Had an awful lot to drink (gin and tonic, two shots, some cocktail involving vanilla vodka - v nice, and another shot and a heck of a lot of water).

Danced.  Until about 3 am. I used to dance and dance and dance like that when I was a student.  Less so, now I'm in London and working, and there's less opportunity and more responsiblity.  We were at a private house party in Mayfair, and no, I am not entirely clear how I went from the pub next to work to a private party in Mayfair but I did.  I know some Good People.

Felt better.

Received barman's philosophy (he was very, very drunk and nearly fell down a gap in the railings at one point - he owns the pub we were in to start with, the one next door to work, and seems to like socialising with us, presumably 'cos we make him feel about 20 years younger).

Was told that I have an air of faint desperation and that I need to stop worrying about other people and concentrate on me for a change.  Also that I need to cease assuming that men are only out for one thing and stop seeing things quite so much in terms of black and white.  To do things because I want to rather than (the way I do at the moment) to fill a yawning hole in my life.

Also that I probably hide behind slightly too much armour.  Also that it's very obvious: why yes, I do often use knitting as a barrier.  I am abrasive, and this does not always go down well with people.  It depends on the person.

Also that he can't imagine why the rest of the world doesn't love me too, and that the best thing of all would be for him to be my friend.  And that the bestest thing would be to know that when I give a hug, that hug belongs to the receiver, because, you know, it's more than a friendly hug.

Also that I need to start believing in myself.

Drunken conversations are often interesting.  This one is ponderable too.  I really want a bit more sleep, though, and should sleep well tonight, despite taking the Guides on a sleepover, as I have had Not Enough Sleep.  No no.

I wonder where my hangover is?

xxx

The point at which I arrived at work, fished out my front door keys, and attempted to let myself in with those.

It did not work terribly well.

xxx

Then I went to give the Boy his number 4 uniform, which has been hanging either in my bedroom, or, more recently in a cupboard at work since just before Remembrance Sunday.  Except I got half way to the tube station, and realised that I'd left it in the cupboard at work.

Here.  Have something that's actually amusing.

Yes.  It's Terry Wogan singing the Floral Dance (1978), and waving flowers around like Morrissey (1984 - thus, one could posit that Morrissey was inspired by Terry Wogan).  Hurrah!  Hurrah!

xxx

I was in Mumbai.

My photos are here

The one below is my favourite.

I think she was two or three years old, and she was playing with the shrine like a doll's house.  She was entirely engrossed in her play, and never noticed me taking the picture.

Recent news makes me very sad.

xxx

This one is completely useless.  I think I've created a totally new error.  I hate evaluation copies.  Passionately. 

The Microsoft Identity Integration Server service terminated with service-specific error 2149781504 (0x80231000).

For more information, see Help and Support Center at http://go.microsoft.com/fwlink/events.asp

(and yes, I have posted onto TechNet).

xxx

For posterity: I abandoned the keyset twice, and it worked again.  All to do with a new DC being created.  Go figure.

xxx

"They're coconut macaroons.  They're not chocolate."

"Oooh, I don't know though.  Coconut macaroons sound a bit exotic.  To the point where I might have to have a cup of tea..."

Bless him.

xxx

I'm working up to taking the Guides on a sleepover on Saturday night.  I am not looking forward to this.  There seems to be an awful lot to be done, and not an awful lot of time in which to do it.  Plus, I finally got round to pinning about fifty badges onto my camp blanket just before going on holiday last week, which means I ought to sew the darn things on before I want to sleep under the wretched thing on Saturday.  Timing evidently not my strong point.  Have also totally failed to get overnight badges.  Oh well.  This is not the end of the world.  The end of the world is if there's nowhere to sleep.  All the rest is window dressing.

Moreover, dearest Em has gone to the USA for Thanksgiving, leaving me feeling faintly bereft and lost, Guiding-wise.  Yes, she'll be back at the weekend, but it's not the same as having her here or even there at the event.  She's supposed to be dropping something off through my letterbox today, but I can't remember what.  Mini-list, for sanity's sake (sanity fast going out the window along with annual inability to breathe and if you find my appetite, please return it because I need to be well-fuelled here).

• sequin waste  ARRRRRRGH Apparently they don't make it anymore.
• ribbon for sequin waste balls (gift wrap ribbon) Thus n/a
• ribbon for stockings (bog standard ribbon, one thin reel plus possibly some pretty stuff)
• yarn for swop (comes from the same shop as ribbon)
• christmassy sequins
• spare needles & safety pins
• bells
• photocopy templates stockings & other decorations
• make mockup stocking, other decorations
• make mockup sequin waste ball  Well no point, I lack the materials.
• get stuff out from garden shed.  Put in hallway to trip the unwary.
• get spare key cut
• do not forget to bring things home from Guides (scissors, pencils, glue, paint, feathers, sparkles, pens) dependent on contents of Div Box.

xxx

In other words, I put an extra jumper on before leaving my flat this morning (thus wearing a thermal vest, a pretty top, a thin woollen jumper and an extremely thick woollen jumper which was abstracted from my very first serious boyfriend about ten years ago, my large woollen Indian shawl, plus a serious woollen coat and woollen trousers), and I was about right walking across the park.

