Yesterday, I spent THREE HOURS getting to the point where I could cut out the pieces for a smocked baby romper. Today, I should be doing the gathers, but I'm playing on Mum's computer and trying to decide whether it really does have as many problems as she thinks.  I'm thinking probably not.  It doesn't take at least 15 minutes to start up.  I timed it.  It took 4, which is totally respectable for a ten year old Windoze 98 machine, I feel

Anyhow, the romper suit took longer to cut out than usual, mostly because I had to trace all the pattern pieces out of the magazine first, then make sure that the gingham I'm using was properly lined up.  All that prep.  By the end of last night, I'd got that all done and managed to sort out a test piece of smocking.  I think I need to make my stitches in the smocking a little tighter, but all shall be well.

I fancied a change from knitting, you see.

SQL Blog.   It seems to turn up lots in the syspolicy_purge_history failed on the cluster searches, and that's about it.  No-one seems to pay any attention to it, which is just as well.  I'm not sure how accurate I am.

I have just spent an exhausting half hour trying to tidy up my  Mother's email address book.  I nearly throttled her at one point.  Read three addresses out.  Which one does she want? She doesn't know...  Would help if the local county council didn't keep changing its email addresses, also if it labelled them all correctly, also if she had kept the bounces for longer than five seconds.  GAH!  I don't know what it is, but unless she or I hear what we want for the other, we argue the toss and don't listen properly.  Also, Yahoo!'s interface stinks. <Calms down>.

I have forgotten my camera cord, so I cannot share pictures of my Mum wearing her Christmas sweater (knitted, by me, to order, over the last five months), even if she were actually wearing it.  She's tried it on, it fits beautifully, but she's worried about spoiling it.  As a child, she never changed the clothes on her dolls, in case she spoilt them, so this is actually quite a compliment.  Frustrating though, I want to see her wear it!  Grrr.

And now, for some odd reason, I have to drive via where I used to live in order to pick up friend before going to cinema.  Bah.  I wanted to take the slightly shorter route that doesn't involve going that way at all.  Oh well.  At least I have control over the car.  Although this does mean a witness, thus I am all bothered about driving, rather than full of sang froid.

Moan, whinge, makes no sense, but terribly pleased with my present from The Welshman, which involves real pearls bought on Christmas Eve.  I think you could label that situation "It's Complicated."

xxx

Doesn't have quite the same ring as 'Back to Bom', in Midnight's Children, does it? I'm so glad I read that while I was in India.  It was much better that way... I could sing 'back to Bom' to myself as I went back to Mumbai.  I digress.

I'm home.  My Mother's hair is a delicate shade of mauve, and threatening to give Phyllis from Coronation Street a run for her money.  My Father collected me from the station and sulked at me - sulks diverted by my presentation of a card from the cat, which I'd acquired in Florida.  I am wondering how much I can decently drink and get away with.

The Welshman is being complicated.  He wants to be friends, he drove me to the station, and has presented me with an array of Things to Unwrap.  I feel as though I'm being inadequate.  I Failed to get a satsuma for his stocking (I did manage to get some whisky crowns from Charbonnel et Walker, and I gave him far fewer things to unwrap.  Ostensibly, we are friends.  Ostensibly, I am single.  Reality is confusing.  I attempted to go on a date on Tuesday, which was a total disaster area.  I don't want to see that chap again (we'll call him the Bright Young Thing as he looks just like a character from Stephen Fry's adaptation of 'Vile Bodies' as 'Bright Young Things'). The Bright Young Thing failed to walk me to the bus stop, at gone 10.30pm.  I expect to be walked to the bus stop and seen safely onto the bus: I don't expect to be bought drinks, I don't expect to be bought my cinema ticket, or my meal.  I am probably weirdly old fashioned.  Anyhow, we went to see 'An Education' - I only said yes because I wanted to see the film.  On balance, I feel it was worth it, as I thoroughly enjoyed the film and the popcorn (I buy my own popcorn).  The Bright Young Thing wants to be my friend on Facebook.  I am in two minds.  Which means the answer is probably 'no'.  Hmmm.  Particularly since my penultimate status was 'Men should walk women to the bus stop'.  Hmmm again.  I shall leave it for a day or so.

I'm confused.  My love life has gone all complicated, and I'm confused.  Probably in denial as well.  I don't feel like letting go of the Welshman.  I'm not sure he wants to let go of me - as far as I know, I was a Christmas-present-free entity when we decided that things, as they are, weren't going to work properly in the current (then) format.  That FB status of "It's complicated" sums the whole thing up perfectly.  It is complicated.

