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!

Viva Las Sulis

You'll be delighted to know that Mr WithaY and I are both still full of cold.  We seem to be taking part in an unofficial sneezing contest - a sneezathon, if you will - with both of us taking turns to scare the shit out of the other one with several explosive sneezes, followed by weak half-hearted nose-blowing and gasping for air.  Sometimes there will also be an apology, but it never sounds very genuine. 

I have added a painful sore throat to my repertoire, Mr WithaY is suffering with what looks like the latter stages of scurvy. 

We are pasty and grumpy.  More so than usual, I mean.

In an attempt to Snap Out Of It, as we are certain our respective parents would have advised, we went to Bath on Saturday.  We had been planning the trip for a while.  Well, it's a big deal, going to the Big City.  Originally we had intended to go by train, but on the day we decided to drive; well, as we were heading off nice and early, parking would not be a problem.

Or so we thought.

There's a handy car park in Manvers Street, next to the police station, where, local urban myth has it, some naughty scamp planted cannabis in the dead of night in the big concrete flowerpots out the front of the cop shop, only to have it grow and flourish there for months.  I have no idea if it's true, but I do like the story. 

Anyhoo.  We got to the car park by 10.30.  The top level was full, so we headed down the ramp to the spacious and charming* lower level.   Gah!  Half of the lower level was fenced off, with no apparent reason.  There was a space, but it was a bit tight to cram Mr WithaY's huuuuuuge LandRover into it.  He managed, avoiding all the parked cars around him AND the concrete pillar. 

The agenda for the day was as follows:

1)  Scour all the charity shops in Bath for appropriate 1940s-style menswear that would fit Mr WithaY.  Don't ask. 

2)  Have lunch out somewhere nice, possibly after meeting our mate Ed, to whom Mr WithaY needed to pay some money**. 

3)  More charity shop scouring.  There are a lot of charity shops in Bath.

4)  Visit Long Tall Sally (the clothes shop, not the person) and see if there was anything nice in their sale.

5)  Take a peek in the guitar shop just out of interest, not to buy anything, no honestly, I'll only be in there a minute.

6)  Go to Habitat, to try and Get With The Trends. 

7)  Finally wend our weary way back to the car, laden with the fruits of our shopping expedition, exhausted and happy, and hopefully thoroughly snapped out of our colds.

The reality was somewhat different. 

Once the car was safely parked and the EXTORTIONATE parking ticket bought, we headed into town.  The very first charity shop, almost the very first shop, that we found, delivered everything we needed and more.  Mr WithaY acquired two pairs of sturdy woollen trousers, suitably voluminous and pleated, and a dark green corduroy jacket which he is seriously considering wearing to work "because it's really nice."   All for under £25. 

They go with his new patterned tank top that he had already bought (online without my knowledge, honestly that man's a constant fount of startlement) a treat. 

I found a copy of Bill Bryson's "A Short History of Nearly Everything" which I have been meaning to buy for ages, and only had to pay £2.50 for it.  Result. 

So, we were two hours from meeting our mate, and had already completed the bulk of the day's mission.  What to do...what to do?

Aha!  There's a Patisserie Valerie in Bath.  Where they sell Eggs Benedict.  Nom nom nom.  We had a late breakfast, and admired our bargains. 

Suitably sustained, we headed back out to see what adventures Bath held.

In the covered market, I found this.  Elvis.  But in Lion form! 

I honestly thought my heart would stop - it is so perfect.  Look at the sneer on him!

And the attention to detail...well...

I had to be led away by Mr WithaY.

Remember the Bath Pigs, a while ago?  I was really hoping this would be the first of many leonine interpretations of rock legends, but he seemed to be a one-off. 

Also, this man wins the There Must Be Easier Ways To Make A Living Award:

It was raining!   So...on a tightrope, playing the fiddle, in the rain.  For (I looked*** in his hat) about 8 quid. 

Lunch.  Ah yes, lunch.  We went to the Hall and Woodhouse.  It's a strange place, almost a pub, almost a giant waiting room, almost a bistro, not quite anything entirely.  It was very busy, but we found somewhere to sit, and I ordered an egg mayonnaise sandwich. 

