Simple machines

It was my birthday yesterday (21 again!) and my lovely Other Half bought me a new sewing machine.

New to me, that is, as it’s actually one of the last made by the Glasgow factory in 1934.  The thing is, it’s so wonderfully simple.  Lucy loves it because it looks like something out of Sylvanian Families (you know, those cute toy dressed rabbits and squirrels and so on that come with little houses and lots of stuff for children to collect) but it’s actually a very solid, beautifully made machine that works.

I’ve had an electric sewing machine before and the principle is more or less the same as a hand operated machine, but the damn thing goes so fast that when you make a bish of things (and as a very plain sewer, that’s what I tend to do) it very soon becomes an inextricable mix of knots and problems.  This goes at my pace (slow) but it works.

Understandable mechanical stuff is one of life’s more simple pleasures. Don’t get me wrong, electronic stuff is great – I’m typing this on a computer, I’ll watch a DVD on the TV later today and I love my ipod but you can’t see how those things work, can you?  You can’t lift the lid and see cogs connected to wheels powered by springs or whatever. Being able to see how things work puts us in control in a way that pushing a button simply can’t.  I think that’s why understandable machines, such as steam engines, old aeroplanes, vintage cars and stonking great big engines in old cotton mills or historic ships generate such great affection.

Oh, and I’ve made a tea towel!