All stay the same.

Same job, different manager, slightly different team.  Have another handover meeting next week.  You know you want to.

It is hardly any surprise that my personal cycle is as unsettled as my managment structure.  It is worrying me somewhat that I have no idea how late (or not) I actually am.  And with my overactive imagination....well.  You know.  I imagine.  Totally outlandish imaginings. (edit: OK.  I can't find the mooncup.  Who nicked it?  I need it NOW!)

On the plus side, I managed to remain 'in' for a whole innings at Softball last night.  I still have not got the faintest clue what I'm doing, but I am enjoying it immensely.  Just call me slugger.  Or something.

I didn't sleep particularly well last night.  And I feel all cramped up and pingy on the old whiplash injury.  Time for a new pillow, perhaps.

xxx

---

Geez, Kaz.  Do you ever hush?

Six Interesting Things About Me...

I can't think of anything that people don't already know.  OK, I can think of plenty of stuff, but nothing that's actually interesting.  Oh well.

1. My Mother clearly remembers hiding under the kitchen table during the Blitz.  I, meanwhile, hide under anything I can find if there's a thunderstorm.


2. I can recite vast tracts of 'The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy'.  But, every time I read the book, I come across parts that I don't remember reading before now.


3. Someone from America has just called wanting to speak to the owner of my office phone line.


4. I believe in coincidence.  Things happen for a reason.  Generally to induce smiling.


5. I have three mobile phones....all running.  I pay bills on one.


6. I have pink fluffy fairy lights round my noticeboard at work.

I tag you

 xxx

Favourite Colour Swap Questionnaire

1. What are your top three favourite colours?

Pale pink, dark green, purple

2. What crafts do you really enjoy?

Knitting, beading, some stitching - cross stitch and tapestry.

3. What products do you really covet?

Horribly expensive makeup (this isn't too helpful, is it?  I am treating this as a total fantasy question!)  Anything by Clover, Socks that Rock yarn, t-shirts from the Panopticon's shop, Orlando Bloom and some melted chocolate... (mind you, that's not really a product!), Heirloom Lace patterns, acrylic nails in a French manicure style, anything from Paperchase.   I really really really would love my own Softball mitt... I play catcher, but I may well deal with that when I get to the States.

4. What other activities do you enjoy besides your favourite crafty things?

Dancing and Guiding, and going to the Proms, and reading, and listening to all sorts of music.

5. Is there anything you collect?

Books with 'Jane' in the title, cloth patches/badges, 'Girls Own' type books, pink kitchen utensils.

6. What is your zodiac sign and/or Chinese zodiac symbol?

Aries and the goat (stubborn?  Me?  Oh yes....)

7.What are your favo(u)rite…

…scents/smells?  Lavender, clean smells.

…types of music and/or bands?  Bluegrass, rock, Americana, Pop

…authors?  Gerald Durrell, Douglas Adams, Brent-Dyer, Murakami, Bill Bryson, Jilly Cooper.

…animals? Cats

…places to shop? Liberty, John Lewis, Boots...

…season?  Summer

…yarn/fabric/paper/other craft supplies?  I love soft yarn.  And fine i.e. lace weight yarn.

…candies or goodies?  I've got a mild dairy intolerance, and a wheat allergy, so I love Dark Chocolate, marshmallows and fizzy sweets

8. Do you have any wish lists?  On Amazon (but not with an email that I'll publish publicly - I can let you know).

9. Are you allergic to anything?  Wheat, pet hair, pollen

10. Do you have any pets? What are they?  My three fish, Tim Fish, Sam Fish and Prue Fish live with me in their tank.  My cat, Josephine, lives with my parents.

11. Please include anything else you would like your secret pal to know about you- anything that would be helpful in finding you little gifts that you will really enjoy.

My yarn stash is on the verge of taking over the sitting room, but my flatmate doesn't mind too much.  I drink far too much coffee and have a stove top espresso maker.  I cycle to work each day, and I react to the immense masculinity of the office by being ultra-girly.  I think my SP7 questionnaire is still up on here somewhere.  I rarely, if ever, stop knitting.  It's damn hard to comment on Xanga if you don't have an account... so please email!

xxx

Somewhere, in amongst the sweat, the stickiness, the crocked ankle, the tears and tantrums, and the generalised frustration that was Sunday, something amazing happened.

Brian May.  Live.  In a theatre.  In the West End.  For one song, on one very sultry night, only.

My God.  What that man can do with an electric guitar is beyond description.  It was good.  It was excellent.  It made the spine tingle, the toes shiver, and the sweat evaporate.  It was reminiscent of the best violinists, at the peak of their performing abilities.  No, I tell a lie.  Like Jacqueline Du Pré playing Elgar's Cello Concerto.  Mind blowing.  The purity, the sweetness of tone.  Jimi Hendrix, eat your heart out.

And the best bit? 

I had no idea that this was going to happen when the tickets got booked.  None whatsoever.

