, well. Pride goeth before a fall. I opened the bag and the world whirled darkly around me. I actually felt woozy.
See anything wrong with this?
This is really more of a disk with a foot opening than a clog. Clearly it has crossed over to the other side. Way over. There is nothing for it. I am going to have to knit 2 more pairs. I'm going to use different yarn (the red didn't felt) and I'm going to try not to look back.
Instead of getting drunk and sobbing into the bag of wet misshapen clogs (that really was my plan for about 10 minutes) I comforted myself with new yarn and cast on this
Sirdar Snowflake with this pattern. I feel better.
The socks? Yeah baby.
I need the foot size before I can go any further. That's three days of evening knitting. Magic. I swear it's magic.