Spud U Like

I'm mostly better now, thank you.  Still getting a few twinges when I do something unwise, like e.g. lift a polythene box full of packs of sugar off the floor to get into another box underneath, or take the dog for a walk and have her tow me through the village like a water-skier, but otherwise I am about 98% fighting fit.

In the 8 weeks - almost 9 actually - since I had my op, the outside world has started to become Spring-like. There are snowdrops and crocuses in flower in the garden, and daffodils in bud. I assume they're daffodils. They might be irises.  Or hyacinths.  I'm not sure.  The mole made a brief appearance in the front lawn, much to our delight*, but seems to have buggered off again.

To mark the "new beginning" feeling, this weekend we are doing a catering job for some neighbours, which I am very much looking forward to.  And yes, we have asked one of our excellent helpers to come along and lend a hand so I don't end up overdoing anything.

So. Other than recuperating, and some low-key socialising, what have I been up to?

Well.  This:

Mr WithaY and I went along to a willow heart-making class in a nearby village, and I made the above work of grace and beauty.  It took me two hours, and hasn't fallen apart yet.  When I get round to it, I will secure it to the fence at the bottom of the back garden so all may admire it.

And how did we hear about this willow-weaving class, you ask.  Well, by attending THIS event:

Which I found out about on Twitter.  I love social media.  The potato day was held in the Cheese and Grain venue, which hosts all manner of events.

Sci- Fi!  Anti-Fracking Protests!  The Wurzels!  Ah, the West Country.  Everything you want, and quite alot of stuff you'd prefer not to have to look at but can never unsee.

So here's some of the highlights of potato day:

And here are the throngs of visitors, eagerly eyeing up tubers:

The vantage point is from the little meeting room upstairs, where we went to listen to a chap talk about foraging.  It was next door to another meeting room, with this stern note taped across the window:

It was a little distracting, listening to the chap talk about the types of plants which could be found locally and were good to eat, with the enthusiastic clomping of trainee burlesque dancers going on in the next room.

What else?  Oh, I had my hair cut off!  I was fed up with feeling frumpy and old and tired, partly due to post-op malaise, I suspect, so I went to the excellent Toni and Guy in Salisbury who did me a funky modern cropped choppy look, which I love.  It's funny, a mate** posted a photo of me on Facebook which he took when I was a student, 25-odd years ago, and I HAVE THE SAME HAIRSTYLE.  Just goes to show.  What goes around comes around.

Only now there's some grey in it. Bah. And gah.

I have decided to try and be a bit less lackadaisical with posting on here too.  I used to get so much genuine pleasure from interacting with people, and just the simple act of writing stuff down was cathartic.  So I will make more of an effort to be here more frequently.  Can't promise photos of potatoes every time, though.








*well, to my amusement and Mr WithaY's speechless rage.

**Hello Martin!

Goop

To celebrate the glorious weather, I decided to colour my hair.  Yeah. That's how I roll, me.  I am fortunate to have a nice natural hair colour to begin with - dark brown with a fair bit of red in it - and I didn't want to change it very much.  What I DID want to do was disguise the increasing number of pure silver threads which are starting to appear.  Not just in ones and twos any more, either.  No, these bastards are multiplying, and having very dark hair, they are incredibly noticeable.

Well, I think they are.

Mr WithaY gets a bit tetchy when I whine and bitch about all the grey in my hair. He makes harrumphing "retired brigadier" noises at me, grumbling that "I can't see any" and "it looks fine."  Men.  He looks distinguished with a bit of grey in his hair.  I look like a witch.  Cuh.

So.

I went to visit my lovely mum last week, and decided to pop into town* before we went home in the afternoon.  Well, there's a Lush there.  Mr WithaY refuses point blank ever to go into a Lush shop "because of the awful smell."  I said they'd soon get used to it, but no, he stayed outside.

I stocked up on their lovely shampoo bars - these ones, if you're interested - and also bought a block of their finest, brownest, henna.

The next day, having Googled the instructions, as there were none provided with the product, I prepared to get a-colouring.  I have used henna before, and am well aware how revolting and messy it can be, so I decided to do it in the garden as much as possible.

The first thing you have to do is melt the henna block in hot water.  It looks like a giant bar of chocolate, and you break off as many chunks as you think you'll need.  I decided to go for two blocks, as my hair is pretty thick and fairly long, but I wasn't looking to change the colour very much.  I have no idea if those are the correct criteria for henna-block allocation.

