warning: this post contains photos not for the fainthearted
on tuesday, there i was, me,
my flannel fabric and
Mr Shark (my trusty iron) in the lounge, this is beginning to sound like something out of Cluedo... i appear to have spread all around our shed now and not one room is spared from 'my beavering'. by our side on the rug, Used Dog and Little Olive in mid morning slumber. yes, a typical day in the shed until Mr Shark did a 'putt', then a 'splutter', followed by a little letting off of 'steam' and then it was all over. i gasped, how could this be... i twiddled with his bits, i fiddled with his cord but alas and alack, his little light had gone out.
so tragic, so young
i spent the rest of the day in a shocked daze, i worried if my wish for flannel and nubbly curtains, and a joyful shop update, had all been too much. then i wondered if his history of steroid taking which had led to his hunky silver weighty good looks had been the cause of his early demise. every now and then i returned to the scene of the tragedy, more twiddling and fiddling to no avail.
later that evening when the surgeon had returned from his desk job and coaching soccer he performed surgery. i fretted too many hours had past for a miracle to happen. eventually i could take it no more and had to look away, seeing Mr Shark, a good and faithful friend, an important tool of my trade having a brutal surgery procedure carried out on my kitchen counter was all a little too much.
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| early on in the surgery, when i still had high hopes |
after what seemed an age and one where i began to doubt the surgeons qualifications, after all i do not recall when seeing medical procedures being performed on telly, the surgeon stopping every now and then to take a mouthful of orange dinner. the surgeon put down his utensils and tools, his dinner finished and Mr Shark looking the worse for wear and he announced there was no hope. he then proceeded to start opening up another part of Mr Shark.
i pointed out was this necessary as obviously he was 'dearly departed' from my life. apparently i was told, yes it was because how interesting to see how it all works...
i turned away
and so my beavering ground to a halt leaving me with no alternative but to find a new friend, despite my grieving heart.
last night i went to the store where i found Miss Winnie, not to be mistaken for Miss Winer. for she does not wine about things, no sirree, she is the sort who pulls up her knees socks and gets on with things.
having inspected all the box had to say in the store, it would appear with this iron i now have in my life a winner!
"top rated by leading independent publication"
are the very words printed on her box, i did question who is the leading independent publication and thought it a little odd they were not willing to have the actual name of their publication printed on the box, but i chose to ignore this and only saw "top rated" which in turn meant "winner" and so Miss Winnie it is.
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| paying respect to a trusty weighty iron with hunky silvery good looks |
having not actually taken my new iron out of her box with respect for Mr Shark laid out on the dining room table, i am keeping my fingers and toes crossed later today (when a fitting amount of time has passed since Mr Shark's demise), i will find out if she lives up to the box she came in, and is indeed worthy of the name Miss Winnie
there appears to be a lot of hand-stitched 'joy' going on in the shed, despite feeling unjoyful about Mr Shark ~ Tif
