In fact, it's laryngitis. Confirmed by Jay, M. D., who is oto-laryngo-whatever, throat doc. Now working in Podunk, and since I needed to go to the Podunk archive to fulfill a historiographic obsession of my father (1), I dropped at the hospital. I could barely speak so J. had a peek and diagnosed me. No hamthrax, feel free to come near me.
Apart from making rustling noises, I have clogged nose and can't smell a thing.
Since the temperatures fell, I decided to finish the merino/quiviut sweater. Some damn nasty bug ate a hole in the fabric, luckily two rows away from the provisional cast-off so I ripped the damaged bit; I however need to debug the thing somehow. The weird thing is that there's no trace of the thing that would gnaw it - no worms, no worm poo... well, I'm getting some pesticide and I'll freeze it when not wearing it. Meantime I can worry about my 50 kilos of other yarn, most of it very yummy for vermin.
K. wanted me to knit baby things and I decided that the time for double-point needles of steel, 1,75mm, has come. I dropped to Martina's to get them and on the way back, I went for the monthly grocery expedition to Tesco. While struggling with the self-service checkout (idiotic it is), I opened my bag while the assistant was messing around. I had the DPNs sticking out of a pocket and then the assistant saw them and exclaimed These are Addis, aren't they!!! (2), I said Nope, they are Langs... he started ranting about how he went to a textile design school (3), we chatted for a while since the traffic was rather low... to cut it short, I met another Raveler. He teaches knitting at some community centre, he knows Martina and shops at her place. The world is small.
( 1)basically, he bought a ruin and decided that it has to be ancient and important ruin. It is not but I'm being pushed to do research because my attempts to change his mind are interpreted as my ineptitude and laziness. Nothing to start with, nothing to go by, boring, annoying. Being asked every day whether I found something doesn't help. My mom's enthusiasm doesn't help either - I'mnot going to ask someone's grandma whether there was a garden shed in the garden 60 years ago. I'm a sociophobic chickenshit and I care a damn
(2) including those three exclamation marks
(3) apparently, those mothers who say My child, study hard or else you'll be bagging groceries in Tesco are mistaken. You can end up bagging stuff even with a diploma or two