In summary:

The Black Mountains rock, and are gorgeous, see:

I've had food poisoning from dodgy eggs twice in the past six weeks, and obviously should not be allowed near lightly cooked eggs.

The cat has a partially detached retina in one eye, a bleed behind the other.  The latter may be due to high blood pressure/thyroid/kidney and is treatable.  She went to the vet today, and my Mum is now reassured that the cat will learn her way round the place even without being able to see, and will stop bumping into things soon.  The cat is now terribly clever for putting her paws on the chair before leaping up, rather than worrying Mum by putting her paws onto the chair and then leaping on.  The cat is also getting oodles of hugs, proper chicken and sardine and tuna, and has 1/8th of a blood pressure pill to take.  Since the cat is now 18 years old, it's hardly surprising that she's disintegrating.  She does purrrrr nicely when cuddled, though.

I am prepped for Region Day on Saturday.

I have lost a mitten. I intend to knit these.  I am very good at losing left mittens, and have now got three right mittens to my collection.  It's a good excuse to knit new mittens.

The major project at work is about a week behind itself.  I foresee some late working in order to bring us up to speed by the weekend.  On the plus side, I fixed another major problem within 30 minutes of getting to work.  Swings and roundabouts.

I have ordered the yarn for Sir's slipover.  It seems that if I want to order it from my LYS, there is a premium of 75p per ball.  I'm getting it from the manufacturer.  This involved phoning the manufacturer.  There is only so far I will go for convenience, and 75p per ball is too far, particularly for a fair isle project for which I need lots of balls of yarn....

It is past my bedtime, and it's been an interesting few days, what with work, and the cat, and the being ill and the driving to Wales and back.  Yes.  I drove to Wales and back, and managed not to crash.

xxx

Firstly, once again, please excuse me for not going all out pink at you.  I still have mingled feelings about Breast Cancer Awareness.  It seems to come round Very Quickly each year.  Just remember.  Many of the products sold to raise money for cancer charities have been conceived to make even more money for the company selling them: the benefit to the charity is miniscule compared with the benefit to the company.  If you need whatever it is (such as the bottle of plant food I acquired one year, since I needed plant food), and would buy it anyhow, then you may as well get the pink version.  Otherwise, don't bother.  Don't buy into it.  Go and give directly to your favourite cancer charity, and, everyone: GO CHECK YOUR BITS FOR LUMPS (men, you have extra bits to us ladies: check both chesticles and um, testicles...). Not Just About Cancer writes about this pinksplotation much better than I do here.

It's cold, wet, rainy and horrid here.  I've finished some brightly coloured knitting

(Urchin for Mum)

and started some more.

(Baby Surprise Jacket for Alex's son)

I have been out and about, madly, all week, mostly with my Daddy.  I have another busy week next week: we shall go and see John Barrowman sing, and then to see Samuel West and Timothy West in A Number.  Oh yes.  And Jo's moving back in again, and I have morris practise, and at some point I hope to see A.  It would be nice.  There carnations he bought me are still looking really rather pretty.

I've had a conversation on the phone with the girl who's going to design Em's memorial: she sounds lovely, and she's called Olivia.  She's going to come down and visit us, and the Guides, on Friday.

But first, a list... for it is nearly the weekend.

• Laundry
• Go through the mail
• Visit the proposed site of Em's memorial with her fiancé and dad
• Go for a run
• Sort out stuff for Senior Section Weekend (Bath Bombs, Quilting, Ceilidh)
• Visit from the First Aider for said weekend, to sort out the first aid stuff.
• Rugby 1pm Sunday (drag huge bag of STUFF for rugby with me)
• Put clean sheets on Jo's bed
• Eat sausages (Marks and Spencer's now do gluten free sausages. I have venison and pork-and-apple to try.  They were on special offer).
• Supermarket shop
• Tidy the sitting room, my bedroom
• Make a more concerted effort to book somewhere for Pack Holiday
• Hem the towels
• Keep on with the Baby Surprise Jacket and the Drifted Pleats Scarf.
• Remember what on earth it is that I've forgotten....See below
• Fair Isle Design
• Brownies Accounts

xxx

I got to do something I've wanted to do for a long time today.  I got to visit Aldwych Tube Station.  You'd think, in London, this would be a regular occurrence, but Aldwych Tube closed in 1994, when it became too expensive to maintain the lifts.  And, it's remained disused ever since.  Occasionally, someone will film down there, or it's used for training purposes.