I have just realised I ought to wrap Mum's sweater, and make sure I have camera batteries enough to take pictures.  I might borrow her camera and upload them, I think the PC I'm using at the moment will let me do that.  I forgot my USB cable.  I felt it was more important to remember the charger for the iPod.

Back to the wrapping.  More meandering as I think of it.  It is nice to have some space for blogging again. I would like to tell you all what I was doing today but a. it was all SQL and b. I have a separat blog for that, so I'll bore there, somewhen, instead.  Suffice to say that I spent an hour wrestling with accounts and logins and permissions and, eventually, succeeded.

xxx

 Someone, or someones; some completely and utterly unutterably vile personages have stolen this sign:

For the 1.1 million people who died in Auschwitz, this is incredibly insulting.  More people; Jews, Gypsies, politican prisions, POWs, disabled, homosexual, prisoners of conscience and faith; died at Auschwitz than in the combined British and US forces during the SEcond World War.  Only 1/10th of the staff at the camp were punished.

Each year, on 11th November, we remember the troops who have died to make us free: some of whom died in order to end the dreadful fallacy of the Nazi camps, that work could make you free.  Since 2001, we have observed, on 27th January, Holocaust Memorial Day.  I remember Szyja Waisbrod each Yom Hashoah, I am the Guardian of his Memory.  He died in Kupczynce: even though he was not at Auschwitz, I still feel insulted on behalf of his memory, on behalf of the 6 million victims of the Holocaust (3 million of whom are still nameless - their names are not recorded, because there was no one to record them).

A replica sign has been put up for the time being - it was made so that the original sign could be restored. The original must be found, preferably before someone melts it down in an act of callousness.

So ready.  My temper is too frayed, my Guides are ungrateful and seem to eat paint the way I eat chocolate (so I am not doing Guides next term. Just Brownies. I do not feel guilty about this at all, merely relieved), I am tired, I am bitchy, I am not at top form, I have dry skin and my scalp is flaking off.  I cannot concentrate.  I itch.

I have mostly packed (I need to do my traditional pre-flight mega wash, and then I can put my shampoo in), I have checked in, found my passport, printed off my insurance details, sorted out my in flight entertainment (one pair of mittens to knit, one book, one download of The Camomile Lawn).

My flat is more-or-less tidy for once, I have been well-and-truly hugged and kissed by my Welshman at the tube station last night, work is pretty up to date, with an interesting project on the horizon.

I know what I need to bring back (vaguely), but, really, I am mostly looking forward to doing absolutely nothing for three days at least.  Then shopping or whatever else can happen.  However, I need to be out of action until Tuesday night so that the sanity can come back, the sleep can be caught up, and some serious knitting can be done.

2009 has kicked too many of us about - 2008 wasn't very much better, but seemed to be slightly less cancerous. I do hope 2010 has some redeeming qualities, but I suspect it won't.  Pessimist that I am.

xxx

Today I held an impromptu book signing by the travel books in Foyles, South Bank, at 3pm.  A select band of friends and acquaintances gathered, and we had a lovely time until someone insisted on seeing the shelf in front of which I was sat, cross-legged, scribbling happily.  I am not sure she really needed to see the shelf, as she merely glanced at it, but I moved.  Politely, as one does.

Then I headed up to John Lewis, via Lush (needed more shampoo, got slightly sidetracked, bought enough that they gave me things - not hard to do when the shampoo and conditioner are in huge bottles costing £10 a throw - but they do last really rather well), and solved my swimming costume problems.  I now posess a swimming costume that should cover.  It was hard.  Most of John Lewis' swimming costumes seemed to be for the fuller figure.  My figure is slightly fuller than it was, but it's still well within the bounds of 'small' and 'flat chested' and 'probably fits into children's wear'.  They didn't have the suit I wanted in my size in children's wear, and the 32" chest was fine in the chest but a bit short in the body.  I acquired a second rubber magnetic ball - this is supposed to stop the washing machine or dishwasher getting limescaley, and means that we need less soap powder.  It seems to work nicely, but remembering to move the original rubber magnetic ball between dishwasher and washing machine proved to be beyond both me and the Great Dane Puppy.  I also acquired a new washing up brush, as the last one was fatally greasy.