It arrived, presented disarmingly in what looks like a swabs dish from a Stalinist military hospital.

Mmmmm.  Appetising.

To be fair, it wasn't a bad sandwich, despite having lettuce in it when the menu had only mentioned cress, and arriving with a portion of chips on the side which, again, the menu failed to mention. 

I should write restaurant reviews.

Lunch completed, we scooted back out into the rain to complete the remaining missions on our list.  Long Tall Sally had moved, so we walked up and down a while till we found the new shop, where I bought a couple of tops in the sale.  It's great being slightly less obese.  You have so much more choice in clothes shops.

Then, as we were in the area, we called into the guitar shop.

What a sack of arse that was.

It is staffed - as most guitar shops in my experience seem to be - by aloof young men with complicated hair and achingly hip rock-god clothing styles.  In this place, though, there is no elder guitar statesman to manage them, and rein in their sneering when a middle-aged woman wanders in off the street.  I shan't be buying anything from them, even if I do decide to sell my Rickenbacker and invest in something else in the future.

Bastards.

I was tempted to steal a quote from Ab Fab's Patsy - "You can drop the attitude, you only work in a shop you know."








*Dank, piss-smelling dungeon.  With pay machines. 

**The money payment is related to the clothes purchasing at point (1) above.  It's all very bizarre complicated, but if things pan out, I promise to provide a full report later in the year. 

***Yes, yes, I gave him some money.  Well, it's traditional.

Covers

Welcome to the inside of my head.

Today it has mostly been full of the echoing sounds of lung-searing coughs and whining. 

There has also been a bit of guitar music as I tried to master the intro to "Weather With You*" and gave up, moving onto the far simpler and more satisfying chord sequences of  "Nothing Else Matters**" segueing (sp?) into "Rocking in the Free World***" and "Your Decision****" by way of light relief. 

The day started early, when I woke up, coughed a bit, then gradually slid into the full heaving paroxym, ending with streaming eyes and panicked racing heartbeat, imagining I was about to die.  I didn't.  I expect you worked that out.

Mr WithaY went and made me a cup of fresh ginger, hot lemon and honey, which was great until you got to the last inch or so, which was startlingly fibrous.  Next time, I think we will deploy a sieve.  The reaminder of my morning was spent in bed, wheezing and watching Star Trek Deep Space Nine on tv, wearing what was effectively a bed jacket.  Ok, it was a really little cardigan/shrug thing, but by wearing it over my nightie I think it turned into a bed jacket. 

I was WORKING it, baby.  Working it like an OLD LADY.

Tomorrow is a bit of a big day.  We have a visit from Her Majesty's Finest***** to discuss the ongoing repercussions of the SSFH******, so there's a fairly high stress level chez WithaY today.   Once it's all sorted out, if it ever is, I think I will write a book about it all.  With a gritty dreary black and white photo on the front cover, and some quotes from Serious People saying how enthralling it is.

Once you get the cover sorted, the rest is easy. I expect.


People do judge a book by it, they say.  Need to get it right. 



*Crowded House
**Metallica
***Neil Young
****Alice in Chains.  The timing on that is a bugger, and as soon as I start to sing it, I lose the ability to play the chords.  Not that I was singing today, mind.
*****Ha.
******Shit Storm From Hades

Creased

In the car park at the big Tesco in Shaftesbury we saw a builder's van with the name "Crumpler and Son" on it. 

What other trade would I want a Mr Crumpler to turn up for, I wonder?

Origami?

Ironing and laundry services?

Plate glass installation?

Panel beating?

Gift wrapping?

Tarmac laying?

So many possibilities.  If I ever change my name, I think I will become Lucy Crumpler. 

Also, why has nobody created a childrens' television series/book/top trumps game called "Combat Wombat"?  I might have a crack at it myself. 

There's no plot development or indeed character ideas beyond the name, but if "18 Wheels of Justice" can get made, hell, this must have a future.  I bet they started with the title and worked back from there.  Mr WithaY refers to it as "The Truck of Shame" which is not a bad title either.

