The little darling now has eyes and a squeaker.  And a kilt.  I managed to find ribbon in the approximate tartan in Liberty.  There must be about a thousand pounds worth of fairy lights in that shop, ready for Christmas. It was very disorientating, which is probably an indication that I ought to get my eyes tested again, rather than anything else.

I've spent the past 20 minutes making the ribbon into a kilt.  I hate ironing pleats:

One metre of ribbon becomes, before your very eyes, 20 cm of pleats.  Now to sew it on.  No.  I tell a lie.

Have the Haggis so far....

(I'm sure what I've just done comes under the heading of Post-Modern).

OK.  Arms attached (legs still pinned on). But, isn't the kilt cute?

 

And, two hours later, and wondering why I'm doing this, and concluding that the intended recipient is probably going to take one look at the thing, and go 'Woh, that girl is seriously mad', and I don't think he's that into me anyhow, so why it's a good idea to use a knitted haggis as a seduction technique I have no idea.

Two hours later, we have this.

We have a kilt pin, a sporran, a tam o'shanter, and I've inadvertently arranged a date with a guy that I met at Eleanor's party.

xxx

Frankly, this is amazing.  Marvellous.  Astonishing.  Truly bizarre, and I honestly don't know why this is the case.

So, we had our Division AGM last night.  Certain people didn't bother to turn up or to send apologies (well, now there's a surprise); however, my former Brownies and Guides had a lovely display of their work, with all the other Brownies and Guides in the area picking things up, examining them thoroughly, looking a little wistful at the hair braids, trying them on, and generally being inquisitive.  This was rather nice.  One brave person ate some of the flapjack.  And swiftly realised their mistake

And, afterwards, we went out and got drunk.  Derrrrunk drunk.  Drunk as in I have not been so drunk for quite some time.  Drunk involving two enormously large Butterscotch Nipples shots, and three (or maybe four, and it could be five) Malibu and cokes.  Drunk involving a detour to another pub to use the loo on the way home, rather than actually burst open in the sleety-faux-snow.  Drunk so that we decided Trivial Pursuits was a good idea (we have the original Genus edition, which makes things slightly more challenging).  Drunk so much that Andy (who moved onto wine when he got home) fell asleep on the kitchen floor: so we took some photos, tucked him up and left him to it.  Drunk so that I didn't get to bed before 3 am, and then got woken by Jo forgetting her keys (she had less to drink, which was probably good) on her return from the dentist.

I'm still in pyjamas, and my enormous rugby shirt.  I will get dressed, I need to go to the Post Office, and I ought to go to John Lewis, and that, my friends will be the fullest extent of my travelling today.  I should go to Eltham to Heather's Housewarming.  However, Jo's not going, and I can't face the train on my own.  Unless someone can offer me the moral support on the way home.  I have been invited to stay over, but I need my bed tonight.  I'm wimping out on the subject of English weather (although Mum's not too particularly keen on me going out either - she's in a phase of wanting to run my life at the moment, and I can't quite manage to summon the wherewithal to resist her impulses).

Got a letter from Girlguiding UK, and panicked that it was a formal complaint of some description from GinC.  Wasn't.  It was an invitation to CHQ to get my QG presented in mid-March.  My Mother is thrilled to bits, and can't wait to meet the Countess.

I may not be hungover, but I feel distinctly delicate. 

I might have some food in a bit.

xxx

Taking a photo of oneself is a very serious business...

However, if Jo helps, we get something much better:

These are the subtle boots, and the "six inches long" skirt.  Today was interesting.  According to Biffo, people have sued for sexual harrassment over less.  Wimps.

xxx

I've nearly finished an iPod cosy (just some casting off, an iCord and to sew it up - most of which can be achieved on the way to or from Guides if I get a seat on the bus) for Christmas.  I've also worked out what Heather's housewarming present's going to be, am nearly done on another Christmas present - I'd say 3/4 of the way through, and am on the verge, when the iPod cosy is done, of casting on for a very exciting new Christmas present, using a new-to-me technique. 

Please excuse the vagueness, the recipient of the iPod cosy is the only person who doesn't read this blog.  Photos ought to be taken, and posted after Christmas, but may not be.  I'll try with the iPod cosy for sure.

I came back to work this morning to discover that my desk had been slightly flooded.  Fortunately, very little water damage occured, and I'd actually had a major tidy-up before departure, so there wasn't as much paper to get damaged as there normally would have been.  The photo of Liz, Sam and I is undamaged, my knitting calendar looks a bit ripply, and my phone list is slightly the worse for wear.  The rest of it is fine.  Note to self.  Put more things in the bottom 'in' tray.  Just in case.