Last night, I fell to bits at Guides.  After a Brownie meeting where it seemed that no-one but me knew how to do tie-dye, and I needeed to be everywhere at once, and a Guide meeting where, at one point, all four leaders were hiding in the kitchen, and I'd become fed up with the refrain of 'Jane, Jane!' being bellowed from the other end of the hall (never 'Becky, Becky! or 'Bridge, Bridge!' or 'Clare, Clare!' and what is it with my name that makes those who yell it sound as though they are perpetually whining?), and the girl who prank called me last year suddenly turned up again after a blissful few weeks without her and her one-volume-of-foghorn-voice, and I simply couldn't get 30 seconds silence to talk about going ice-skating in a fortnight, and to camp in the summer, and no-one could be quiet enough for me to give out the promise badges and certificates, and girls had been kicking each other and fighting on and off all evening, I gave up.  We didn't sing TAPS.  I didn't say what I wanted to say.  I took one look at all of them, and remarked:,  "Just Go," before bursting into tears.

It is a good thing that my Welshman was able to come and give me a hug.  And it was a jolly good hug, and I feel a bit better now.  I only need to do one more meeting this term, and that's that.  No More Guides unless it's filling in for someone who can't make it.  There are enough leaders, and they need to get on with it themselves.  I've let the Div Commissioner know that, at the least, I need a sabbatical and that I never wanted to do Guides in the first place.  I only did Guides because Em was ill.  That was supposed to be a temporary measure over two years ago...

I do need to share a story.  A week or so ago, Mum came to visit, and we pottered round the fabric shops of Berwick Street.  I have some glorious herringbone pale blue tweed that will become, we hope, a waistcoat and skirt ensemble.  I plan to pattern buy in the USA (I have two metres, total.  Or two meters if you are in the USA).  She also bought some wheat-free mince pies and a wheat-free Christmas pudding from Marks and Sparks.  Alas, on her way home, she slipped on the bottom step at Baker Street Station and I think she broke her toe in the process.  She didn't fall crashing to the ground though - several good looking young men sprang to her aid, and were very solicitous.  Her thoughts?  "Gosh, if I'd been a bit younger, I could probably  have got off with one of them!"  Toe is still a bit sore, but she's wearing her Crocs and quite comfy.  She was more worried about the mince pies than herself - they got squashed in the process, but I'm told that they tasted very good for breakfast the next day.

I love my Mummy.  She is Utterly Glorious.

xxx

...was at Hatchard's today.

My second will be at Foyles' on the South Bank at some point on Saturday...

It was impromptu but magnificent.  Please excuse me, I am going to go and practise my signature now.  I shall also glow, gently, but persistently.

xxx

Having realised that I entitled the last entry 'Knackered', I cannot do the same with this one.  However, I am.  Tired.  I think that the high from the post-rugby-match-festivities (which is enhanced by drinking full-sugar cola drinks, as that's the only non-alcoholic beverage available), is followed swiftly by a Sunday evening low.  A low where I think that I haven't heard from my Welshman all weekend.  Well.  He did phone, but I missed the call and he didn't leave a message.  A low where it's dark, and grey, and wet, and horrible, and grim outside.  Wet and windy all day, and my umbrella broke, and I lost a glove on the bus and my dairy-free-cream-cheese has a crack in the tub and I need to Get Stuff Out for Dad and there is still a fridge in my sitting room and a couple of rust stains on the carpet.

Oh winter.  Can I hibernate?

I need to do the following before I go to bed

• make the bed
• the Brownies accounts
• pack up the router so it can be reprogrammed tomorrow morning.  Also pack up the parcels that need to be taken to the post office to be mailed.
• finish knitting the collar on Mum's sweater (a knitting black hole if ever there was one, the cowl collar)
• eat something vaguely sensible and healthy, having had crisps and cake for lunch, and a mid-afternoon snack of boeuf bourginon and rice after rugby. Slice of toast with a topping of some of the rescued side of the dairy-free-cream-cheese, plus mini tomatos (tomatoes?) and carrots.  Also, orange juice.
• make tomorrow's packed lunch.

Sigh.  Again.

xxx

Spoke to my Welshman, and we will have a picnic on Tuesday (hurrah!  I think.  Anyhow, I get to see him, which will be lovely as I miss him).  The Great Dane Puppy's girlfriend has arrived and informed me that I look tired (does she not have a place of her own?  Am now keeping a record of when she's here as I'm getting to the point where I feel it is too often, but I want to work out if that's my perception or no.) .

Must. Pack. Stuff.