Very, very rarely (certainly, not since I've been living in London - apparently, not in the last 10 years), it's possible to visit the station for a tour.  Today was a really special opportunity, unlikely to be repeated.  There were actors, as characters from London during the Blitz, directing us about the place.  

There was an ARP chap who sent us all down the spiral staircase as the sirens started, and the "Blitz" began: he was just getting into stride, telling us about the concert with George Formby that had gone on the night before, and we had to move on.  He also explained that the station was below the sewer lines: so if we needed to use the bucket, it would have to be carried up with us in the morning...  And that just being inside the station wasn't safe.  We had to go downstairs.  Aldwych was a tube station 'licensed' to be used as an air raid shelter: not all could be used.

At the bottom, a very witty and very bossy WVS lady organised us into groups.  There were up to 1500 sleeping in the station every night, between the tracks (which weren't electrified during the war), on the platforms, eventually in 200 bunk beds.  We were cautioned how cold it could get, and the men (who outnumbered the women on this tour about 10 to 1) were gently teased about being in reserved occupations. 

We shifted round four carriages (the tube geeks photographing enthusiastically).  

One had a recording of a chap talking about his experiences in the Blitz.  One had our WVS lady, whose husband was in submarines (and not very good at swimming), talking about keeping spirits up, and how, if it's our last night on earth, we should make sure we go out with a bang.  She was very worried about our blankets, and if we had a thermos.  But it was OK if we didn't: Ruth would be round with the tea trolley soon enough.

The next carriage along had Elsie, who told us about her friend Betty's experiences.  Betty was asleep between the tracks at Holborn, and woke up, and thought she had hair on her face.  But it moved a bit.  And it was a mouse running backwards and forwards and backwards and forwards over her forehead!  "And you know what, Elsie?  They micturate, do mice."  Betty's apparently a bit educated, you see.  "You what?" asked Elsie.  "They wee as they go along!"  And that mouse had been running back-and-forth-and-back-and-forth.  Elsie was knitting something nondescript for her boys.  Air Force Blue.  She had a blanket and a thermos, and an overnight case.

The last carriage had a Spiv.  He had nylons (five bob a pair).  He had (huge) silk french knickers.  He had chocolate, he had petrol coupons, he had oranges - but no bananas.  He had a natty tie, and a smart suit, and his wife had gone to Billericay to be out of the way of the bombs.  He would have been enjoying the peace and quiet but for the bombs.  Bloody Hitler!

The show ended up with how one imagines a bomb raid might have sounded from underground.  The sirens wailed, the bombs fell - the ground shook a bit (quite an impressive sound system) and the lights flickered.  It must have been terrifying: I'm quite glad Mum wasn't with me at that point, as I am pretty sure she'd have had some sort of a flashback, having told me tales of hiding under the kitchen table during bombing raids, aged 4.  The actors tried to lead community singing, but no-one knows the words to "It's a long way to Tipperary" nowadays, and half the geeks were taking advantage of the slight chaos to take pictures of signs, platforms, carriage door steps, windows etc etc etc.  Once it was all over, the WVS lady suggested something strong.  She had very wrinkled stockings (and the seams weren't straight either!), and I suspect she fancied a rum of her own.

Dozydormouse took a picture of me next to the train after I'd taken a picture up the tunnel.  She graciously paused while I took pictures of the disused lift shafts.  And the bottom of the staircase.  I'd almost run out of battery by the time we got to the top.  But I had enough left for a picture of the bus that was all painted up for the blackout.

Really.  Quite, quite awesome.

xxx

I have a pattern, from Folk Vests.  I have a sweater to copy measurements (well, I shall when Sir delivers it).  I have a colour palette.  I need to settle down with the colour pallette and work out the changes.

Sir shall have his knitted slipover.  I shall knit fair isle.  And the world shall be happy.

For, who could resist knitting a fair isle slipover for someone who intends to "wear it until it wears out, and then darn the holes and wear it some more"?  I like to knit things for people who will wear them.  I like that people wear the things so much, that they lose them, make holes in them, wear them out, disintegrate them, need them mended.  I love that someone wants to wear something that I've knitted, and wants to wear it for the next 30 or 40 years, until they're old and wrinkly and grey.  There's no sense in keeping things in a drawer, safe, until the moths get them.

