Taking the Stairs

I’ve always liked the idea of living in a house with stairs. Not houses which require stairs to get into them – I’ve lived in plenty of those – but houses with more than one storey.

Latenium-1
Wooden stairs are ideal – none of those disturbing steel-and-glass things that show you the yawning gulf beneath your feet (and presumably allow anyone beneath to look up your skirt).

So I was delighted when we managed to buy Narrowhaven, a house which is equipped with a proper indoor stair. The stairs are of an aesthetically pleasing shiny dark wood, and are a very important part of the function of the building. Which is to say, half of the house’s six rooms are at the bottom, and half at the top, and there’s nine feet to climb between them.

Of course, nine feet is not excessive. Particularly not when you consider the staircase that goes up the side of Mt Niesen in Switzerland, which measures one and two thirds kilometres just in the verticals. Admittedly, it’s an outdoor stair, but still, 11,674 steps is a lot. I should be thankful that I have only fifteen.

Especially considering that said fifteen steps lie between the kitchen (i.e. the Source of All Tea) and the bathroom (I trust I do not need to draw you a picture).

The call of nature draws you up, and the call of a cuppa, or your book, or pottering out to the letterbox for some fresh air calls you down again.

But I am thankful for my fifteen steps, because they are one of the chief sources of exercise in my life. It doesn’t matter what the weather’s like, or how energetic I’m feeling, up and down those stairs I must go.

I took a survey across three recent days (including one when I was out for the evening) and found that on average, I go up and down the stairs ten times a day. Or rather, down and then up, considering that I start my day in one of the upstairs bedrooms.

But how often do we even consider the sterling contribution of the humble staircase? “What is a staircase, but a corridor improved by elevation?” as Catherine Gilbert Murdock wrote in Princess Ben (very readable book that, by the way).

How many other parts of your house silently and without the slightest charge provide you exercise without you even needing to think about it? No sooner had I written this than I popped upstairs again and was on the third-to-last stair down before I’d even noticed what I was doing.

While there are doubtless those for whom stairs are Not What The Doctor Ordered (e.g. those with joint problems or chronic giddiness), they should have our sympathy, and all the more so if they have stairs anyway. For when you’re just an ordinary homebody like myself, there’s nothing like a flight of stairs to keep you moving.

Note: whoever named a case of stairs a “flight” should be sat down and given a talking-to. If there is one thing you should not attempt to do when taking the stairs, it is taking flight. Happily, our stairs come with walls both sides and a handrail, so flight options are limited.
Main stair case
It’s not just the practicality, either, it’s the aesthetics. A sweep of well-swept richly glowing wooden stairs is a much more pleasant thing to look upon than An Exercise Thing for Stepping – wouldn’t you agree? And unlike the Exercise Thing, it slides all that exercise almost unnoticeably into your day.

So here’s to the stairs, the humbly serving unappreciated stairs. Give them a sweep or a vacuum and show your stairs a bit of love today.

 

(In)Coherent Crochet

Crochet has a reputation for being a gentle, quiet pastime, the sort of thing engaged in by little old ladies and the more productive sort of hippie. But little do people know what morasses of international confusion lurk beneath the tranquil surface of this seemingly innocuous hobby. I recently took up hook (to finish off a piece of knitting, as it happens) and I was completely boggled by what I found.

Take the hooks, for example.

CrochethookrollBritish crochet hooks are numbered: the smaller the number, the larger the hook. A little counter-intuitive, perhaps, but reasonable. Except that when it’s a steel hook, for finer work, the numbering is different. Still bigger number for smaller hook, just… a different range of numbers.

So, for instance, a size 4 could be 6mm wide, or it could be 1.65mm wide. Slightly awkward if you order one for crocheting yourself a blanket, and then find you are crocheting a coaster.

And not only do the numbers overlap, so do the sizes. A 2.25mm hook could be a size 1½ (steel, for fine work) or a size 13. Furthermore, a size 8 could be 4.0 or 4.25mm, and if you want anything between a 4.0 and a 3.5mm – well, good luck finding what you’re looking for, because in the British system that is The Hook Without Name.

But let us not single out the British for these eccentricities. The American system is, if anything, worse.

Most hooks have a letter and a number: B-1, C-2, K-10½… Except for size 7, sitting there all on its tod between G-6 and H-8. Unlike the British system, the bigger the hook, the bigger the number. Except for the steel hooks for fine work, which do follow the British convention of having bigger numbers for smaller hooks.

Not, of course, the same numbers. No, no. The American numbers run from 2 to 10, thus ensuring that there is another hook labelled simply 7.

So a size 7 could be a 4.5mm American hook, or a 4.5mm British hook (that’s where they cross over as one goes up and the other down), or a 1.65mm hook. And a 1.65mm hook could be labelled 7 for the US or 4 for the UK, but a UK 4 is also a 6mm and…

And thank God for the Europeans, who somewhere along the way had the Idea of Startling Brilliance, i.e. why not make the sizes be the actual size of the hook?
CrohookWhich is why most modern hooks, regardless of what market they are intended for and what other sizing system they use, are also marked with metric measurements, because then We Know Where We Are.

All we need now is for someone to do the same for the actual stitch terminology.

A slip stitch in the US is a UK single crochet. A US single is a UK double. A US double is a UK treble. You end up researching the genealogy of the friend who gave you a pattern in an attempt to discern what the very basics even mean.

And I have come up with a solution.

As follows. One of the first things you learn when you are beginning crochet, be it so plain as a coaster or dishcloth that you are making, is how to turn. And in order to turn (unless you are slip-stitch/single crocheting), you need to make a turning chain. And the length of said turning chain depends on the stitch you are going to make next.

DoubleturningInspired by the sane approach of the Europeans, I propose that these numbers be taken as the basis of a new universal crochet terminology, and since numbers are already in use (no one wants to be told to make two threes or three twos or anything confusing like that), they shall have suitably abbreviable names.

The stitch requiring no turning chain (formerly known as the slip or single) shall be the Zero stitch, abbreviation Z.

The stitch requiring a turning chain of one (formerly known as the single or double) shall be the Solo stitch – Star Wars fans can thank me later – abbreviation S.

The stitch requiring a turning chain of two (formerly known as the half-double, half-treble or short treble) shall be the Duo stitch, abbreviation D.

The stitch requiring a turning chain of three (formerly known as the double or treble) shall be the Trio stitch, abbreviation T.

The stitch requiring a turning chain of four (formerly known as the triple, double-treble or long treble) shall be the Quarto stitch, abbreviation Q.

the whole gangAnd there you have it! It may well be that I am the only one who will ever use it, but for what it is worth, I offer it to the world, as my contribution to international understanding and goodwill.

All it needs now is a name. I incline towards TurnWise – any other suggestions?