(and it Ate my first attempt to Prove this).
It may be something to do with the full moon, since I've felt seriously out of sorts recently, for a variety of reasons, but nothing in particular. However, May is out to get me.
May began, at just gone midnight, with a power failure. It affected my flat, but not my stairwell. The street was still lit. The trip box looked fine. Naturally, I panicked, as one does when one loses light while cleaning one's teeth, and phoned The Anthropologist. Fortunately, he was still awake, having been to a Singing Dinner at the Carlton with his godfather (apparently, the participants came up with a solution to the Muslim Question. However, it's not suitable to be revealed in this somewhat Left Wing enclave, being as it is both Right Wing and Totally Carlton). He suggested phoning the electricity board, which said that there was a power issue in my area. Still. I checked the trips, checked my BIG fuse the next morning (well, the nice man at Ryness did). All fine. Power returned at 11 am, by which point I had several Morris Dancers in the garden creating a garland. And requiring tea. Fortunately the kettle held out. It finally died on Saturday morning. Eleven hours without power. I think the contents of the freezer held out. I do at least know where to buy enormous fuses.
There followed a day's Morris Dancing. It was exhausting, and I nearly fell asleep on the Tube home. Gordon bought us chocolate covered Brazil Nuts. I love him forever, but don't tell him that.
Wednesday I was In Pain. And Unhappy. The Foot. People avoided me. I avoided people. There was much avoidance. My personality test (from Monday) informed me that I was frustrated in my job, and shouldn't have to explain things to idiots, for their good as much as mine. It's an odd test, you have to choose the words which are most and least like you in a work context, from a list of four. But uncannily accurate.
Thursday saw a three hour long committee meeting, the like of which I hope I never have to minute again, having just lost an entirely good Sunday afternoon to writing the things up (and they are incomplete. I lack reports). I've mostly blanked out the rest of it. By this point, I was in a serious panic for matters work related. I've blanked much of this, but it involves the students who pay as much as you'd pay for a small flat in Zone 3 to come and study here, and preparation for their arrival.
By Friday, I was in a serious state. Thursday night did not involve much sleep - it did involve my calling Dom, and drinking copious amounts of camomile tea. I nearly finished the box. I bought a new box today. Can't have too much camomile tea, particularly now I've revised my opinion and decided that it doesn't taste the way I imagine cat's pee tastes after all. Friday's Brownies were numerous and ghastly (two of the worst minxes have parts in the New St Trinian's film. Please go and see it when it's out. See if you can spot them). I had to have a parent stay as my ratios went up the swannee - the leaders who weren't there had no choice about not being there. The parent who stayed couldn't cope with the noise level. I cannot control the Brownies over 16 attendees. I have no idea what to do with the child who was face down on the floor with her head in her hands. I can't do anything if she won't tell me anything about what's wrong. If I have enough leaders next week, I'm going to deputise one to keep an eye on her specifically, so we can work out what's up. Clearly, something is. Friday night continued with work related panics which saw me logged in at 10 pm, and sending messages at midnight. I couldn't sleep.
I couldn't sleep on Saturday morning - I was up at about 7 am, checking the previous night's problem. By 9.15 I was at the train station, to go to Hastings. Unfortunately I was at the wrong train station. I have to be at a different one again tomorrow at 7.45 am, to get another train to Hastings. This will have me arriving slightly late (as in 15 minutes) but there is no way I am getting the 6.56 from London Bridge and changing at Brighton to get there 30 minutes early. The payoff isn't good enough. There was dancing in Hastings. I enjoyed the dancing. There were my favourite morris men too, but we didn't spend much time with them. Sigh. The journey home took ages, as I missed a train direct to Victoria by 7 minutes, and ended up changing at Brighton and London Bridge. There was a Drak (with new kettle) in the kitchen when I arrived, requiring his keys and tea. He got both, and then I collapsed. It had been a long journey, and I got flashed on the High Street. It wasn't personal, more that he'd decided to pull down both trousers and boxers in the middle of the street, and I was just sort of there. He looked a bit cold. Mind you, it's the first time I've really paid any sort of attention to being flashed. Last time, the chap pursued me down the street, informing me that he was thoroughly glorious, and that by having a boyfriend I was missing out on the amazing experiences I could have with him and his fantastic member. The previous occasion, it was the then boyfriend that pointed out that bits were hanging out. No wonder The Anthropologist is so keen that I bolt my front door when I'm home alone. It's currently wide open onto the stairwell. Natch.
And today, I've written minutes. My copy of the Sunday Torygraph (OK, so I'm Right Wing on occasion) lacked the Magazine as some numpty had stolen it.
However, there's good stuff. It is not all doom, gloom and hubris.
A 1928 edition of The New Girl and Nancy for £8.50 (the only copy I can find on Abe is silly money - for that edition).
Much sockness - my Mum's socks which remind me of clouds in the bluest sky (yes, she does have very short wide feet. That's the sum total of the train knitting. I was on the train a lot) and my Socks that Rock silky goodness.
I have managed to germinate runner beans (I've turned the pot round, the one at the back wasn't getting enough sun).
I made Brownies. Ooey gooey sticky yummy chocolate Brownies, to go with ice cream.
xxx
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