Honestly.  It's as good as the time my Dad wanted to know where his latest knitted socks were, remarking that he'd been "hoping that [I'd] bring them early."

And no.  Sir is not the chap I met.  Sir is a morris dancer.  The chap I met is  and that's all I shall say.

On Monday, I prommed.  On Tuesday I hid at home and knitted Annis. On Wednesday, I went to morris practice and then to a leaving party.  I left the leaving party late: in my defence, there was both gin and cava and some ghastly shot involved.  On Thursday, I took my poor sore throat home, did work from 8.15pm-8.45pm and then waited around for someone else to let me know they'd successfully completed their work (they did not, owing to their completing the work and then managing to get locked out of their email account), and watched Fantastic Mr Fox.  On Friday I prommed with Q.

I had my S.O.P.H.I.E. umbrella on Friday - I'd been soaked earlier in the day when cycling, right down to the underpinnings, and I wanted something that covered.  Q was horrified when he realised what he was holding onto outside the pub, while we all sheltered from the rain.  He is ultra-conservative, and has come from a very sheltered background (I've no idea why he hangs around with me: I hang around with him because I am a lazy such and such who appreciates getting seats for the Proms at £6 a pop, and who is trying to re-educate him to a rather more liberal, live-and-let-live stance).  He doesn't understand London girls: apparently, we disagree where the girls in Canada don't.  He doesn't understand homosexuality (it makes him feel physically ill.  I told him he didn't need to understand it, just accept it and let everyone get on with it in peace if they so desired).  He makes the Daily Wail look left wing on occasion.  This evening, as I was explaining about Sophie Lancaster, I found myself point out that "I am sure that Sophie and her boyfriend were perfectly well washed that evening.  Just wearing different clothes."  I think I may be on a losing battle with this one, and probably ought to give up.

But if I give up trying to show the guy the error of his ways, what does that make me?  It's tricky.  People should be allowed to think and believe what they wish to believe.  But then, again, they should also understand that everyone needs this freedom, and that it's not fair to be prejudiced against other groups even if you don't understand them.

I'd like him to stop throwing mud about with quite such wild, gay, abandon.  It's messy.  I think there may be hope: he's a product of his upbringing.  Terribly polite but really should not, currently, be let out of the confines of the Carlton Club.

So, that was Friday.  The Prom (37) was awesome.  You could listen again (it's in two parts).  Or Watch.  The violinist gave us Paganini for heaven's sake.  And looked like the cat who'd got the cream by the time we got to the pub.  Deservedly so, I'd say.

Saturday was full of friends: a birthday party, then heaps of errands.  I have chosen new curtains for the spare room, and intend to combine them with a blackout blind so Jo can sleep during the day.  I bought dye, but not salt (and still need salt.  Sigh: I thought I had some).  I have a picture frame, and have put that up in my bedroom where it looks utterly stylish.  Everyone was very patient with me while I faffed about failing to choose yarn.  I did manage to buy buttons.

Today, I had a slow start.  So did Boots, but it finally opened, allowing me to order photo prints, go and get stuff from Sainsbury, drink coffee while reading The Lady (so civilised), and then collect them.  I also managed to achieve 10 film cannisters from the photo counter (we want empties for camp), in direct contrast to Boots in Piccadilly Circus who looked really confused by the request, went to ask the cashiers on the other side of the store, tried to sell me 35mm film, and didn't actually have any kicking about apart from two that still contained film.  Prints acquired, I've managed to frame 3, put up another picture (skulking in the sewing box since, oh, 2005), mend my pillowcases, make curry, trace the route for the Brownies walk, bring most of the Guiding paperwork up to date, launder the sheets, and send the accounts to my Dad.  I've also managed to find two copies of the Guiding Musical Activities Scheme (now defunct), and a second copy of the walking scheme WITH THE MAM TOR ROUTE TUCKED INSIDE!

Why yes, I am a little excited about this latter discovery.  I am doing this walking qualification, thankyouverymuch. But not with the Welshman as walking partner (that we had cocktails last night is neither here nor there, so I'm not telling you any more about it.  So nyah).  And not in a hurry neither, for that qualification.

