September 5, 2013

A calm, soothing* subject for short Wednesday


Another adventure.

Golly.  Whatever can it be?

Golly. Whatever can it be?

It looks like a terrifyingly expensive green [sic:  my poor camera is once again contending with bad indoor light] suede bag I bought for like a fifth of full price because it was a floor sample but that I’ve always been afraid to use as a handbag.  You know, put stuff in it that might STAIN or GOUDGE it?  Put it down casually on the FLOOR?

You're baffled, right?

You’re baffled, right?  The hellterror is too.

STOP LOOKING AHEAD.  That’s cheating.  And yes, anyone who was at Forbidden Planet one evening nearly two years ago when someone was wearing a black leather miniskirt on a dare should recognise that pink knitted bag.

Oh!  It's a SWIFT!

Oh! It’s a SWIFT!

. . .  That’s a yarn winding thingy to those of you who don’t.  It’s also a nostepinne but I bottled out on the nostepinne.  One thing at a time.  Besides, I can probably get another photo blog out of my first nostepinne attempt.

There was a really horrible moment when I thought I'd lost the pegs. . . .

There was a really horrible moment when I thought I’d lost the pegs. . . .

After I had my last nervous breakdown winding yarn by hand I got serious about looking for a swift.  But I wanted one that sat rather than clamped, and I wanted one made out of wood like a proper Lost Country Craft tool.  That’s my piano bench it’s sitting on, by the way.  And that odd little blue scrap on the floor to the left is a token of the hellterror’s affection.

Okay.  It's getting serious now.

Okay. It’s getting serious now.




The yarn is Manos del Uruguay Silk Blend wildflower.  Wildflower is third up from the bottom in the left hand column.

We're in business.

We’re in business.

I will spare you a graphic description of the several minutes of vivid language while I untied the blasted hank.   Nice yarn makers tie their skeins off with bits of waste yarn, so you can just frelling cut them.  These bozos use the live end to wind through and around the hank at several places, twisted into secret Masonic knots that require needle-tipped fingers and a graduate degree in physics to untangle.




The final exciting moments.  Yaaaaay.

The final exciting moments. Yaaaaay.


Ta da.  Ball of yarn.  And nobody died.

Ta da. Ball of yarn. And nobody died.

We pause here a moment to contemplate the joy that is WordPress, that piece of insufficiently composted crap.  I’ve been saving-draft like anything, composing this post,  because I know it’ll frell me if it can, and if it can’t, it will anyway.  Which it has just done.  I wanted to get to bed tonight. 

. . . I was trying to say something about the fabulousness of not getting enmeshed in your half-wound skein when the invisible cat squiggles it into anarchy between one eye-blink and the next.  Also that I don’t know if this is a particularly fabulous swift or if fabulousness is the basic swiftian nature:  but this one is very nice indeed.  If you want this exact swift or one of its cousins, I bought it here:  My timing is not great, the home page says they’re closed till the end of September.  But you can still poke around and admire what will be on offer again in a few weeks.  There are also some rather more descriptive photos of this swift.

And now, rather later than planned, I am going to bed.  I may knit a little to calm down. . . .

* * *

* Well that was the plan anyway.



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