So.  Into a GLASS bowl went the two chunks - it stinks, by the way - and then boiling water.  I stirred it for ages with an old wooden spoon, adding more water intermittently.  Several of the instructions I'd found online suggested that a bain marie was a good idea to keep it all warm while it melted, so I put the bowl over a pan of simmering water and stirred for bloody ages.

After about 20 minutes of simmering and stirring, it was ready.  I carried the pan and bowl out into the garden, where I had already stashed an old towel that I wasn't worried about staining, a box of clingfilm, some hair clips and several old tea towels.  It looked like someone was about to have a baby pioneer-style, and then smear it with hot green poo.  Outdoors.

There was an uncomfortable hiatus where I thought "How the bloody hell am I actually going to do this?"  I briefly considered ringing a friend** to come and help, but decided to crack on on my own, and see how it went.

After considering several options, I went for the "grab a handful and slap it onto your hair" approach.  Then another handful.  Then another.

And so the long afternoon wore on.

I spent 20 minutes working it into my hair, whilst trying not to fling it all over myself, and I was running very low on both patience and henna mixture by the time my hair was covered. I kept adding more hot water to the henna left in the bowl to eke it out, and sort of squidged it through my hair, hoping it would reach all the bits I'd missed.

Once you've created a stylish set of mud dreadlocks, you have to wrap your head in clingfilm.  TOP TIP: Don't do this outside.  Especially if it's a bit breezy.  I must have spent at least 10 minutes persistently untangling a long strip of clingfilm, trying to wrap it around my goopy mud-filled hair, only to have a gust blow it all into a spiral of uselessness, when I would have to start untangling again.

I gave up and went indoors to wrap up in the end.

This was the result.  CAUTION:  You may be struck with nausea and/or desire, depending on your tastes.

Note the attractive beetroot shade of my face after hours of standing over a hot stove, bending over in the blazing hot garden, and fighting with recalcitrant clingfilm.  Sexy, no?  You'll be relieved to know that I wiped off all the henna from my face before it stained me patchily brown.

Anyway.  I wrapped the revolting mess in an old towel, then left it to mature.

Three hours later, with a stiff neck and a banging headache, I started washing it out of my hair.  Readers, this took bloody ages.  AGES.  The instructions suggested using a lot of conditioner to help get all the twigs and gravel out, so I did just that.  Two big handfuls of conditioner later, the water was starting to be less brown and muddy, so I bravely moved to shampoo.  Ugh.

Several shampooings later, yet more conditioner, and finally the water was running clean, so I could assume I was about done.  I dried it, and eagerly looked at it in the mirror.

It looked almost exactly the same.

Gah.  Five hours well spent there, then.

Still, the silver hairs are now sort of pale brown/gold, which I prefer, and it is VERY shiny.

Also, please admire my domestic goddess pinny.

In other news:  We have arranged to have our garage converted into a storage room (for me) and a workshop (for Mr WithaY) for our respective business plans.  Mine will contain a fridge, a freezer, some cupboards and a lot of jam jars.  His will contain a lathe, some antlers and a giant heap of woodshavings, as far as I can make out.

I'm quite excited about it, as it will allow me to get Plan B underway, since our farm shop idea bit the dust.

In other, other news, we went to a barbecue with some neighbours on Saturday night.  I decided to take my little travel guitar along, as it was that sort of a day.  Well, every day is that sort of a day, to be honest, but you know, sunshine, barbecue, wine, yadda yadda yadda.   On the way there, walking through the village we ran into a friend***, so we stopped for a chat.

"Are you off to the barbecue?" she asked us.

We said yes, we were.

"Oh, is that your guitar?" she asked me.

"Yes," I said proudly.  I'm still absurdly proud of my travel guitar.

"Did they ASK you to bring it?"

"Um.  No."

Her peals of laughter followed us along the road for quite some time.







*Hello Chichester!
**Jo, it would have been you.  Sorry.
***Hello Sarah!

Hair! Again!

Sorry if you aren't remotely interested in hair.  On the bright side, I only go to the hairdresser about 3 times a year, so it isn't very often you have to put up with this.

Ta-daa!  Check out the new do:

I could have just posted the photo without the highly professional editing to conceal my secret identity, but it amuses me to look like a middle-aged ninja, so it stays like this.  Mr WithaY suggested I add some huge bug eyes as well.  He thinks he's funny.   