The rest of it doesn't matter.  Not at the moment anyhow.  I'll let it matter in a bit.

xxx

Yahoo!  Look, we have photo content!  Seriously.  None of yesterday's dancing (head over to one of my Morris Groupie Papparazza's blogs for those).  However, there are edited highlights from the races on Wednesday, the day of 'flat camera battery at three o'clock' with spare batteries in completely and utterly the wrong bag, and some knitting content.

Yes.  The knitting blog actually has photos of knitting.  Do not faint. 

 

 

So, we went to the races.  People wear outlandish outfits.  However, not everyone wears outfits that have the beholder suddenly quoting poetry.  "When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple, with a red hat that doesn't match..." I shrieked, before trailing off in slight confusion, as you can see that it does suit her.  I think she looks absolutely stunning, what with the boa and all.  And, look.  There is a dinky little teddy bear who's wearing a red hat too.  So sweet.  I need to find a Red Hat Society chapter for my Mother.  She is of the right mentality, even if the poem is a little bittersweet: I read it at my Grandmother's funeral, while in my Purple-and-Red velvet suit (looks a lot better than it sounds.  Honest).

 

 

 

 

My Mum looked glamourous:  but then she invariably does.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dad studied the form.  With sunglasses that flip down at a rakish angle.  I remember when he first got sunglasses that flip up and down.  I was about four years old.  He thought that they were fantastic.  He still does.  He is the only person I know who wears the things nowadays (although I know one of my friends went through a brief period of them as a teenager, he had the good style to match the sunglasses to the shape of the glasses, and it all looked much more sophisticated). Marwood he is not, a very good thing, since I don't even want to think what Freudian complexes could ensue.  He has no idea that I took this photo.

 

 

 

 

 

 

We cannot deny that the experience sans sunglasses is an improvement.  That's Mum and her hat in the background.  Seconds later, the camera died upon me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jockeys are very short, terribly petite, and wear very shiny leather boots that don't have heels.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They look better on horseback.  Strange object in the right of the picture is Mum's hat.  Yes,   That is someone stroking their chin above Mum's hat.  She is dinky small (4' 11").

 

 

 

 

 

Like I said, people wear outlandish clothes.  This was a more restrained, elegant set.  I liked the way the middle woman was draped over the rail.

 

 

 

A few hats (at which I give up all pretext of formatting):

   

  

 

 

And then, there was Audrey (plus sock in progress.  For someone who's colourblind, in Opal Cotton, a thoroughly satisfying yarn to knit in, and I'd like to do some more in it).  It's rib.  It does fit me.  I still haven't managed to organise myself to photograph myself in the jumper.  I look too dishevelled at the moment.  The pink heart is a tape measure.

 

 

 

Check out the neck edging, cause of no small degree of frustration until I'd got the repeats learnt by heart.  Then less frustration.

 

 

 

 

 

 

And Jo's socks were finished.  This is not a good picture.  I will try and do something sexy involving Jo, her socks, her feet, and a blue sky.

 

 

 

xxx

(I love the way that people go hunting for porn and end up here due to the 'xxx' at the bottom of each post!)

 

 

I used the tried, and tested, route of reading myself to sleep.  In the 'I need to force myself to stay awake to get to the end of the book' manner.  Dropped off to sleep the instant the book was finished, having skipped several paragraphs.  With the result that I managed to get up early enough to arrive at work before time and wash my hair this morning.  I feel somewhat better rested (interpret that sentence how you will, it makes sense on several different levels).  I don't think my problem is dehydration... but I'll bear it in mind.  Good book, and it was interesting seeing just how it differed from the film.  That director, whomever he may be, has a very distinct style.  Can't wait for his next movie.

In the meantime, I have plans.  For The Book.  For a second pair of socks like Jo's Socks #2: I want to submit the pattern to one of the online magazines, but first I should work them up for myself, which means either cutting off two pattern repeats, or smaller needles, since I have smaller toes than Jo.  Not sure which.  I think the latter will be easier, were it not for the nationwide shortage of size 2mm Addi Turbos (add in the localised shortage of bananas, and I am in some difficulty here!)

There's one other thing I feel the need to add.  After a long debate, via email, with a dear friend, I've realised that most of my friends since I've moved to London, haven't really grasped how engaged I was four years ago.

This is how engaged I was.  Just so that it's said, and no-one needs to wonder:

The church was booked, the flowers chosen, the bridesmaid's dress chosen (but not made), the dress bought, the shoes bought, the tiara in a state of partial construction, the hairstyle finalised, the guest list drafted at least three times, the reception venue booked, the menu partially chosen, his ring sorted out, the band booked, the bar organised, the hymns chosen..... we weren't living together, but that's only 'cos I was at University in York and he was in Coventry.

And I knew, deep down, that it wasn't going to work, and that ten years down the line, we'd probably want to kill each other, and there would most likely be children caught in the middle too.  Doesn't stop me being jealous of his impending fatherhood.  My turn will come one day.

xxx

Morris dancers don't mince their words....  This video was created by Sara.  More here.

