I have a love-hate relationship with this swift of mine. When things go as they should my life is quite happy. Yarn is wound in minutes and life goes on. And 9 times out of 10 things go very well indeed.
But when it goes wrong… dear Lord, what a sour-filled half hour can invade my day. The thoughts of pure evil I would like to inflict on this contraption. How I would love to pound it senselessly into the floor, jump and down on it and then fling it, with every ounce of fury I possess, out of the window into the world beyond.
But of course I don’t. Because swifts cost money and it is illegal to hurl metal objects at unsuspecting citizens in this city. No, I simply make a gutteral ‘Ug’ noise and start the process of untangling.
I will only forgive this skein of yarn if it knits up well… some hanks are so mardy that they carry on their sass right through the process, and it’s one problem after another.
I’m keeping my eye on this one…