"You have too much stuff.  I would never contemplate sharing a flat with so much stuff in it."

My parents know me far too well.  This statement got me thoroughly riled. Add in a dose of.

"Oh, I think it'll take you more than an afternoon to sort it out."

More like three hours of furious, fuming, frantic de-cluttering.  I have filled two Ikea bags, two random (but large) shopping bags, and a box of books.  A large box of music and dancing trophies is ready for the attic.  My yarn stash is now contained (well, apart from the Noro under the bed, which I've only just remembered) in two large white boxes, and one smaller white box, and a rather pretty basket.  My knitting tools, needles, crochet hooks, ball winder and swift are all in another smaller white box.  The clutter along the top shelf of my bookcase now takes up half the space.  A swift book purge combined with taking over the shelf in the hallway, resulted in no fewer than seven shelves which are no longer double stacked. 

I gave myself a firm talking to, and reminded myself that just because someone-or-other gave me something-or-other, that is no reason for me to actually keep it if I don't really want it.  Someone else can benefit from it.  Same goes with various children's books which are of no intrinsic value or interest (folks, we're talking random copies of 'Wait Still, Baxter' and various things by Josephine Elder: I do have more sense than to rid myself of any of my Angela Brazils, or L. M. Montgomery.)

I feel so much better.   And it does look better:

xxx

Turn up.

Look at Queue.

Decide 'Blow this for a game of soldiers'.

Move on.

This has so far applied to the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame de Paris, the Post Office and Boots photo processing.

There will be photos, but I've uploaded them to Facebook at work, and I have visiting parents, so shan't be dealing with them at home.  At present I'm rocking the work-blog vibe.  Well, actually, I'm about to leave and go home.

xxx

Ciorstadh was remarking on how freezing her office was yesterday (and the day before).  Mine appears to be following suit.  I am swathed in thermal vest, jumper, shawl and gloves.  And headphones.  I'm on the verge of moving into woolly socks.  I am suffering from ennui, and want to Go Home.  I'm also waiting for the curiously nicknamed Rainman to come and rescue the Ice Packs that have been sitting under my desk, and to take them over to the Rugby Cupboard.  I have eaten too many dolly mixture and I feel a bit ick.  The office is semi-deserted and I'm ticking things off my to-do list as though I were going abroad tomorrow.

I think I need to start wearing long sleeved thermals.  This is quite ridiculous.  Mind you, the fact that I currently appear to have a BMI of 20.9 may also have something to do with it (the machine at the chemists weighs and measures and goes bingly bingly bingly beep chatter chatter chatter urk chatter and spits out a receipt to tell me.  All for 50p, which is more than at the chemist in Camden).

Socks now added.  One of my colleagues is wearing thermo-nuclear underwear (and mending a puncture in his bicycle tyre).  One of the others has just turned the aircon down a notch 'cos it's too warm.  He politely looked at my purple fingernails, and then asked if I had any hand cream since my skin looked dry.

Oh, roll on 5 o'clock!  There is a limit to how long I can sit here with my hand wrapt wround coffee.

xxx

Fried eggs on toast, what was left of the geriatric ketchup to accompany (a bad plan, in retrospect), and Dirty Dancing on DVD.

I finally, finally get the whole Patrick Swayze thing.  He hasn't aged well, though: I prefered him with that lovely round face he has in Dirty Dancing.

Swoon.

xxx

ETA: Well I never got it in the late 1980s/early 1990s.  But my French Exchanges were obsessed, and spent their entire time watching my VHS of the film.

I don't get Brad Pitt either....

Today I...

• Cleaned the floors (all of them.  With mops or hoover depending on whether they had carpet or not)
• De-scaled the bathroom
• De-scaled round the kitchen sink
• Pulled out the washing machine and cleaned underneath it (yes, it was foul, and I found several bits of dead pasta in the process)
• Hoovered under the bath (not a good place to hide yarn, I think that something is growing there, and must investigate further, or send in the Big Guns aka Daddy)
• Destroyed the runner bean plant and what was left of the azalea and put both in the rubbish to take away.  The runner beans had lots of roots.
• Found my lost garden fork
• Did all the laundry, but ran out of time for changing the bed sheets
• Pulled out the bookcase in the hall, cleaned it, cleaned behind it, restocked it with all my Guidey books
• Did the Brownie and Guide Accounts (the latter balanced much more easily).  Paid myself £100 owed in cash, and also sorted out £100 to go to the bank, and tried not to faint in horror that all that had accumulated in the flat.  The accounts too about as long as the house work.  Bad Brown Owl.
• Spoke to Mum for half an hour, and Dom for three quarters of an hour
• Booked Pack Holiday and wrote a cheque for the deposit (must photocopy form and also find an A4 envelope for SAE)
• Stuffed Legoland letters into envelopes for children who'd missed them.
• Read various parts of yesterday's paper
• Began reading Flashman (I don't like the character, I do like the writing.  A conundrum)
• Had a lie in until 10 am
• Didn't change out of PJs until 4pm
• Ate cheap chinese food for supper, as there is no point in cooking when a. one is struggling with accounts and b. one can get dinner for a quid from the market if one times it properly
• Made a list of things for Dad
• Brought my email correspondence up to date
• Texted Heather more than was probably strictly necessary
• Identified the owner of a pair of shoes that has been in the cupboard for about three years, and got rid of said shoes

I should have booked a train ticket, organised a quote for the floor, done Things with Photos for Guides, and replaced my shampoo and conditioner.  However, I've done quite enough today.  Am working on the idea of the stole photo.  Patience is a virtue, and I am useless with cameras, even if they do have lots of lovely piccies of morris dancers on them!

xxx

My sockapalooza pal is wonderful...look.  Despite Royal Mail's best efforts, she sent these (I love the spiral, and I've only just noticed that they spiral in different directions.  They fit perfectly, and have been the perfect antidote to the ghastliness that has been the last week and a bit.

And this (and some wool wash, which is small and cute and stowed in the detergent cupboard), now by my sink.  Williams Sonoma Hand Balm.  I Williams Sonoma, I have the cutest pink spatula from there.  Yes, the tile is hand painted, it came like that, and there are several round the kitchen being bright and cheery:

And, so brilliant, I am very spoilt, just look at the points on those babies!

And I finished this softest sock in the world, pure cashmere, colourway 'Brown Owl'. These are Bad Brown Owl's Socks (Bad Brown Owl is too lazy to take off the other yummy sock):

Extra bonus: Stewed apple and blackberry and custard, from a week or so ago.

xxx

"It's a funny thing about mothers and fathers.  Even when their own child is the most disgusting little blister you could ever imagine, they still think that he or she is wonderful.

Some parents go even further.  They become so blinded by adoration they manage to convince themselves their child has qualities of genius.

Well, there is nothing very wrong with all this.  It's the way of the world.  It is only when the parents begin telling us about the brilliance of their own revolting offspring that we start shouting, 'Bring us a basin! We're going to be sick!'"

Roald Dahl, Matilda (Puffin, 2007), p1

Read by Papa Jane, my Daddy.

xxx

This time he's running the Athens Marathon in aid of the Stroke Association.

Sponsor...

And, unlike the Anthropologist, ponder the fact that this chap is also capable of submitting a PhD thesis on time.

xxx