Don't get me wrong. I love a good routine as much as the next person - probably more so. They give my busy life structure and purpose and without routines I would probably spend all day camped out on the sofa in my PJs with a big pile of yarn.
There are some times though when it is good to change things up a little and do something completely different. For me, yesterday was one such day.
I had to drive 150 miles north (and back again) to collect my boys from a few days spent with their grandparents. We decided to turn a chore into a treat by meeting halfway at Saltaire - a Victorian village in Yorkshire ( indeed a World heritage Site no less).
It has a really fascinating history, the whole village being built by industrialist Titus Salt. He built a spinning mill after coming into possession of a warehouse full of alpaca fibre (as you do) and created a whole village around the mill for his employees. As a piece of social and economic history it is fascinating. On a slightly more superficial level it has one of the finest bookshops for miles around and a few very good coffee shops too.
Wandering the cobbled streets and exploring the canal towpaths was a great way to unwind and think different thoughts to my usual daytime pursuits. Inspiration was everywhere - as was a very cold and blustery wind. Guy Garvey, the lead singer of Elbow (Manchester based band) once famously credited his musical genius with being from Manchester. Saying that the brain functioned more creatively when it was a few degrees cooler - for non UK readers Manchester is a large city in the North of England which is well known for being cold and a little on the damp side.
Anyway, it was either the sudden burst of cold, fresh air to the brain or 7 hours of enforced non-knitting time spent behind the steering wheel but I arrived home positively fizzing with new ideas.
Rashly I dumped the laundry, the over excited children and the uneaten Easter chocolate and set about trying to cast on all the things. Being astute and sensible you will of course realise that this course of action was unwise and bound to end in tears (mine) and tantrums (also mine).
I sought refuge in my mitered square sock blanket (and a large glass of red wine) instead but this morning I was up bright and early, busily filling a (new) notebook with All The Ideas. Neatly proving of course that my purchases in the Salts Mill bookshop were of course entirely justified. For what are new notebooks for if not for storing those beautiful, shiny new ideas.