The charming girl at the hairdresser has chopped off loads of the skanky bits at the ends, layered it so it is all bouncy and wavy again, and given me a bit of a fringe to stop me getting too bored with it.  I am very pleased.  Also, (and this is why she gets a tip) she said I have no need to colour it as it has barely any grey, and that it looks lovely.  So hurrah.

I went to the music shop in Salisbury as I want to get the tab book for Alice in Chains "Black Gives Way To Blue" but no luck.  To be fair, I don't even know if the book exists, I just assumed it did.  I heard "Your Decision" on the TV a few nights ago, used my mighty iPhone to Shazam it so I knew what it was, and then downloaded the album on iTunes.  All while sitting watching CSI.  I love technology, I get to  pretend I am on the USS Enterprise when I do stuff like that. 

I found the chords online but am not convinced they are correct, as it sounds rather odd.  Plus the timing is a bugger, as soon as I try to sing AND play it at the same time it all goes horribly wrong. 

I still sound like I have a cold, even though I don't, so my singing is nowhere near the way it should be.  I wonder if I have some sort of yukky low-grade sinus infection or something left over from the Black Lung outbreak. 

If I am still sounding bunged-up by the end of the week I might ask the doctor what he suggests.  He may well suggest that I go away and stop bothering him, of course. 

Mr WithaY has had a cold for almost a week, but is on the mend now. He celebrated by cleaning out the fishtank this morning.  The soundtrack for this diligent activity was very loud trance music.  Apparently the fish like it.  It just made me think of Father Fintan Stack from Father Ted.

"I've had my fun and that's all that matters."  One of the best lines in comedy ever.

Hair crisis

Today I have mostly been staring at work documents till my eyes dried up.

Tomorrow, though, I am going to the big city*, to the posh hairdressing saloon to get myself beee-yoo-tee-fied.  I am facing a dilemma, albeit a small, petty, over-indulged middle-aged woman one. 

Should I have my hair cut short, or should I keep it long?  I've had very short hair and very long hair over the years, although not at the same time.  That would mean a dreadful gravedigger or mullet stylee.  Cute on biker dudes, dreadful on women.  Yes, even you, lesbian sportswomen. 

I quite like my hair, there's lots of it and it isn't grey yet, and it tends to look pretty good most of the time, despite my dreadful laziness and non-use of "products" on it.  It gets washed, it gets blow dried upside down, it gets a brush and it's ready to go.  Job done. 

Hair, long, brown, wavy, for the use of. 

However, I've been looking at the smart London ladies I see around the place when I am in town, and feeling just slightly intimidated and scruffy. 

Maybe I should wear a funky French plait?  I can do them on other people but not on myself, which isn't much use.

Or a proper bun, all strict and dominatrix-y?  Although I think I am still far too chunky to pull that look off convincingly quite yet. 

Even a bit of proper blow dry styling might help, although that tends to make me look like Nerys Hughes in the Liver Birds**, which is not the smart, professional look I am aiming for.

As you can see, this train of thought is interminable.  And, inevitably, it leads me to the "ooh, I could get it all cut off again!" idea.

I've done that a few times over the years, and whilst I do like the dramatic effect of going from long hair to very short hair  (why, Mrs WithaY!  You look ten/twenty/thirty years younger!  I'd never noticed what lovely cheekbones/teeth/ears you have!")  it is a lot less versatile, and I get bored with it quickly. Then I start to grow it out, which takes three years, and I whine regularly about having had it cut off in the first place. 

So.  What to do, what to do.

I think I might look at hairstyles on the internet and then at least be able to offer an idea of what  I want, rather than falling back on the trusty "Just trim it a bit and take off any split ends please," approach I usually adopt. 

Hmm, let's see...

I like this, but it looks like a LOT of work.  Plus I grew my fringe out and am not sure I want another one.

This one is mental, but interesting.  A bit Veronica Lake-y.

This one gives me flashbacks to being at school in the early 80s...that fringe must take a LOT of hairspray.

This one is completely bonkers but I reckon I could carry it off. 

It might be a bit awkward on the Tube though. 

I'll let you know how I get on.

*Salisbury.  Hey, it has a Marks and Spencer.  And a cinema.  And a Lakeland.  No Long Tall Sally though, sort it out, Salisbury. 

