So that's why!
I have three sewing machines at the moment and none of them is working perfectly. The beautiful green Husqvarna goddess is pretty good but makes big loops when you start sewing - so obviously needs something. I have the service manual but haven't done the work yet.
The "new" expensive and unloved Janome is a pain and no longer goes backwards which is even more painful. My Dad's ancient Singer has been the one that gives least grief and the smallest quantities of swearing and shouting at inanimate objects. So I sewed my little project on it, starting yesterday.
Today it wouldn't feed the material along, the dogs just sat there doing nothing much and it sounded horrible. Well, more horrible, it is a very noisy machine. So I pulled it apart to see what could be the matter. This is what I found in the workings under the machine, nylon (I think) cogwheels one of which has sheared and half of it is now missing and the important bits have flown around the casing. No wonder nothing much was happening! No idea if there are spare parts but I'm guessing there are. But is it worth repairing? It clatters a lot like something might fly off at any moment....
Anyhow, my next purchase is going to be a reliable sewing machine that works and sews straight, zig-zag and blind hems. I think that will be ample. Now all I have to do is find the time to choose and get it sorted. Despite the fury it was LOVELY to be sewing!
Then we slaved in the green gym for about an hour too long. As so often... There are now no dandelions in the flower beds, no lupins or comfrey where there shouldn't be any, and the tarpaulin that was creating a nice pool of stagnant water has been emptied. Keith attended to the roots and the horrible stinky rotting growth under the tarp and I stayed well clear, hauling wheel barrow loads of weeds and other rubbish and hiding it in secret places I can't mention here.
We had falafal and vegetables for tea at 8. These light nights are great if you want to burn the candle at both ends. I am reading The Goldfinch, by Donna Tartt, the story begins with a 13 year old boy losing his mother and being alone with his reactions, emotions, longing, grief, and the longing is profound. It's very well written and I felt so sad for him. I found myself getting really upset as I read, I know what that longing feels like - and the skinless feeling of grief. I grieved for my mother from a very unsafe place, alone in a destructive relationship where there was no support or understanding. The writing really hit me, as Dylan says "like a freight train", so that had to be worked through before sleep could happen. I am 64, she died when I was 21. The strength of my emotions surprised me, I think they are always going to be there now and again. Empathy is quite a demanding state!
I think the Singer is doomed. I've spent ages researching machines and just get confused. I think I need simplicity and reliability more than fancy and clever.