Still to do:

• mend skirt hem that got tangled up with bike brakes on Friday
• sew button onto Sophie's hat
• eat supper
• make up the bed
• buy yarn
• Something else, I forget what... 
• I remembered: Pay people.

xxx

Lots of late nights, lots of gin (I think I drank my bodyweight in gin), lots of dancing.  I learnt two new Cotswold morris dancing traditions (Bampton and Longborough - I can still feel the Longborough in my calves 48 hours later, it was such. hard. work. as it's very slow music to dance to - lots of opportunity to think, lots of opportunity to get it wrong).  I rejoined my morris side, I bimbled round Sidmouth, and I took a fair number of photos and some video (currently uploading to the laptop).

It was a folk week, and it was a weird week.  It was completely and utterly divorced from reality.  It was like being in some sort of strange 1960s free-love-hippie experiment at times, with all sorts of interesting pairings and people pulling each other.  I rarely went to bed before 4am.  I was up at 9am.  This added to the surrealness of some of the week.  I spent my time with Hammersmith Morris.  The Morris Dancer (no, I am not adding him to my list of swains, shut up at the back), had very kindly arranged for me to go to Sidmouth folk week on a Hammersmith Morris Partners' Ticket - for free - so I supported them.  Lotsly.  I'm pretty much at the point where I wish they would expand their repertoire a little, as I'm not sure I want to watch Trunkles again.  No. Really.

Anyhow, I took lots of photos when it was sunny, and none while it rained - wet cameras is why I ended up buying a new camera a fortnight ago, and finally managed to take the perfect photograph of Smiffs leapfrogging.  This has been something that I have been trying to do for years.  It's possibly harder with the new camera, as the shutter delay is vastly shorter, and I'm not quite used to it yet.  Plus I always want to press the shutter button on the beat, and that doesn't work either.

I spent a reasonable amount of time sitting on the beach.  I played with S's daughters (I went out with S just after I first joined Xanga, and there is probably a picture or so from 2004 there).  They are both lovely.  The elder is a little wary of me, but the younger is 18 months old, and just at the age where the whole world is her friend.  She is lovely. Giggly, chattery, and toddles over to have fun.  Doesn't mind being cuddled either, but is far too active to want to stay in the same place for very long.  We spent quite some time putting the lid on a paper cup, and taking it off, and putting it on, and pretending to drink from it, and putting stones in it.  It is a very stony beach at Sidmouth.  I decorated the Morris Dancer's arm.

Of course, what you really want to see is a double set of Smiffs dancing Sweet Jenny Jones.  Ta Da. (Here if it doesn't embed)

My highlights.  A Rosza with The Morris Dancer.  Schottische with S.  Various dances with my Uncle - there was not enough ceilidh dancing, as I didn't manage to make it to any of the afternoon ceilidhs.  Hammersmith's spot on Tuesday night, with the Committee Band playing for them: the atmosphere was completely and utterly electric, and I am so pleased that I was there.  Sitting and drinking gin until the wee small hours, talking rubbish and singing Flanders and Swann (quietly).  Buying some simply gorgeous wool in a local shop.  Watching the jig competition, and persuading a rather fine dancer and the best melodeon player I know to dance and play with me next year.  Learning Longborough, because when I got it right, it felt superb.  Learning Bampton, which was so bouncy and fun.

My lowlights.  Rain.  Missing half the last LNE because I was dealing with Smiff rugby jerseys, and carrying things about the place (I can be too terribly helpful, sometimes).  Muddy showers.  Calf ache.  Appalling indigestion from a gammon steak (thought I was going to be sick on the Morris Dancer's shoes, which was really unhelpful).  Falling off the airmattress on numerous occasions, and sleeping on a downhill and sideways slope.

And now, I need a list

• write up notes from novel begun on station platform
• Brownies Accounts
• Brownies Admin - sort out the route map, find the Wildlife Explorer Badge Documentation
• Go to the supermarket
• Finish the laundry
• Email Sir about Fair Isle
• Upload photos and film
• Tidy the sitting room
• Finish unpacking
• Mend the pillowcases

I suspect I ought to get dressed first.

xxx

It has been a bit of a week for saying Goodbye.  Brownies finished for the summer, my camera finally gave up the ghost, by refusing to take pictures of Ciorstaidh's Queen's Guide Award presentation in The Royal Albert Hall and one of our Brownies' Daddies finally lost the war against prostate cancer.  Several battles had been lost recently, and he slipped off on Tuesday morning.

