I'm listening to the radio: one of my favourite songs.  "Moses supposes his toeses are roses, but Moses supposes erroneously.  For Moses, he knowses his toeses aren't roses, as Moses supposes his toeses to be!"  It's a lovely sunny day, and I'm going through what will be draft #5 of The Book, trying to remove those moments where I've repeated myself umpteen times over.  Seems on the last draft, which didn't have enough of a certain element now has rather too much of it.  Oh well.  I'm about 2/3 of the way through, so should get it off this evening, and then I can knit some more of the bridesmaids bags and, maybe, layer the quilt for another wedding present together, and pin it all into place.  We shall see.

I collided with Snowy Owl while we were playing Animals with the Brownies (we had about 5 minutes for a game of Animals, so we put four adults in to catch the Brownies in order to move the game along rather more quickly).  My glasses went flying, and disintegrated on contact with the ground.  However, the opticians have mended them, for free, so I am very happy and will be able to see at work on Monday.  No black eye - not even close, but my face did ache until I took some Paracetamol.  I collected them today - I had hoped that the optician would call once they were ready, but that didn't happen, so I didn't manage to pick them up yesterday.  Still, I needed to go out, having forgotten cereal and coffee when I went to the supermarket yesterday.  The Great Dane Puppy introduced me to the delights of the 99p shop, so I filled in a few holes in the Brownies' First Aid kit for Pack Holiday (I bought a 'magic' Arnica stick for bruises.  It doesn't really do much, but little things like that make Brownies feel better.  I used to love the smell of witch hazel when I was small and injured).

Great Uncle Dick is apparently now on his last legs, and in palliative care.  Mum is in two minds about going to see him, but we'll probably make our way over in a fortnight's time if he's still with us - neither of us will drive on a Bank Holiday weekend, I have to work next Saturday, and the trains are fubar.  England on a Bank Holiday weekend - everyone tries to get somewhere, but, because we are not commuters, we can't do it without a car, and, because everyone's trying to get everywhere in a car, no-one really wants to!

It's lovely sitting here with the window open, rather than with it tightly shut and the heating on.  I'm still wearing wool socks (my jaywalkers, which are a little tight to get on, but, once they're on, very comfortable) and a sweater and a hoodie, but I feel that spring is here.  I've sown some seeds on the windowsill - tomatoes and chili peppers.  I hope they grow.

xxx

I can't post photos - the team has my place of work on its jerseys, and I am not skilled enough to blur it out.  I'm sorry.

So, we had the broken ankle, the possibly popped archilles tendon (which I nearly hurt even more in the process of trying to help - but, bless him, I have been forgiven by the chap in question) and the concussion where he didn't know what month it was.  Fortunately, no-one was absolutely out cold and we had no dislocated shoulders.  The pitches were dry, hard, and really rather manky.  All the serious injuries were lower body: all the grazes look infected.  Yuck.

I got a tan.  This will go just dandy with the strapless bridesmaid's dress, I am seriously considering a fake tan.  It's farmers lines... I've also had a manicure, and am nurturing it to Friday. I don't hold manicures well.

I managed not to let myself get seduced by Mr Still Attached.  I performed a second kick-ass rendition of 'You Oughta Know' and think I need to expand my repetoire.  I got so drunk after we'd failed to win the Tournament (the Irish beat the Canadians in order to win, and, I am sorry to say, the Canadians were playing dirty and picking fights on the pitch, so everyone was pleased that the Irish guys won.  They deserved it.  They didn't deserve having one of their chaps almost scalped: the Marine got all stressed in the heat of the moment, berated me for not having steristrips to hold the scalp back together again, and needed two attempts to bandage the head, as the first attempt, with Coban, came off.  We sang Molly Malone in a bonding session, and oh, some of those Irish accents were to die for), I needed looking after.

The Marine thought that the broken ankle was 99% sure not broken.  He had a very sore shoulder, I ended up taping a bathroom sponge to that, and he was in such a hurry, he insisted I just wrap the tape round and round.  He removed most of his armpit hair when he took the sponge off.  Once again, he was seen stalking round the hotel with an ironing board.  He also got two black eyes, and had an interview in Boston yesterday.  I have not heard how it went.

I have found a yarn shop within walking distance of the hotel, and plan to visit it next year.  I got driven past a glorious looking yarn shop twice and I really wish that a beer shop would open up next door.

I gave a very polite Canadian (who conformed to type) a trigger point massage.  He nearly purred and called me Ma'am.  You may remember him as the gentleman who got the QM2 over when he joined us in September, so we call him Queenie.

I almost had a wardrobe malfunction, having brought the wrong bra to go under my nice black top.  The hotel had no safety pins.

I remember laughing incredibly hard, but I don't know why.

The team got through 50-100 ibuprofen, not counting that which was prescribed to them (800mg tablets, them - we took out 200mg tablets).  You may take up to 2.4g per day (8), but watch out for blood in the urine, and imbibe lots of water.