And then make the damn bed.  I want to have a bath and get straight into it afterwards.  Making the bed is a loathed activity.  Perhaps I should cave, and give up on the five blankets, and have a duvet?

xxx

• Put kitchen contents back into kitchen
• Take photos of kitchen so you chaps can see (please excuse missing tiles etc.  It is a Work In Progress).
• Debate with my Welshman what to do about the old fridge.  Freecycle or get the Council to collect?  It's not in the best of nick.
• Write up the excitements of yesterday.
• Sort out route for walk for Guides on Friday and walk it.
• Buy paint Weirdly, Hobbycraft didn't like my card.  However, I've managed to order a drawer divider with it since.  Odd. Odd.
• Brownies Accounts
• Hoover sitting room
• Move sitting room back to correct arrangement (bar fridge).
• Find a set of drawer dividers for the cutlery drawer (don't Lakeland do something modular?)
• Knit or sew or something
• Wrap Emma's birthday present ready for 28th
• Order spare parts for oven need to identify one of them, but, yes, have found the other.
• Laundry begun

OK.  Must get on.  There's a lot of crates and stuff to move. Maybe I should get dressed too?  Can we have a vote on that? I'm happy to declare a moratorium on getting dressed until you guys make up your minds PJs are quite comfy, but my toes are cold.

xxx

For The Fallen
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years contemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.

Lawrence Binyon

(and a total lack of photographs).

Naturally, in the midst of a kitchen remodelling (there are tiles coming off the walls as I write - but the fitters are being careful of my cherished hand-painted tiles which came with my flat, and which are replaceable but I'd rather not have to), one's thoughts turn to baking.  Specifically, gluten-free baking.  My  usual method is to use a gluten-ful recipe, chuck in some extra oil, and hope for the best.  However, I have a copy of BabyCakes, and a trip to Florida in the offing, so I'm thinking some of the more esoteric ingredients may be easily acquired.  The various types of bean-flour and so forth.  Xanthan gum I can get in my local Fresh'n'Wild, or Whole Foods Market, depending on whether I'm looking at the sign or the label on the bag.  I am dreaming of cupcakes and gingerbread.

Last night, I headed out to iKnit London to listen to Franklin read.  He amused us greatly with an extract from the new book, which has to be turned into an audio book.  He's got such a distinctive voice, and to hear him read his prose is a real treat.  I resisted buying sock yarn, or any other sort of yarn, enabled the buying of someone else's Christmas present, and happily escaped from the shop, wallet intact, to get the bus home.  Most days, I cycle over Waterloo Bridge.  Last night I got the bus in the dark, and could indulge my daily desire to spend the whole crossing looking from one side to the other like a demented tennis fan.  Came home, continued my Daddy's sock, watched Born Romantic, and decided that I have to own the film.  It's very London-y, and a vast number of scenes were filmed in Camden.

Three times this week, I have been in my Club.  For drinkies, for curry and for dinner with friends. I would like escape out again tonight and have a terribly indulgent dinner there, but suspect I shall potter out to the High Street and find something a little less finangly and which doesn't require me to change out of my jeans and into reasonably smart business attire.  Changing out of jeans also means changing out of knitted socks (currently sporting a blue pair made out of very strong and soft and slightly fluffy Bear Mountain yarn, knit as part of a sockapalooza).  I have no kitchen sink, and washing up in the washhand basin seems somehow dreadfully unhygienic.  I also haven't worked out where to put the microwave so that I can use it properly, so I am even beyond baked beans on toast.  Toast is not a problem.  No real washing up required for that other than the plate.

Drinkies at the club was ridiculously fun: one of the Younger Members hauled out a rather large trophy "Takes 9 bottles of champagne to fill it, you know", and was filling it with a bottle at a turn and passing it round, rather like a very fizzy communion cup that threatened to overwhelm the supplicant.  The location of a napkin, which was used to wipe after each drinker, only served to underline the resemblance.  Curry was curry and obliviated my need to eat anything for 24 hours afterwards - I had a little bit of everything and was entirely stuffed.  Dinner was plain lovely.  It's a shame that the clock moved inexorably towards hometime and we had to disband.

On Saturday, I intend to head up to Loop, to see Ysolda and have her sign books for a friend and probably for myself as well.  Sing out if you want your own copies.  They are £12 each.  Today's glittering delights involve a trip out to collect a prescription.

Oh.  Finally.

You remember how often 'The Book' appeared on my to-do lists?  And may have noticed how it's fallen off again recently.  That would be because it's being published on 17th November, and is now available for pre-order from Amazon.  I'm a bit chary of singing out too much - I like to hold onto the last of my anonymity in this internet world.  If you know me, it's easy enough to find... Needless to say, when I had completed the overwhelmingly sad exercise of looking for myself on Amazon last night and actually found myself, I did an awful lot of excited, silent squee-ing in the privacy of my bedroom.  It's out there.  I can actually believe that it's happening.  Folks. I wrote a book and someone seems to think it's good enough to publish.

xxx