The Madness song is highly appropriate – even though what I’m anticipating doesn’t (necessarily) involve booze and I’m not actually turning 16 – because of the line about ‘…temptation’s on it’s way’.
It most certainly is.
This may look like a car park, but it’s not just any car park (insert cheesy M&S ad music). It’s the car park at the Royal Welsh Showground in Builth Wells, and that means… eeeeeee.
Every year I get like this, and there are still a couple of weeks to go. Well, 15 sleeps, eeeeeeee.
And yes, I do sound like a puppy being taken down to the beach for a lovely exciting walk and a roll in some interesting dead things. I’m in danger of turning into Donkey from Shrek 2: ‘Are we there yet?’ ‘Are we there yet?’ ‘Are we there yet?’ ‘Are we there yet?’
There’s next weekend and the weekend after that, and then the weekend after that is – drum roll – Wonderwool Wales.
I thought I was handling it this time. I’ve been calm and cool-headed and helped organise a coach and bought the tickets for our party.
And I know I’m not going to be buying much because I’ve got a serious stash back-up in many areas of woolliness and not just yarn – fleeces, fluff, dyeing materials, patterns. I don’t need any more.
I’ve even got silk fibre, got some here last year (my first Wonderwool as a spinner, oh dear). Got a little bit more very fine thread at a silk spinning workshop, so I don’t need that.
And I don’t need a new spinning wheel, either.
And then a couple of friends came round to go though the aforementioned pattern stash to see if anything grabbed their fancy for Wonderwool, and it struck me just how close it was. That did it. I’ve checked my stash and it’s not that bad really; I can actually get into the spare room and there’s even some space in the big metal school trunk up in the loft where I keep my spare fleeces safe from moths / mice / next door’s wool-obsessed cat.
No, there isn’t any space.
No there isn’t.
No – there – isn’t.
It’s been a strange sort of year, what with one thing and another (so I need something lovely, ahem), and amazingly I’ve just got quite a bit of work coming in (could this be the start of an upturn, and if I spend money at Wonderwool will I still be able to afford to refill the oil tank?). I can argue myself right round in circles ever so easily because, basically, I have the willpower of a maggot.
And after all, with a show like Wonderwool Wales, you’re never going to be sure if you’ll be able to find that quality fleece / shade of yarn / skein of indie-dyed perfection / back copy of an obscure US knitting mag that you’ve been looking for / beautiful Andean plyer ever again. So it would be silly to resist.
Ahem. There are other things to do, after all. There’s the meeting up with people, the coffees and the chats, the inspiring crafts to watch experts doing, the scotch eggs to buy (they’re exempt from the no-buy ban). There are all sorts of spinning wheels to test in case I win the lottery. I don’t need to actually buy anything (apart from the scotch eggs). So there.
But I’m still excited.
Are we there yet?