**Google it, American readers.  And anyone under 35.

Pictures nicked from here

Another brick in the wall

I went and had my hair cut yesterday. Well, it had been four months since the last time. I suppose I am fortunate having hair that doesn't actually need much doing to it, but it does need cutting every so often or I start to look like one of those old statues of Poseiden, all curling tendrils and seaweedy ringlets.

The girl who washed my hair was charming, chatty and friendly, asking me about my plans for the rest of the day, and what I did for a living. So I told her. There was a long pause, then she said "Oooh, I bet you have to read a lot for that, don't you?" Yes, I told her, I do have to read a lot. "And you need to be able to remember things, as well?" Yes, indeed. Remembering things is top of my list of tasks, most days.

I might insist it becomes one of my objectives for next year: Remembering Things. Coming up with some performance measures will be fun. It'll be like a magic show. "So, what was the number I first thought of? Yes! Correct. You have attained your objective, well done."

Anyhoo. She was telling me about a book she'd read, all about some high-powered career woman who loses her memory* and has to rebuild her life. She told me she'd bought the book at the airport on her way to her holiday, as her friend told her she had brought a book to read "and I couldn't just sit on the beach while she was reading, could I?"

She then told me it was the first book she'd ever read all the way through. I was honestly stunned to silence.

I guess she was in her early 20s. How on Earth do you get all the way through the education system, whether you get any qualifications or not, without ever reading a fucking book all the way through?

When I recovered my equilibrium, I asked her if she was planning on reading any more books by the same author as she'd enjoyed that one. She said she might, but the other book she knew about was the one that the film Shopaholic was based on. There was no point reading that, as she already knew what was going to happen.

Gah.

Other news: I went to the music shop to buy some new strings for my gorgeous Rickenbacker.

Me: Can I have some steel strings for a 12-string please?

Music shop flunky: Um. Let me ask a colleage.

(Conference out of earshot, worried glances in my direction.)

Music shop flunky: Here you are. (Handing me the packet nervously) These are the only 12-string strings we have. Fifteen pounds please.

Me: O-kay. Thank you. Bye!

(Time passes, I wander Salisbury in the hot sun, look at jewellery and don't buy any, go to a few shoe shops but see nothing I like, fight my way through the market looking for cheap fruit to make jam but am thwarted by huge crowds of chavs and nutters, so decide to head back to the car. En route I look again at the guitar string packet.)

Me: (to myself in the street) Fuck it, these are for an acoustic.

(Back to the music shop, where I explain to the crowd of flunkies that in fact I needed electric strings, not acoustic. Sorry, didn't specify at the time, etcetera etcetera etcetera. More nervous conferences by the staff.)

Music shop flunky: We only have those strings. They'll be alright though.

Me: No, they are for an acoustic guitar, mine is electric.

Music shop flunky: (as senior colleague appears in the manner of the shopkeeper from Mr Benn) But they'll be alright.

Me: No, I don't think they will. If you can give me my money back, I'll try somewhere else. (waving the receipt at them)

Senior colleague: What's the problem? (Problem is explained to him) Oh! I can sell you a set of normal strings - you can just double them up!

Me: No, I'd rather get a new set of 12-strings thanks.

Senior colleague (getting more enthusiastic) But I can sell you a single string! Which one is broken?

Me: The B, but I don't want a single string, I could just use one of the spares I have at home if I was going to do that.

Senior colleague: And this is an electric 12-string? Really? They are very rare, are you sure?

Me: (with a touch of exasperation now) Yes. It's electric. It's a Rickenbacker 620/12. I'll find somewhere that sells the right strings, thanks anyway.

(Exit stage left, in a glow of smug fine guitar ownership pride, with my money back.)

They really wanted to make that sale. Must have been a quiet day.

I am waiting for Mr WithaY to return from a diving trip off the Dorset coast. He has suggested that he might be bringing scallops. Mmmmm hand-dived scallops. And if he does, we shall eat like fat greedy kings.

I made a rather splendid curry the other night. You had to put an onion, loads of garlic, tomato puree (although I used tinned tomatoes it as we had no puree), turmeric, chilli, loads of cashew nuts and garam masala in the blender, whizzed it all up, fried it in oil till it made a thick sauce, added diced chicken and cooked till the meat was done. Bloody lovely.

Also, I made fudge. It's very nice, thanks for asking.


*I can't remember what it was called or who it was by, which is rather ironic.

Fire in the sky

I mentioned about taking pictures in London the other day.

Remember? Yeah you do.

Anyway. Look...