So I phoned my own Daddy, having spent the afternoon with this Brownie and her Mummy: Brownie is full of beans.  Mummy is totally confused, but lovely (and made us lunch.  Small victory: how many peas could I get the Brownie to eat?  Pretty much all of them... bribery with potato waffles).  I also taught the Brownie about Mr Creosote and the Wafer Thin Mint.  She does a pretty good turn as John Cleese, now.  It is hilarious.  She is laughing a lot, and processing, and definitely wanting to hear all about my Daddy.  So we swopped having old, slightly irate, Daddy stories.  And about locking ourselves out.  We played with stickers and made a notebook, and all in all it was a lovely afternoon.

My Daddy listened to me burble down the phone when I left, and then had a senior moment, failing to remember what it was he wanted to ask me.  He phoned back 5 minutes ago: it was how to find the signal strength display for the digital radio. I said I think it was the info button, helpfully having a senior moment back.  The thing was, my Brownie's Daddy was diagnosed 8 years ago.  My Daddy was diagnosed a year and a half ago.  Not long enough left.  Not long enough at all.

Photos from two weekends ago:

Cupcakes

Cute boy with cupcake

Recalcitrant cat

Birthday boy

And a whole slew of pictures from Bletchley Park can be found in the album called that... but if I try and link now it will All Go Wrong.

There was more, but it's mostly sweaty and muggy, so I'm going to move on to dealing with Brownies Admin.

xxx

The Pink_Hebe definition of a 'me' day now seems to include time to sort out bank accounts, tax returns, and do the filing.  It is, I must say, very nice to have the time and, more importantly, the energy to deal with such things.  Quite often, I get home, and while there is an hour or so before bedtime, all I really want, and need, to do is go 'flop' and try to wind down.

Anyhow.  The personal administration is finally, thank you God, done.  The Brownie admin is also done (I even know the amount in the bank account left over from when we changed the Pack's Name from nth Local Brownies to n+(n-2)th Local Brownies.  And, let me tell you, that cash will come in handy!)  There are still bits of paper to be recycled everywhere, but I have made my bed.

It will take all of fifteen minutes to restore order to the sitting room, and then, I shall throw on some makeup (vanity, vanity), and leap on my bicycle, and head off to post some letters.  While I think about it... OneHotProcessor sent me yarn, and I made socks:

You'll have to ask her what the yarn is.  I have lost the label at The Welshman's place.  It is almost June, and yet I am still wearing woollen socks.  Summer occasionally appears this year, but it's being a bit sporadic about it.

The rest of today shall be spent thusly:

• Bring the laundry in
• Sweep the garden, bin up rubbish in new exciting boingy bin thing that will hold the bin bag open
• Sew a new hot water bottle cover, my red dress, maybe the oven gloves red dress jettisoned, as mistake made too far back to actually rectify.
• Knit the paternal socks

And remembering to eat something between breakfast and supper (I got too caught up in events yesterday, and forgot).

I am doing both the 5km Race for Life and the 10km Macmillan Fun Run this year. I shall end all posts until June with a shameless plea to donate: because if you can manage £2, which is, I believe, the minimum allowed, and all of you do that, well, that'll get me to my target no problem! The Race for Life money goes towards Cancer Research, and the Fun Run money goes to Macmillan Cancer Support. The former charity is all about scientific research, the latter about living with cancer, and making life a bit easier for people affected by cancer.

Thank you to everyone who's sponsored me so far. I really do appreciate it

xxx

I miss Em.  We've had a perfectly lovely (if rather long and tiring) day bouncing round the South Bank with the Guides in the sunshine, going on an awesome, awesome trail.  We looked at elephants, found out interesting facts (not that I can remember any of them), went up Tower Bridge, had a go on a clipper boat, starting and ending from the Golden Hinde.  We had a couple of mild wheezy moments, one tooth fell out (molars always bleed lots, but with some water, some ice, and some sweeties, we were OK again), we had to get extra water, and we didn't get sunburnt.

