So, as usual, we went north for Easter. However, this time the weather was stereotypical. Each night we watched the forecast, and it was all the more galling to know that "Down South" it was lovely spring weather, while where we were there was a sequence of rain squally showers, hail and a bitingly cold wind, interspersed with tantalisingly brief sunny intervals.
We went out for our regular walk around Lorton, and ended up quite wet.
These two were just taking their ease.
A slate-hung end wall.
Everywhere, and especially leading into Cockermouth, birthplace of William and Dorothy Wordsworth, great swathes of daffodils. Enough already with the daffodils. What's wrong with primroses, or even celandines as seasonal flowers? Wordsworth was surprised when he saw the original daffodils; no one is surprised by them today.
A little knitting. This is Nantucket, by Alice Starmore. That strange feature of starting the cables up through the ribs does tend to pull in the fabric. I used most of a large ball of Hayfield Traditional Aran. The clue is in the name. It is 100% wool - or more correctly, 99% wool and 1% vegetable matter. Every few inches there would be a piece of dried grass to pick out, a process which became quite addictive in itself.
This has gone off to Knit For Peace, hopefully to keep someone warm.