Other news:  Finally, finally received the long-awaited letter from the law.   It's only taken them 4 months to convey it 20 miles.  Still, it draws a line under some of the SSFH* loose ends.

That's a bizarrely mixed metaphor.  Sorry.

Also: Twitter.  Hmm, not sure I have got the hang of it yet.  It seems terribly lonely and one-sided.  I like the blog thing, where you write stuff, other people read it, and then comment to tell you (and everyone else) what they think.  It feels like a cheerful and friendly way to communicate. Plus I get to do most of the talking.  Perfect.  Twitter is like dropping meringues into a black hole** and there is no sense that anything you say is registering anywhere else.  Maybe I'll get used to it.

Tried playing my guitar this evening, and still can't sing, which is a bugger.  If that chest infection has lost me my voice I will be very upset indeed.  And my guitar playing wasn't too good either.




*Shit Storm From Hades

**The re-runs of the origianl Star Trek series are brilliant, aren't they?  Those tortured metaphors.  Those wigs.  Kirk's shameless camera-hogging.  The boots.  Just great.

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.

Woke up this mornin'

There has been an interesting new development in the WithaY household.

Am I having a baby?

Why no.

Are we getting another dog?

Not just yet.

Have we won bazillions on the Euro Lottery and can give up paid employment forever?

No*.

Take a guess.

Go on.

I'll help you with a clue....it involves a trip to the music shop in Salisbury yesterday, where Mr WithaY once again proved that there is no such thing as a bad impulse purchase.

Our home now contains, as well as three guitars, a bodhran** and a selection of tin whistles, a brand spanking new blues harmonica.

Many years ago, someone in my family (I can't remember who is responsible for the outrage) gave Mr WithaY a harmonica and a "Harmonica for dummies" book for Christmas. He tried gamely for a fair while, but only ever really managed to sound like an asthmatic who'd swallowed a whistle, and gave up after about three years.

How I wept.

Yesterday we went to Salisbury for a whole list of reasons:

1) Went to the hairdresser. I had a haircut booked at Toni and Guy. Yes thanks, it looks very nice. The girl who did it was flatteringly impressed that it isn't dyed: "It's such a lovely colour! Oh, you lucky thing!" etcetera. I looked at her blonde, blue-eyed loveliness in the mirror and thought "Yeah right...like you'd ever swap." But I kept such uncharitable notions in my head.

2) Went to see Night at the Museum 2 at the pictures. Was amusing enough, but a bit of a firework display, far too much going on for any of the characters to get a chance to engage the audience. But, Hank Azaria is always watchable. Christopher Guest was completely wasted, and not in a fun way though. 6 out of 10.

3) Went to the music shop and bought some books of chords/piano/lyrics. Amy Winehouse, System Of A Down and The Pretenders, to be exact. Should be fun. I am going to force my piano-learning mate*** to play along with me.

While we were in the music shop, and I was busy buying Fender picks and music books, Mr WithaY got chatting to one of the staff. Next thing I knew, he was buying a blues harmonica, or "harp" as the pros in the shop called it, and a "how to play blues harmonica" book.

He's been practicing a lot. Already. I'll let you know how he gets on. He declared that as he now has missing fingers**** he needs a good "blues" name. Stumpy. Fingers. Lawnman. Chopper.

We spent quite a lot of the drive home trying to come up with something appropriate.

Suggestions welcome.









*Arse.

**google it

***hello Sarah!

****A bit of artistic license, but they haven't grown back yet.

Dedicated follower of fashion

Went to see my lovely Mum today, and she is much, much better. Hurrah!

Mr WithaY and I went into town for a wander about and to pick up a few things, as it was such a beautiful day.

There were loads of buskers out, including a lad with a truly fine singing voice, albeit rather quiet, a man playing a harp, and a chap playing some mean slide guitar. We watched the slide guitarist for a bit, and I said "I wish I could do that."

