Oh, I do hope not.
But hey… maybe all the rain has had a terrible effect; it certainly led me to rework the words to the Welsh national anthem, incorporating slugs for the first time ever, over on my gardening blog. But it’s sunny now – for a moment – and I just reached a natural stopping point with the book I’m working on, and — no, it’s all excuses.
It’s the spinning.
It’s not as though I didn’t have enough to do, you understand, but niggling away at the back of my mind has been the thought that much as I love my wonderfully eccentric home-made spinning wheel,
she can be tough on the hands.
And, let’s be honest, I can be tough on her. It’s not all cups of tea in the garden, oh no. She should be used to some of it, mind; her previous owner did take her to Guild meetings. But I think I put her through a bit more.
She gets hauled in and out of the car on a much more regular basis, for instance. There’s the monthly trip to my Guild meeting at Penygroes and then, in the opposite direction, to the Sunday Market Spinners in Dolgellau.
And then she gets involved in all sorts of embarrassments, like being paraded at craft fairs where she may be interfered with by small boys (and bigger ones), as she seems to exert an extraordinary magnetism on men of all ages. She’s been spun officially in public, once in a park and once in a very cold Caernarfon Castle,
where she is shivering with a few other wheels all waiting for their owners (I’m seeing them as being rather like the ‘horses’ in Monty Python and the Holy Grail). Well, all other wheels are shivering except for a snuggly wrapped Louet Victoria in its carrying bag, that is.
She’s been in a fleece to throw –
where she’s resting, here, between an Ashford traddy and a Little Gem.
She is wonderful, but she is also hard on those hands, and am I being fair to her?
She’s actually 30 this year, but in spinning wheel years she’s probably about 500 given the level of usage. All the hauling in and out of a Toyota Corolla – no 4x4s here – isn’t that good for her, really.
And there’s this tempting me from afar:
Er, from the Forest of Dean. It’s a Louet Julia, and it’s waiting in the wings. Not actually this specific one – this particular wheel was at Wonderwool Wales, where I had a good old go on it and got thoroughly hooked. I’ve been watching out for a second-hand one but they don’t exist; once people have got Louets they seem to hang on to them through thick and thin (guess that depends on the ratio, ho ho – spinning joke, don’t worry about it). No, my particular wheel is being packed up even as I type, ready to be despatched by Forest Fibres tomorrow. I should get her on Tuesday.
I wonder if my wheels will get on?
Anthropomorphise, moi? Surely not.