My brother in law once said to me “if you drive a British car, you will need two: one for the road and one in the workshop for repairs”. I guess his wisdom could be extended to sewing machines, too.
We started our very first prototypes on a Singer – a British sewing machine which would work fine on silk but couldn’t master anything thicker than that. My second machine was a Pfaff 80. She handles like a German tank, sewing through anything that fits presser foot and feed dog (hah – how I love those terms =). One night – actually it was an early morning – I leaned back looking at a piece I had just finished, when suddenly the machine started running as if someone had put their foot down full throttle. I was dumbfounded and for some moments unable to understand what’s going on. Pulling the plug was the only thing that could stop the spook – the foot control was screwed.
Now I bought my third sewing machine – a thoughtless purchase on eBay: a Singer. Ten minutes after I used it for the first time, I chose to repair the old Pfaff, using knitting needles as a power adaptor to connect an otherwise incompatible foot control. As long as the 240V knitting needles dont touch the solid steel body, I will be fine. If they touch, I will be dead – a price I am willing to pay to avoid having to work on that Singer.