Westminster Abbey looking rather glorious in the afternoon sunshine.



Parliament Square, with riot police:



And some shots of the inside of the Royal Society, where they had the grandest ceilings ever.



I'm not kidding.



And they had some incredible techno firewood.



Other news: Went to our friend's memorial on Saturday evening. It was very well-attended, many friends and family were there, as well as a big crowd of people from the village.

Right at the end of the evening one of our aeronautical neighbours sent up a procession of large square lantern balloon things, about 5 feet high (or so it looked from where I was) with a fire basket underneath. They drifted up and off in a long curving line towards Shaftesbury, where they hung in the air for ages, the lights getting smaller and smaller before vanishing completely.

It was very beautiful and very fitting.

What else? Oh, Mr WithaY's hand is causing a little concern. He went back to the local hospital this morning to get them to take a look, but they were reassuring and seem to think everything is ok.

We did a little bit of gardening yesterday, not much, just pulled out some of the bigger weeds (the ones that were as tall as me), then sat on a bench out the back and discussed Plans For The Garden. We are remarkably good at Plans. We Planned for quite some time, then decided we were too poor/lazy/lacking in fingers to do any serious gardening for a while.

The big plan for tomorrow is that I am going to get my hair cut in Salisbury, as it is 3 months since the last fab styling experience at Toni and Guy's. And then we are going to the pictures to see Night at the Museum 2. Well, the first one was a laugh. And this one has Christopher Guest in it! Hurrah! How can it not be great?

Also, I made soup. Mushroom, with loads of garlic. Was lovely.

Hair today

So, the new haircut still looks fab.

Look:



Check out the complex layers and added bounce and curl. Marvellous. And this is after I have washed and dried it myself a few times. This is a cut that will last me a while, I think.

Good job, really, as I can't afford to go back for another 3 months.

Hairy moments

Well, an interesting turn of events this evening. Just in case we were starting to feel too relaxed, we were involved in a car crash.

Not our fault, in case you were wondering.

Middle Sis and I were heading off to the hospital to see our lovely Mum (now out of intensive care and on the mend, thankfully), and as we drove along the street, a complete twat came tanking out of a side street, completely failed to stop at the junction, and smashed into the back of Middle Sis's car.

The impact pushed our car into the verge, where we sat looking at each other in shock for a moment, then we leapt out of the car like the A-team on a mission, and confronted the perpetrator.

Boy did he look scared. And with some justification. Two large, furious, already unbelievably stressed women were about to make his worst nightmares come true.

However, his abject and heartfelt apologies, his immediate acceptance of responsiblity and the rapid production of his insurance documents meant we didn't pound him into an oily smear on the pavement.

Middle Sis's car is badly dented, but drivable, and no lights were broken.

His car was much more badly damaged. Ha. Fuckwit.

The reason for his appalling lack of concentration? A fucking satnav. He was blaming his satnav as he leapt out of his car, whereupon Middle Sis delivered an eloquent, pithy and frankly scary lecture on the inappropriateness of trying to program your fucking satnav whilst driving along the road.

So. A little bit of additional stress to make our day swing merrily along. Gah.

Other news: I decided to go and get my hair cut, as I was feeling scabby and dull, and made a spur of the moment appointment at Toni and Guy's, a hair saloon* I have never visited before.

They have vibrating back massaging chairs which you lie full length on when you get your hair washed. That was worth the money alone. And I got the undivided attention of their head artistic director (I think that's what they said he was) who teased, tousled, snipped and primped my hair till I looked fab.

We shall see how long the glamour lasts, but so far I am very pleased with it.


*I love the idea of a load of cowboys sitting under driers having their roots done.

What chores

So, Salisbury was nice and quiet at half past eight on Saturday morning.

I went into town that early because I had a hair appointment at 0845, and it was fab. Loads of parking spaces, no crowds, no litter...excellent. Of course, most of the shops weren't open, but hey, a small price to pay.

I wandered through the market, which was still being set up, and admired the stalls without having to fight my way though hordes of slack-jawed potato-headed dawdlers, standing and chatting in the middle of the tiny little alleys. Bastards that they are.

It felt like Abroad, seeing the market people shifting their stuff about in the sunshine, making artistic vegetable displays and polishing the piles of batteries, sheepskin slippers and jigsaws.

You can get pretty much anything at Salisbury market.