Tonight, I shall pluck up the courage to tell GinC that I'm out of there come the end of term.  She has enough assistants.  Jo has said that she would have walked out long ago if she had been in my place.  I've sent an email to warn SarahJ, and invite her to join me at the new unit I want to start (if it gets off the ground) and then I'd have two assistants, which is probably overdoing it, but would mean that we'd all be able to miss a week here or there without causing huge amounts of hassle, and that's a good thing.  Plus, I'd have the benefit of two assistants who, I think, are better with the girls than I am, and that'll be good for learning.

I want my lunch now.

---

Emergency Edit: SarahJ doesn't think she'll stick it out much longer with GinC either 'with what little I've seen of her, she's been so rude'.  She can't do weekends though - but we will think of something (even if that something's a new unit in Camden where I turn up as 'body' rather than doing anything admin-y, or active planning) point being that the girls don't really like GinC that much either.

xxx

I.  Need.  Coffee.

While it is good, and lovely, to sit on the 42nd floor, and gaze out over London, sipping wine and nibbling on scallops late at night: oh the annoyance that he's got a flight booked to move to Hong Kong on 24th November, and, therefore, it is very much a case of living in the moment.  I have made my statements though, and I'm trying very hard to not involve myself too much.  As I have said - it will only make it all the harder when he moves to Hong Kong, and, three weeks is not long enough to establish anything more than re-established friendship before departure.

Which doesn't mean to say that I'm not enjoying being kissed, and snuggled 'cos I am.  It just means that I'm not prepared to do very much more than that.  We may not have seen each other for a long time; but, like a good set of friends, we've managed to pick up where we left off, without trouble.

It also doesn't mean to say that I'm not going to take some earplugs next time we go out, 'cos I shall.  One of the things that stopped me dropping off to sleep (apart from the lack of open window) was the presence of breathing about three inches away from my left ear.  I am, quite simply, not used to it.

And yes, that important gulf of informing me that I'm insane has been bridged.  But, it's OK.  He's admitted to being similarly afflicted.  Which does make a nice change.

xxx

---

Sizzling, I tell you.  Absolutely sizzling, my inbox.

Viz:

From: me

To: him

 I've just yawned so widely it is amazing that I didn't swallow several PCs and a couple of random engineers in the process.  I'm currently juggling the question of how to determine average salary when the data's recorded in three different currencies.  My personal opinion is that having lunch is a better bet.

From: him

To: me

 
Ah exchange rates . . . very interesting

You need to convert all the currencies into the same (say USDs) and then you can compare.,...the key question is which exchange rate to use for the conversion . . . I suggest the annual average exchange rate for the year . . . which I can provide if you need

From: me

To: him

 I'm to use today's exchange rate... just been told what it is and everything.  Ah well.  What is the annual average exchange rate, anyhow, out of interest, please?

From: him

To: me

 Which exchange rate would you like?

From: me

To: him

 Sterling to Euro and USD, please.

From: him

To: me

 GBP-EUR:  1.461

GBP-USD: 1.8349

I must say, I've quite enjoyed my little foray into statistics in the last two days (I learnt how to do sexy things in Excel).  It is much easier nowadays than it was when I had to do a statistics module for A-level Maths.

Which isn't to say that I didn't need help with what a median is.  As I'd forgotten.

xxx

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It occurs to me, 50 minutes into the never-ending-update (and, resisting the urge to start singing to theme of "Never-ending-Store-eeee da-da-dee da-da-dee dada-dee-de-di Never-ending-Sto-or-eeee!"), that I can post my Secret Pal Package Photos.  If I can find the right lead.  Which I can.  So: look-look-look....

All wrapped up,a nd looking pretty on the sofa, with the little card sadly slightly out of focus.

It was a long day, though, on Monday, wasn't it?  My photography skills weren't at their best, although the colours have come out reasonably well in this shot.  On this monitor anyhow.  Home has a totally different setting, and hence will look totally different.

 

And then?  Unwrapped yumminess, photographed by someone who, quite clearly, shouldn't have been allowed out with a camera that day.  But, can't you just understand, now, why the sock yarn came to bed, to sit on the pillow?  And has been there ever since, so I can look at it first thing in the morning, and think... aaaaaaah?

Thank you, my secret pal.

xxx

 

 

 

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Odd thing to find shoved through the letterbox.  Although, my version had reference to 'the fraudulent monarch Mrs. Elizabeth Battenberg' and lots of little daggers on it.  Which might have been crosses.  It was hard to tell.

xxx