and I just can’t hide it, I’m about to lose control and I think I like it (well, OK, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but those Pointer Sisters are right).
And, I must admit it, in my case it’s about wool and not men. Sigh.
Nonetheless, I keep wandering about the house making squeaking noises like an excited puppy being taken to the beach, even though there are weeks left before we… ahem. Getting ahead of myself there.
All right, some
mad friends and I will be going away for a week this summer. Can you guess where we are heading?
Nope, not a livestock auction.
Wool is involved. What a surprise. (Men are not; sorry, Pointer Sisters – this is an exclusively female excursion, though not deliberately. Guess the prospect of a week spent
in – agh, nearly did it there – looking at wool was just too much.)
How about this?
Perhaps I should be a little clearer:
Maybe the single red line of a road running up a long piece of land with sea on both sides will be a definitive clue…
I could also have gone for shots of otters, fiddle players, brochs, the Northern Lights, Great Skuas, Simon King, a wild sea, a bright sky on a summer night – oh, and the best lace knitting in the known universe.
You got it.
Shetland. We’re going to SHETLAND!
But not yet. So it’s back to the excited puppy imitation (though, happily, I haven’t yet made a mess on the carpet). And now I must calm down; I’ve got lots to do. Fleece to sort, wash and spin now my hands are so much better; practising using my hackle (more in my next post); loads of knitting.
And work. Keep forgetting work. Hmm.
(The different colours of sheep image is part of a splendid poster from the Shetland Sheep Society).