To Alex and Ryan, on their wedding day (which was yesterday, but, I was in the middle of getting ready to go out when I took the picture, and was running late so posting wasn't going to happen before today, and yes, it's late in the afternoon now, but I was busy, see, meeting up with an old friend that I haven't seen in five years.  Let's say, I've lost some inhibitions in that time, and he's gained some weight.  And the sartorial dilemma of 'this isn't a date, but I'd quite like it to be a date, and will dress to imply that I want it to' got sorted quite well, and I think I've persuaded him to lend me his car for Pack Holiday.).

Anyhow.  Back to the matter in hand, and the FOCUS of the post.   Ladies and Gentlemen, please raise your glasses to the Bride and Groom.

xxx

Read.  Give.

This deserves wider recognition (The subject line was 'Bathroom Door Hook'):

*giggle*  But where I am going to find a live mouse, and what colour should it be?  And what should I do if the mouse is still there?  This is a likely scenario, given the size of the bathroom.  And if I fall off the chair and bang my head on the lavatory bowl as I go down, and knock myself out, and then Jo can't get into the bathroom to rescue me?  What if the mouse gets stuck under the bath, and dies, and starts smelling awful? What-if-what-if-what-if?  (an adequate description of my state of mind before I fell asleep last night. Avocado after Guides was obviously a bad move - I still have two to finish off, having excavated the stones so that the girls could plant them in pots, and spill earth everywhere.  It was the first time ever, I think, that Daisy had grubbed about with potting compost).

In other news, having bumped into someone from Uni totally randomly on the tube, what, five months ago (it was when Mum came over for "Acorn Antiques: The Musical"), emailed him on the strength of his producing a business card, and not heard a sausage, I've finally had a reply, with an invitation to dinner and to see his flat in Limehouse.

How does one lose an email for five months?  Either one loses the things permanently, or not at all.... {edit: to clarify, the read receipt only kicked in with his reply too.  He quite simply had not read it until yesterday}

xxx

Your Hair Should Be Blue

Wild, brilliant, and out of control. You're a risk taker with an eye to the future.

Wish me luck.  I'm training helpdesk in half an hour.

Need coffee.  Need chocolate.  Need a Point of View Gun.

Could be worse.  I could have blog depression (apologies if you've all seen this before).

And these made me think of the Bossy Esp, who also knits lots.  But, bossy stitch markers leaving me instructions?  Please.  I'd lose the crucial one, simply due to the tone of its print

xxx

Argh!  Can't take knitting needles on BMI flights in my cabin baggage.  Doesn't say I can't take tapestry needles (and box of dental floss to cut the thread with). Thank heavens for cross stitch.

xxx

I am supposed to be proofing a book, however, I've misplaced the word document somewhere, and I need to locate that, or ask for another version, or something.  I thought the wretched thing were saved to my  H: drive, which I can access remotely from home.  However, it's not there, and I can't search effectively, and I want to be back at the machine where I saved the darn document rather than here, and unsure.  Lost documents are always easier to find if you start looking in the place you lost them.  The wonders of the electronic world, and the appalling klutziness of me.

I'm now at the chest-cold stage of the cold affair (hurrah?), which means that I'm coughing mightily, and am not going to Lizzie's concert in Wigmore Hall - which means that I get to avoid Jon's parents, not that this is having any sort of an influence on my decisions.  Given that I wanted to turn up, look wonderful, and have his Mother report back on what a simply delicious being I am, I can't be accused of being a coward. However, regardless of how glamourous I look, coughing fit to rip my lung linings out is not going to help either my cause, or anyone else to enjoy the concert.  So, I'll stay put, I would have proof read, instead I'll tidy up a few Guiding things, and put fringing on the Alien scarf and block it (I'm too scared to wash the thing, for fear of dye run, so I'll steam it using an iron instead, 'cos we all know I'm really a scaredy pants at heart, for all the posturing I do).

Oooh.  Photo from Friday (oh, hang on, I look really ill, and my hair looks foul).

Photo from just now:

I haven't gone all kabbalah on you, the postman uses red rubber bands, and I have a surfeit of them, and tend to wrap them round my wrist while I'm trying to decide what to do with them.  I need a dedicated rubber band repository.  I also need to clean that mirror.

xxx

Tig

Leave the blog alone, 'kay.

Or, be a little discreet and don't sign in if you are going to come visiting?  I'll be much happier in blissful ignorance, you see.

Thank you kindly.

xxx

I want.

More pertinently, I want to have unpacked by now, I want my Guider in Charge to have the courtesy to let me know if she can't make it to a meeting when she is sure she can't make it to the meeting (hint, five minutes before the meeting starts is a good time), I want to know why my digestion seizes up when I go away, and unseizes within half an hour of returning home (honestly, I think I've done about eighteen inches of pooh since I've returned - mind you, I've had baked beans every day since Friday, and that's a lot of fibre), I want to have a bath, I want to know why I'm so tired when it's only nine-thirty pm, I want a baby of my own, I want to stop having a crush on Sam West, since it leads me to do silly things, I want to have finished the glove I cast on this morning, I want to upload more music to my iPod, I want to have burnt pictures to the CD.

Which reminds me, I need to email Liz photos, and I wonder why there's  a squeaky toy being squeezed outside my window.

If I have time/energy/etc, I will produce a montage of 20-30 (depends how many are actually irrevocably blurred) butterfly photos.  Hints and tips appreciated.  In the meantime:

Socks for Eff (yes, the same as in the photo with Mark - a Finished Object!).  Her birthday was last Wednesday.  Also in evidence, a Girl's Guildry badge, and a rather nice book, name of which I forget entirely.  The pink folder with the beginnings of 'Girlguiding' written on the piece of paper inside is entirely incidental.  Also incidental is the fact that, since Jo applied a model Guide Badge Trophy thingy to the bookcase in the hall, there is no one room in the flat that is entirely Guiding free.  I ought to move stuff out of my bedroom.  I need to escape.  However, I have no idea where to move them, so...

Socks for Liz (it's her birthday tomorrow, so go wish her a happy one) - these are being wrapped on the train to Birmingham; I stopped taking photos after that one, people were looking at me like I was weird, or something.  These are knitted using Wendy's Generic Sock method, toe-up, with short row toes and heels.  And, I'm rather pleased with the result.  Liz, they are machine washable, and haven't been washed yet.  I was dealing for poker instead of being sensible.

And, me knitting, in front of a poster at Stratford Upon Avon Youth Hostel.  I sort of wish I'd got something that was better resolution, but these things happen.  You can't see it at all in the photo, but that is an Alien Scarf. It's got five repeats at the moment (or is it six?) and I think it could do with a few more.  The recipient is 6' tall.  Must take scarf into work, confirm my colleagues' opinion that I am quite barmy (this did not stop them phoning me about a non-existant crisis on Monday afternoon.  I asked my boss for some more time off in lieu: an afternoon for Christmas shopping would be good, since apparently I do not go on holiday, I am merely away from the office and On Call).

OK.  I'm going to email photos now.  And yes, the James Joyce, yes, of Xanga, yes....

xxx

Quote of the day: You can't regret the past, because that's the past and it's gone.

(so what are we supposed to regret?  The future?!)

xxx

Jump!

How high?

xxx