It’s been a momentous week. The UK held an election, and for the first time in a very many years had to wait for the result to become clear. I can’t really bring myself to talk about it, to be honest. Or, perhaps it would be more accurate to say I have talked myself hoarse about it already, and have little appetite for inflicting the ramblings of a disgruntled and bypassed dinosaur on my tender (and too meager to frighten away) readership.
Besides, you’re here for the crafty crap, right?
So really it’s been a momentous week because it was the week I got a wheel, and with the Beloved some 6,000 miles away and therefore in no position to provide a distraction, my evenings’ entertainment has been sitting in front of the fire, with endless politics coverage on the radio or television, and Oscar as often as not supervising the efforts of the brand new (and none too gifted) spinner that I am.
No matter. It is the beauty of learning a new skill from scratch that no matter how steep the learning curve, the improvement curve is likely to be gratifyingly steep too. I spun some bushy white wool that is nice and sticky to work with, and as often as not overspun it. The result most closely resembles chewing gum in color and, alas, consistency. I think a discreet trip to the bin might be in order. I spun a few inches of Welsh Black. Ahem. I have a thick rope that looks as though, were I to continue for longer, might be appropriate for hanging oneself with. I have determined to return to Welsh Black at a later date. A much later date.
So then I received a braid of mystery roving from a swap, and decided to spin that. I haven’t enough experience to be able to tell what it was, and I fear that by the time I do, I will surely have forgotten the feel of this braid. I do know that it is unlike any of the undyed fiber waiting in my hallway. So I think that rules out Bluefaced Leicester, Merino, Corriedale, Falkland, Exmoor Horn, and a couple of other things. It appears to have a very long staple and a certain luster. That’s as technical as I can be. Also, it’s green, but I’m not sure that provides much of a clue.
Anyway. I spun it, as evenly as I could, and I then plied it (because, really, this wasn’t going to cut it as singles, and besides, I was excited at the idea of the yarn I could get). This was when I had the sickening realization that three bobbins is not enough, and I need to buy more. So the nominal price of my wheel has just gone up by a few multiples of £10. And there is no way round this.
Never mind. Here’s the result. Crap, but lovable. At least, I made it, and I love it (perhaps only a mother could).
I love the way the colors work in handspun and I can totally see that being able to control your yarn in this way could become a whole new fascination. Going from a handful of fluff to a bobbin of yarn is a pretty damn fantastic kick anyway, but oh… those colors.
And now, it only remains to Name That Wheel. I’m considering Dylan, because it’s a good Welsh name, and because, well, the times they are a-changin’. But I’m not sure yet. I whisper it, tentatively, as I did to each of the children, before their names were set. “Dylan? Are you a Dylan? Is that who you are? And if not, tell me. Speak to me, my new good friend. Dylan?”
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