Anyhoo, hair done*, I launched myself out into the streets to run a few errands. I went to Monsoon and looked at the clothes, and had a quick chat with the nice lady who helped me with my New Job Clothes shopping.

I went to Mark and Spencer and spent a happy 20 minutes picking up tops in Per Una, humming and hawing over them, trying them against myself, finding matching skirts, then putting everything back and not buying anything after a sudden surge of boredom washed over me.

I went to Shoon and exchanged a pair of shoes, after the heel of one of them went white. Very strange. At first I thought I'd stepped in chalk or something, but it didn't come off when I tried to clean it, and I realised that the entire heel, a sort of moulded resin/plastic stuff, had in fact changed colour. It looked a bit like chocolate does when it gets that white bloom on it. Any industrial chemists out there who can offer an explanation?

I'd only had them 6 weeks and they were quite expensive, so I got the shop to change them, which they did cheerfully and with no fuss. So yay for Shoon.

I went to Specsavers and had the nose pieces on my glasses replaced. I tried cleaning them (there's a theme developing here) but they had gone all skanky and discoloured and made me look like I am a filthy pig who never washes her face. So they had to go.

I don't want people knowing stuff like that about me straight off.

Did a bit of shopping, bought loads of inserts for my Filofax, including a street map of London, which will come in handy. I am well aware how sad it is that I like stationery shops as much as I do.

Bought a copy of the Big Issue off a guy who said "Come on darling...to you, one pound fifty and a smile...light up my day." Heh. I am such a sucker for a bit of chat.

As I was driving home I passed a big handmade sign on a fence that said "Happy Retirement Crazy Dave!!" (I think..the name isn't important). I wondered how you retire from being crazy, and go about spending the rest of your life being sane and sensible.

There was a dad and two little boys walking into town, the dad carrying a cake tin shaped like the number 5. Holding his hand was the smaller of the boys (probably the 5-year-old), who was wearing a big hooded coat, carrying a plastic sword. As I got closer I saw that under the hood, he sported a full-face mask, making him look like The Boy In The Iron Mask. The look on his dad's face clearly said He Refused To Leave The House Without It.

And last night we went to a mate's birthday party, which was lovely. We ate the world's largest paella and saw lots of friends. Marvellous.

And now I have to go to Morrison's. Mmm-mmmmm.



*Looks exactly the same as it did before, but has apparently regained bounce and lift due to the layers not being too heavy now.

Pigtastic

So, I've been to Bath today.

Look:



We thought about going to have a giant teacake there but we ate our own weight in chicken at Wagamama's for lunch, so were too full on the way back to the car. Maybe next time.

It was rainy and warm, a nightmare combination, because you're wearing a coat to stop you getting wet, then you're far too hot. Because you're wearing a big raincoat.

Why aren't scientists fixing stuff like that? Tch.

Bath is having some sort of pigfest . We spotted several.













I particularly like "Piggles" at the end there.

The one with the bandage had a little sign saying "I have been to hospital, please DO NOT sit on me." Maybe I was seeing things, but he had a worried look in his eye.

I have a lovely picture in my head of 25 foreign* tourists all piling on his back and trying to take an amusing photo, with hilarious consequences.

Other news: Remember my glorious raffle victory from the weekend? Yeah you do. When I played my guitar with the band. Did I mention that already?

Well, check this out, all you sad unlucky non-raffle winners:





How great is that, eh?

Also. Been shopping for anti-mole hardware.

The problem:





Bastards have dug trenches all over the front garden, and are now making mole hills. So, I took Eldest Niece into town to the ironmongers** where we both eyed up the handsome young man behind the counter while I asked his advice. I bought this:



It's been installed:



Having a top-of-the-range sonic disrupter in the garden hasn't stopped Mr WithaY jabbing the ground with his longbow arrow, muttering furiously.

Tomorrow we're off to Salisbury, to the cinema if we can all agree on a film. I want to see the X Files, but as I am the only geek in the house, I may get outvoted.

We are definitely going to the Thai restaurant to eat, and I expect we'll look at eye makeup for a few hours. Eldest Niece is a bit of an expert. I haven't used so much makeup since I was testing the new camo range at the AGC open day.

Oh yes. Bought some hair straighteners. Managed not to set my hair alight. A proud day. My hair looked pretty much the same, but lacking the interesting waves and curls which make it look a bit special. So. Money well spent there.

I am going to give Eldest Niece ringlets*** at some point. What larks. It's fun being a girl. I forget sometimes.