 

I need to figure out how to use YouTube, since Sara took pictures and film....  I give you edited highlights, I am way too impatient to wait for everything to upload.  It was a gorgeous weekend: yesterday, we danced round London Bridge, today we danced round Richmond.  I spent all the Saturday night ceilidh dancing with Jameson. 

 

 This is the fool from Grand Western Morris.  I'm not entirely sure what he was doing, but this is the sort of thing he did all weekend.  I knitted, but that's the sort of thing I do all weekend.  If you want to see who hijacked my knitting, you'll have to check the protected post.  I'm not publishing a picture of her unless I know who can see it.  That's the way the cookie crumbles.  Not fair for the under sixteens to be subjected to public scrutiny.  Not without their parents' consent anyhow.  At this point, we'd left our first pub, and were in Borough Market.  We later moved down the river, but Sara wasn't with me any more, so the pictures are no good.  Good, though, were the wheat free sausages and cakes I got in the market.  Very, very good.

 We had a ceilidh at the school we were staying at, in Feltham, last night.  I didn't realise this was on the agenda, and had nothing suitable to ceilidh in.  Ended up still in my morris shirt, and a pair of jeans.  While both items were revolting when removed to go to bed, I'd sweated that much, they were utterly rancid by the time I got them out of the rucksack this evening.  I tell you, I thought I was sweaty when I was dancing with the incredibly cute Californian guy last weekend.   This was far, far worse.  And without the prospect of a shower at the end of the night either.  Jameson is a wonderful dancer - he also scared off every single other guy who considered the prospect of dancing with me.   I didn't mind.  We were dancing very well.  And I haven't seen him have that much fun at a ceilidh for a long, long while.  Heck, I haven't had that much fun for quite a while: and I was so tired I was completely and utterly on autopilot by that point.  Dancers at this point are Great Western Morris

 

 

 I spent much of the weekend lugging around a tent and equipment - having failed to take them to practice on Wednesday night, I had no other recourse.  Tent is almost as big as me, even when folded (and needs hanging on the line to air, since the wind didn't quite blow the overnight rain off it).  It was lovely having my own 2 man tent (as opposed to the 4 man tent, or borrowing a 2 man).  Even if I did keep falling off my lilo during the night (and no, I had not had anything to drink.  Nothing alcoholic).  I am bruised.  From dancing, from falling off the lilo, from the bag, from people's thumbs, and, under two toenails (bye bye nice toes)

  

 

 

 

 

This did not stop the dancing action.  In fact, just have photos from this point, since I've run out of words, and I spent most of today concentrating on little E and her knitting of Jo's sock (heel now turned).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Smiffs in action.

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

Smiffs resting.  Little Folky Phil (2nd from left) is doing a ceilidh for my Brownies and Guides on Friday.  God help us all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bum on knees.  There is something inescapable about photographing Morris Dancers' knees at this sort of event.  It kinda, just, you know, happens.

 

 

 

 

Group shot.  Minutes earlier, Matt had been up the lamppost.  However, he decided to join the floozies on the floor.  Ending up in a sort of Cat-Victoria-Fiona roll.  Bit like a fig roll, but less chewy. 

 

 

 

 

 xxx

 

We all assembled in the quad, for our two minutes silence.  And I thought.  I couldn't exactly remember, since I didn't know anyone directly involved.  But I could think.  I could just pay attention to the silence.

It wasn't completely silent: these things never are.  The traffic roared along the Marylebone Road still, the odd person caught unawares continued their conversation before falling into hushed confusion.  A radio crackled alive: it's degree congregation day, and there's lots to do, and lots of questions.  Babies and toddlers abound on campus.  They laughed, gurgled, and shrieked, totally unperturbed by all the grownups standing round, looking solemn in the drizzle.

It was the shortest two minutes silence I've experienced.  I remember looking at the academics in the gowns, thinking that, one day, I'd like to be an usher for congregation, and flaunt my Master's Hood (the most irreverent things always come to mind on this sort of occasion).  Red, blue, gold.  All different colours according to degree.

And then we all sauntered back to the office, gossiping about the upheavals going on closer to home.

We remembered.  We paused.  But we didn't stop.  If we stopped, the amorphous 'they' would win.

xxx

I am so sick of these masks.  Finally, I am done.

 

 

I know.   Language.  And at this hour!  I can hear Jo sleeping in her room, and, to be honest, that's the sensible thing to be doing.

However, I should be at Waterloo in half an hour.  So

• Try not to get sunburnt at softball


• Laundry


• Relocate flat surfaces in sitting room


• Hoover


• Take blessed bedspread to laundrette


• Sort out paternal birthday present


• Block Audrey and assemble


• Sleep lots


• Cut out Brownie masks and assemble: there would be photos, but not now.  The glue still hasn't dried on some of them (mostly due to quantity used).

xxx