I got given a fireman's lift up the stairs by Queenie.  There was an interesting handover from the Archangel, who picked me up that way (and, really, it was a miracle I was not ill on him, what with that, and the fact that he manhandled me into his lap to sit sideways in the car on the way home.  I will trust the Archangel.  He was in Afghanistan, with the Grenadier Guards).  I was delivered to my door, presented with a kiss and left to it.  I ended up watching softball at 3am and texting Frogspawn21: Mr Still Attached went to school with a Cambridge Spy.

I finished socks: voila (and also a Baby Surprise Jacket).

Have given up on sensible packing.  It's now apparently going to be 20°C on Friday, 23°C on Saturday, and, really, I can't cope: two days ago, it was going to be 15°C on Saturday and raining.  I have no idea what shoes to wear for running across a rugby pitch in sunny warm weather.  I shall pack tennis shoes and appropriate socks.  Whatever, I don't think it's going to be cold enough for longjohns, but they're staying in the bag just in case.  Ditto the fleece.  I have packed sunscreen.  I got sunburnt last year (not sure how, my abiding memory is of pouring rain and thunderstorms), I have packed waterproofs.  It's not worthwhile having to buy new stuff for four days.

Why is packing for a rugby tour so complicated?

And this all assumes they let me back in (my green I-94W was not removed at Minneapolis St-Paul, so I had to send it to Kentucky.  I have photocopies of everything in my passport to prove the matter...). 

See you on the other side.

xxx

About 30 seconds into the Rosa Waltz last night.

"Just look at Tink and Matt.  They're barely moving, but they're burning the varnish off the floor."

That's the second time the Esteemed Mr P has complimented my dancing, publically, while calling.  I am overcome.  Overwhelmed.  All of a doo-dah.

Also, David Tennant and Catherine Tate are doing the Saturday Morning show on BBC Radio 2 (listen again) and have just reminded me.  6.45pm tonight: Dr Who and then 9pm on Dave RED DWARF.

Yes. That Red Dwarf.  The one that I have as my ring tone.

Could a sci-fi loving dancer be much happier?  Nah.  Not right now.  It's ephemeral, but it works.

xxx

Last night was the night for it.  Compliments.  I pottered over to iKnit London for knitting night (Ciorstadh was there, and Yvonne), and scoffed mini-eggs and admired the Cliff Richard Calendar in the loo, and all the yarn in the shop - I am still coveting the Colinette Point 5 that attacked me when Franklin visited, and now there's some Baba something-or-other that shrieked 'Urchin.  Make me into an Urchin!' at me.  I bought some buttons for my Baby Surprise Jacket (all ends sewn in as at 1am).

And, a lady came up, and said "can I watch you knit?  I knit continental style, and I'm trying to explain to my students about knitting English style, and you have by far the most elegant way of holding your yarn, and knitting, that I've ever seen."

This was a lovely, unexpected, compliment.  I was overcome, she watched, I got all self-conscious, it wore off, I knitted better, and all was well.

Then the Dishy Barrister texted to say that he was glad I'd enjoyed myself the previous night (I'd gone for dinner at the Army and Navy Club, in order to be formally thanked for the hours I've put in on the Inter-Club website - and no, I'm not linking to that website, just Google.  He watches the site stats like a hawk does that one) and that I'd looked absolutely gorgeous: I had a new dress from Hobbs sale, and I'd managed to wash and dry my hair that morning.  A quick blow-dry makes all the difference to my hair, as it does with many of us.

Finally, on the way home, we met a lovely dog called Trixie who belonged to a homeless chap, and we bought her some food, and she was very pleased and full of tail-wag and happy.

I'm off to my parents' tomorrow.  Now, though, I intend to potter gently while wearing peanut-butter stained jim-jams.  I shall get dressed when it's time to go out to a couple of birthday parties, both fortunately just round the corner at Cecil Sharp House.

Oh yes.  The Welshman hasn't ever seen Torchwood, therefore does not understand the concept of Ianto and coffee...  Mind you.  If he's Ianto, does that make me a wannabe Captain Jack?  Tendency to military style coats notwithstanding, I'm just not tall enough.

xxx

List

• Bevin Boys letter
• Brownie Accounts
• Brownie Admin (invite new Brownies)
• Email warden re. change in Guider in Charge for Pack Holiday
• Update form for Rotary Young Leaders' weekend yomp
• Make Bed for Great Dane Puppy (who, incidentally, failed to pay this month's rent before going to Sydney).
• Pack for weekend
• Musical Instrument Insurance
• Pay FOCS subs
• Pay Ground Rent & Service Charge Feel rather poor after all that paying.
• Pack for rugby tour  Mr Still Attached texted at silly o'clock in the morning.  Apparently it's going to be cold.  I've been packing for warm.  Have to start again.  Must remember lots of socks for the rain.  He then sent another saying it would be warm.  And a third saying he would try not to seduce me while we're away.  Could thus throttle him.  Have told him I'm Not Interested and cited Welshman as Boyfriend - he isn't.  But he's happy to be described that way if it makes my life easier, and that is another reason to love him.
• Sew in ends of Hanami, take to parents', hope for nice weather to photograph
• Start knitting wedding bags.
• Knit something frivolous for me first....  Started
• Go to parents
• Cut out quilt and piece at parents' (dead easy quilt pattern, has about six pieces).
• WRITE
• sort random bits of paper in sitting room for recycling/tidying
• Recycle/tidy random bits of paper  You know, I have over 100 First Class stamps?  I feel less poor now, particularly since the postal prices went up!
• sew button back on coat when its dried
• Work Sunday morning and Monday night, which is, frankly, obscene but then the overtime might go towards a Bohus sweater.  Sunday morning was optimistic: I had to sit and wait and eventually at 1.30pm they were ready for me to test.  Huzzah.  Missed Church but didn't miss much according to Mum.  No sermon, and never mind happy-clappy, there were ACTIONS to the songs.  Also, large TVs and many small screens down the nave of the church so you didn't need hymn books.  As traditionalists, this was not felt to be any sort of improvement or any way to treat a church that's quite a few hundred years old.  Still, apparently there were lots of children there, which was good.