*Italian, probably

**She's having the time of her life.

***She asked me to, it's not a punishment.

Pleased

New haircut still looks good.

This bodes well.

Go fish

Busy day today.

Had a hectic morning at work, after a nice evening last night eating Chinese with my bestest mate, catching up on each others' news and wandering round looking at bats.

At one point we were looking at the river, standing on a rather lovely arched stone bridge. It was getting dark, and what with all the bats and all, it was looking a bit spooky.

I said "Wouldn't it be scary if a huge bat came crawling up the bridge towards us...would you help me flee to safety?"

He said "No. I only bring you along as monster bait."

Git.

Anyhoo. Work. Had a new team member start today so we had a meeting to get him up to speed on what we are all doing, and to try to get the project plan updated.

We use a really old version of MS Project at work and hardly anyone knows how to use it properly. I looked into getting us all some training so we could, you know, run our project properly. The software version we use is so old that nobody provides training for it any more. We could, however, get trained up in a version we don't have.

I declined that offer, on the grounds that it was rubbish.

Baled out of work fairly early to go to Salisbury to get my hair cut, having stupidly forgotten that it is the Friday before a Bank Holiday, and the roads would therefore be hell on toast. Got there eventually and am now less straggly and dishevelled looking.

Which is nice.

Off to see my lovely Mum tomorrow while Mr WithaY goes sea-fishing. He is under strict instructions to bring back:

a) Lobsters
b) Scallops
c) A turbot

I daresay he will come home bright red and covered in salt, with tales of people hooking each others' ears and losing their glasses/wallets/false teeth over the side of the boat.

Busy weekend

Busy, busy, busy. Yes indeed.

Saturday was a domestic blur in the morning, which was all very pleasing. Went and got the 4-monthly haircut in the afternoon*, and then Mr WithaY and I went to see "Run, Fat Boy, Run" at the pictures.

Very entertaining.

It was fun playing "Oooh, what else has he/she been in?" but the story was good too. And it made London look like a place you'd want to live in, and it's been a long time since I've seen anything that made me think that.

Afterwards we went to the Thai restaurant on the Marketplace and had a fab meal. It took bloody ages to get our main course because they were understaffed. They were very nice about it. Several different members of staff came over to apologise, check we were ok, had drinks etc, and the food was so lovely that it really didn't matter.

The lovely lady from the kitchen was helping to clear tables and so on towards the end of the night so Mr WithaY (who is a bit of a top chef on the quiet) engaged her in conversation about the mysterious green leafy ingredient he'd found in one of the dishes. Holy Basil, apparently.

Which, incidentally sounds like a great chef exclamation. "Holy Basil! Will you look at the size of that onion!"

Today has been spent mostly outside which has been fab, what with the glorious autumn weather. We went picking quinces** this morning at Mr WithaY's dad's place, and then strolled through the village distributing them to our neighbours.

Whether they wanted them or not.

It was all very sociable, as we were invited in for tea and cake, and got to chat with many of our lovely neighbours. A walk of about a mile and a half took almost 3 hours. Marvellous.

We have about 40 pounds of quinces in the kitchen now though. If anyone wants any, let me know. I'll email you some.

*Looks fab, hurrah for me

**Not a euphamism

While I remember...

When I was bored on the train the other day, I took the opportunity to take a picture of my funky new hair cut.

Please admire the layers.



Come to think of it, maybe that's why the ticket lady took so long to get to me...perhaps she saw me doing it and thought I was mental.

Smug? Oh yes.

Am now lovelier than any woman in Wiltshire has a right to be, following my haircut.

I went in all lank and droopy (and the hair was a mess too) and my excellent stylist chopped about 4 inches off my layers, tidied up the ends, and hey presto, I look like a 1970s porn star. A fat, 41 year old one, mind. And it's a good look for me.

Actually, there is something of the 1970s Charlies Angels about it too, which is not to be sniffed at.

I always wanted to be the clever one - Kate, was it?

I am delighted. And as if to prove how funky it looks, as I passed a gang of Italian teenagers (male), one of them said "Hey, sexy!" to me.

Hurrah for me and my fab new "approved by Italian teenagers" hairdo.

Also bought some new shoes, which were in the sale, so a result there. And we got some great big loaves of bread from the market to have great big steak sandwiches with for supper. Could today GET any better?

Ooh - also plan to watch the next Lord of the Rings dvd tonight. I am a happy, happy geek.