If it gets any colder, I shall have to break out the ridiculous pink hat with earflaps and fleece lining which I made last year and may, or may not, have photographed.  I forget. (new, bad photo added)

The park smelled of mud this morning: the keepers were rotovating the sports pitches.  I cut right across, which was a bit slippy but not too bad, considering.  The pitches are becoming ridiculously muddy: at the same time, they haven't recovered from summer softball and cricket.  Poor pitches.

About half an hour ago, someone came round to fix the light above my desk, which goes out with an alarming degree of regularity.  Twenty minutes later, it had gone out again, and I am back down to dim lighting from the desk lamp.  This does not do much to alleviate the wintery feeling: although the sun has apparently come out (it is reflecting off a wall, but not making much impact in the office due to the slats and frosted glass of the window).  I have complained to maintenance, as I'm fed up with sitting in semi-darkness all the time.  I may be an IT geek, but I don't need to play to stereotype.  Really, I don't.

xxx

Hello to everyone who's come over from The Panopticon!  You are very welcome, and thank you for visiting.  Here, have some mulled wine?  Or some tea?  Pull up a seat, settle down, and tell me all about yourself.  Come on.  Help yourself to a biscuit.  Really.  I've got plenty.  They're chocolate Hobnobs...  Oh, don't worry about falling over stuff.  It's a bit cluttered in here.  I've had a few friends round today, and now you're here.  It's really rather exciting...

So, it's cold and wet in London.  It snowed again on Saturday night, and I woke up at 2 am  on Sunday to the joyful noises of the post-night club crowd having a bit of an excited yell about it.  I really ought to shut my bedroom window, but, you know, I like the fresh air.  Five blankets and bedsocks work beautifully against the cold, particularly when they're hand knitted and all yummily woolly....

And it's an excuse to get very well muffled up when I go out.  You do realise that about an inch of soggy snow constitutes a weather warning round here.  And it's our second batch so far this winter.  It's very peculiar.  I didn't see snow last winter until I went to visit Franklin in Chicago, which, to be honest, was also rather unusual - we generally get some over here in about March.

Listen to me.  Going on about the weather.  But, you see, I am terribly English, dontcherknow?

Anyhow, it's lovely to be visited, and I hope you'll stay awhile.  Would you like a cushion?

xxx

It's amazing what a difference a week makes.  Just before I went to Cambridge, the trees were hanging gamely onto their leaves.  Admittedly, most of the leaves had gone yellow, or brown, or somewhere in the middle, but they were still attached.  They had weathered the Great Snow of October, and looked really rather settled in. Yesterday, the cherry tree in the garden had three leaves.  Today, none.  The trees in the street were lacking leaves.  The park is a little more sheltered, so had a few more leaves, but, really, not quite enough.

It is winter.  It is cold, it is wet, it veers between grey and depressing and brightly sunny but even colder.  There is something about sunshine on a winter's day that makes the air feel even thinner, and disinclines the soul from going outside.  Actually, there's something about having to have the lights on as one is getting up, despite the fact that the sun has risen, that disinclines the soul from going outside.  I am well wrapped up with my Indian shawl when outside (from Gujerat.  You can't get them anywhere, you know....), and multiple layers inside.  I am a peculiar sort who prefers layers to heating.

All in all, it is weather to hide inside, with plenty of blankets, some knitting (of which I have far too much to choose) and hot chocolate (mmmmmmmmmmm) or mulled wine (for a more festive feel).

I begin to wonder if it will ever be spring...  I am wearing thermal socks, the aircon is off, and I am frozen.

xxx

There was a ridiculous amount of champagne.  There was some excellent conversation.  The Dishy Barrister's Younger Brother, Indiana Jones, gave a very funny best man's speech with reference to Plutarch's Advice to the Bride and Groom (wear asparagus.  It is a succulent vegetable which grows from a thorny shrub, and marriage can be a bit like that).  I chattered to one of my knitting pupils, who has lost his knitting.  I discussed Finnish single needle knitting techniques  - I really want to learn this now.  And I learnt that Colin Merton died in February.  I give you his obit and a little bit about him standing in the local elections (scroll down half way).

I spent an extremely agreeable evening, after a jazz party, in the bar at the Savile, happily debating programming and Pegasus (the Lyon's tearooms computer - brilliant, brilliant piece of kit.   There's a Pegasus at the Science Museum, and he used to write programs for it, and taught it how to sing in harmony), and skiing and music with him.  He then tootled off upstairs to the grand drawing room and started playing the piano.  Mostly by touch, which meant the most extraordinary modulations occasionally occurred, since he couldn't really hear what he was playing.

I'm rather very sad to find that he's dead now.  And how on earth he managed to get knocked down by a milk float in W1C, I am not sure.  Milk floats are terribly, terribly rare.

He was rarer, though.  A wonderful relic of a bygone age, but full of joie de vivre.  I'd say that he was knocked down in his prime.

xxx