It was quite, quite awesome.  They had a lovely time, we meandered, we played pirate flag beetle (you get to keep your flag at the end of it), we waved at people, and saw things that we might not have done otherwise - Pepys Street, Dead Man's Hole, Clink Street, Fruiterer's Passage, various wharves.  The view from the top of London Bridge is wonderful, and very good for those of us that are rather bad at heights, as it's terribly well enclosed.  The engine rooms are not very interesting unless you're into that sort of thing.

Like the Brownies' trip on a steam train on Bank Holiday Monday, it was awesome, different, and fun.  It was sunny, it was cheerful.  And I just missed having Em to tell about it.  I missed having her be around to be sensible about the Guide with horribly severe asthma.  I missed being able to talk about it on the way home.  It's lovely talking with the other Guiders, but I'm a good five to ten years older than them.  It's different!  I missed her dreadfully on Friday, and a bit on Thursday.  I've been feeling rather insecure, for a few days, about everything in general and nothing in particular, and I did my usual "I've got a Guidey trip tomorrow and I'm going to get incredibly wound up about it" thing last night, and didn't sleep very well at all, plagued with nightmares where Mr Still Attached was being a berk (I walloped him) and the County Commissioner was being ineffectual and dillettantery (I said it was a nightmare).

Last weekend, there was less Guideyness going on.  I took Mum down to the Club, and we had a rather superb lunch (she got proposed to, in a slightly indirect manner, by one of the chaps across the table - they're both gardeners, he professionally.  I think he was overwhelmed by her abilities in destroying Japanese Knotweed), and then trundled round Buckingham Palace Gardens in a selection of showers and sunshine.  I rather liked the gardens, but they're a tad heavy on the rhododendrons. They're very ecologically friendly, and make their own mulch (they used to use the leftovers from the Royal Mews). 

Intervening evenings have been heavy on the Guiding, the Guiding Admin, and Meetings.  I shall draw a veil over that.

I haven't said much about the Brownies' day out on the steam train either.  It was awesome.  Victoria to Windsor, a boat trip, a picnic, and then a rather huge field with a marquee, Robin Hood and his Merrie Men, and the Sheriff of Nottingham, and horses, and sword fighting (and eight Brownies who cheered for the Sheriff in the face of around 1292 Brownies cheering for Robin), good looking actors, and then a trip home again, with more steam.

Lowlights include having to clean loos on both the train and at Buck House.  Seems both Brownies and the Ladies of the Club have similar issues with using slightly streaky loos.  Brown Owls are made of slightly sterner stuff, and are happy to wield bog brushes in all locations and then Wash Thoroughly and Apply Anti-Bacterial Hand Stuff.

Another lowlight will be tomorrow, when we have to clear out the attic again.

Oh yes, and The Welshman cycled all the way down to the South Bank with me, and dropped me off at the Golden Hinde.  The Guides did their usual version of screaming "Is that your BoyFriend"? And it was with great satisfaction that I could cut them off there, rather than letting them run through "Is that your Brother? Is that your Dad?  Is that your Uncle? Is that your Father? Is that your Son?"  They then moved onto screaming "Brown Owl Loves You!  You should marry her!" and demanding to know how long we've been going out.  Bless 'em.

I cannot wait for the long weekend, and I am now working my way down el-mahousive glass of red wine after having had some twerp essay a left turn from the right hand lane, and nearly running me over on the way home.  Sigh.

I am doing both the 5km Race for Life and the 10km Macmillan Fun Run this year. I shall end all posts until June with a shameless plea to donate: because if you can manage £2, which is, I believe, the minimum allowed, and all of you do that, well, that'll get me to my target no problem! The Race for Life money goes towards Cancer Research, and the Fun Run money goes to Macmillan Cancer Support. The former charity is all about scientific research, the latter about living with cancer, and making life a bit easier for people affected by cancer.

Thank you to everyone who's sponsored me so far (should that be whose?). I really do appreciate it. 

xxx

Sock in Progress at Crystal Palace GirlGuiding Centenary Maze

My Japanese Exchanges

Sweet Peas

Daffodil

Narcissus, grown from a random bulb I planted last year!

My Japanese Maple, all newly potted up and looking rather happier

Cherry blossom, now fallen off the tree

Clothkits skirt front

and back.

Clothkits purse (the zipper was a nightmare to insert)

Other side of same purse

And interestingly boring lining

My new favourite bag

We are the champions. The world champions. Winston stands guard.