xxx

 A back-to-front-list

• Supermarket shopping
• Hairsprayed the glittery bridesmaid shoes... they are glittery.  See?  Frankly, with the ex-fiasco probably going to be there, along with the chap who had a crush on me during our core courses being best man (he has a new girlfriend, who will be there, so he "won't grope me"), falling off them will be the least of my worries.  Or a good one to focus upon.  FOUR INCHES those heels.

• Laundered and hung out two sets of sheets
• Changed two beds
• Begun blocking Hanami (blocking wires refused to stay put, may need t-pins next time)
• Written my thank you letters
• Charmed the Welshman's address out of him
• Ignored the Brownies' Accounts
• Produced 2000 words on the subject of Japan (will put it up here when I've got my photos sorted, and thus know which ones to upload here).
• Tidied my bedroom
• Thrown out one pair of pjs and one pair of knickers (I liked those pjs, but they have randomly bleached)
• Laundered the towels
• Drunk coffee
• Made a list of what to take on Rugby Tour
• Bought daffodils
• Descaled the washing machine
• Run the dishwasher (I hope to descale that later on)
• Failed to defrost the fridge
• Ignored all other paperwork
• Written a thank you note to my Japanese host family
• Taken down some of the laundry I did yesterday

I'm going to watch a film, with some gin, and some chocolate ice cream, and some knitting now.  I intend to finish the Baby Surprise Jacket, so I can take it into work and show everyone what a feat of engineering it is...

xxx

When faced with an impromptu wedding dress-buying-session yesterday, which was not on the agenda, I looked pleased, I smiled nicely, I said all the right things, and I did make sure I'd made it round the corner away from the rest of the married-or-about-to-be-married set of ladies I'd spent all afternoon with before bursting into terribly messy noisy tears just by Bond Street Station (yes.  Full of class, me.  Bawling on Oxford Street).  The agenda was supposed to be bridesmaid shoes and bridesmaid jewellery for Eff's wedding.  This was achieved with splendour.  I just never expected to witness her sister-in-law buy her own wedding dress.  The girl looked so surprised, and so pleased, and so shocked, and the amount of female emotion going on was just a bit too much.

I never want to go in that Berketex shop again, which is a bit of a bugger, frankly, because that's where the bridesmaid dress fittings are.  It's not that anyone made me feel worthless (although it was a bit off, I feel, Eff telling me that if I met someone before the wedding, yes, I could bring them along), it's not that anyone was trying to upset me.  It's just that I'm beginning to wonder if I'll ever manage a successful relationship.  It's taken me nearly two years to get over the Anthropologist properly.  I'm not so scared of the idea of getting close to someone anymore.  But I'm still scared.  I still panic.  I still worry.

Not that many people seem to have them nowadays: successful relationships.  Not that getting married is any sort of guarantee of happiness.   Not that I expect anything but a struggle, and being left on my own when I'm old because men die so much younger.

I had that moment in the wedding dress shop.  I was still a student.  My dress was an ex-sample, and it was £40, and it needed cleaning (it came up lovely) and it needed taking in.  It would have been stupid to wear that dress to marry  that man - or, rather, it would have been stupid to marry that man (and he's likely to be at Eff's wedding - this is the problem with University weddings.  I've not been invited to most of them, as I never was one for going out pubbing, which seems to be the way most of my friends stayed in touch).  I would have been miserable, living in Coventry, feeling at a dead end by now.  I made the right decision. 

It's just a bit lonely today.  So I decided to block Eff's wedding stole, and do ten tons of laundry.

I must sort out waterproof makeup for Eff's wedding.  And remember not to feel sorry for myself.

Sigh.

xxx

If nothing else, Jennifer will be pleased...

Booties for Sophie.  These are some 4-ply GGH, ball band long since departed.  Pattern from Zoe Mellors 50 booties book.

Socks for Sam 

Malabrigo sockweight in Botticelli Red, pattern is from Knitting on the Road.

My green shawl thingy

A kit by Maggi's Knits

Socks for me (nearly done, but not quite...this is where they were at Detroit airport - there is a whole sock more than this now).  Regia something-or-other that was a present.

And, there's more to come...

xxx