Bob bob bobbin

Bobbin. A strange word, usually used in conjunction with the word
robin. At least in my world anyway. Until now. Bobbin. A cute,
cuddly word for something so fundamental, so essential to the
function of a sewing machine, so ridiculously small and fiddly.
I'd always thought that, like the other kind of sewing without a
machine, you just threaded the needle - a tricky enough task in
itself. On the Machine threading the needle is a bit like winding
wool through the twists and turns of the Minotaur's den, the route
of thread from spool to needle a miniature metal labyrinth...
and that's the easy part.
Apparently - who knew? - there are not one but two threads in a
sewing machine. The other, unseen thread comes from the bobbin,
which hides in a snug little hobbit hole underneath the presser
foot and entwines itself with the needle thread when you start sewing.
Before this little romantic coupling happens, however, you have to
thread the bobbin - and this is the scary part. I inserted the bobbin
into the winding cog at the top of the machine and put my foot down.
Thread whirred off the big spool and started winding neatly round the
plastic wagon wheel of the bobbin. It was working. Big thread
transferring to little thread, more and more wrapping itself around,
a natural, flowing movement passed down from the dawn of time.
Nothing to fear here. Until the bobbin, apparently not secured down
properly, flew off its nesting point and took off into the air.
The bobbin that thought it was a robin. Whatever next?