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Spindle and Wool Top

As if I don’t have enough obsessions already… I’ve been trying my hand at a new craft – spindling.

This beautiful high-whorl drop spindle was a gift from my mother a few months ago.

I love this spindle. It’s smooth and beautifully marled, and generally soul-soothing. For months now I’ve been twirling it through my fingers empty of fibre, yearning to try it out properly, but discouraged by the woeful results of my sporadic attempts. It seemed to call to me from its place on the bookshelf behind my desk, urging me impatiently to give it another try – so last Saturday I did.

Spinning is a completely different animal to master… Unlike knitting and crochet – where the end result is more important than how you get there – spinning is all about process. So my first attempts at spinning were unmitigated disasters – I dropped the spindle on my foot and spun it out of my hands and across the room several times, I tangled the fibres irrevocably, or spread them too thin. Then, gradually, I started to produce yarn.

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Glass House - Roath Park

No craft content today, just some still-sharp memories of sunny days in local parks.

I’m always impressed by the range of botanical and flower gardens to be found in this damp and misty country. The sunshine of the past few days has pulled us out of the flat into exploratory walks, lazy lounging on lawns and serial ice-cream feasts. Yesterday we visited the local park’s glasshouse, a tiny affair which nevertheless packs a substantial punch of diverse plant species arranged around a glossy pond in which goldfish and terrapin swim hopefully.

Today the skies are grey again, but when the weather finally turns, we’ll know where to go…

Back to Basics Socks

I started these socks early in the morning on polling day a couple of weeks ago, and had the first one finished by the time the last mayoral election results were announced in London. The second took a little longer – a testament to the difference the adrenalin of politics makes to my knitting output!

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Knitting Bag (detail)
Some days I wake up in a fever of creativity, and clamber over a sleepy R. at ungodly hours of the morning to reach my sewing machine.

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