Mr WithaY, instead of riposting with "Give him a biscuit and he might let you," instead opined that I ought to buy a slide* and thus improve my picking no end.

"Why would having a slide improve my guitar picking?" I asked him, interested.

"Well, it just would," he replied, in his 'I can't believe you're questioning me when I am so obviously correct' voice.

When pressed, he had no logical reason for this position, but instead reverted to his fallback argument of "Well, it would just make you funkier." Which, frankly, he uses far too much, and I have no answer to.

We walked down to the motorcycle shop and he drooled over a huge Kawasaki tourer, only five grand, ooh, let's get three.

We wandered into the teeny arcade opposite the bike shop and saw a disturbing slideshow in the window of the nail bar place. All the hands and feet in it looked horribly deformed, like an advert for arthritis relief medication or hammer toe surgery. They all had gorgeous painted nails, though.

We had a damn fine lunch in the Chinese. £6.50 each for three courses. Bargain.

We saw two old women with pushchairs, each containing a big fat dog, cushions and an assortment of toys. Small expensive dogs in elegant handbags I can sort of understand. Huge scabby-looking tongue-lolling dogs laying in dilapidated pushchairs I can't.

Mind you, when every chic fashionista has one, boy will I feel stupid.

I bought a huge jar of giant chocolate buttons from Montezuma's. Marvellous. We sat and ate some whilst watching "Live at the Apollo", in which Jack Dee was entertaining and the other comedians weren't.

On the way home we stopped off in Salisbury and went to have supper in ASK. I had butterfly king prawns as a starter, probably the nicest I have ever had. Very simple, very tasty.

A small group of teenagers came and sat at the table next to us. One of the girls was celebrating her sixteenth birthday so they were all dressed up to the nines. The boys were plastered in hair gel and Lynx, draped in huge cheap bling, the girls were all giggly and pretty in their best going-out clothes.

It was sweet, but boy did it make me feel old.

Over dinner we** made plans for re-landscaping the front garden, and discussed which European cities were likely to get a visit from us for a long weekend this summer.

All good, positive, life-affirming things. Hurrah.




*for my guitar, not to play on in the back garden. That sounds more fun, frankly.

**Me and Mr WithaY. I wasn't interested in the teenagers' opinions.

All the way home

I've been travelling. I went down to see my lovely Mum on Thursday night, and called in to see Youngest Sis and family as well, which was nice. I listened to the Mark and Lard show on Radio 2 on the way home. They make me laugh.

Saturday morning we were up bright and early to drive up to Suffolk (look on a map, American readers) to see our mate Tall Richard and his unfeasibly stylish wife. As we headed out without having any breakfast (most important meal of the day blah blah blah) by the time it got to 12-ish we were starving.

We'd told our mates that we'd be with them by early afternoon, so had plenty of time to stop for some lunch. We decided to stop at the next service station and get some food.

We ended up here where we enjoyed huge fat boy breakfasts. Mmmmmm fried bread.

Once more, I am profoundly grateful that I chose not to have children. There were people there trying to reason with 4-year-olds. The father of the family sat the whole time with his head in his hands, more or less ignoring the wife and 2 small boys he was with. After 20 minutes sitting on the next table, I could see why.

Suitably fortified, we continued to the party house. Our mates made us welcome, we ate like fat greedy kings, I drank myself into a state of invincible superstardom, and we all sat round singing loudly until gone 1am. I played my guitar for hours and hours, and boy were my fingers sore the next day.

And boy, was I hung over.

After a quiet, slightly trembly, breakfast, we headed up to see some lovely relatives who live in that neck of the woods, and enjoyed a visit with them. We headed back onto the road South at about 3-ish and were home by about 6.30-ish which wasn't bad at all. The bulk of the traffic was going in the opposite direction so we more or less kept moving all the way home.

Been at work today, where people keep making references to sinking ships, rats, planks, and so on. It's wearing rather thin.

Next Friday is my last day in the department, which is quite a thought. I have sent out an email invite to a few colleagues to come out for a drink at a local pub to celebrate but other than that it'll be pretty low key. No being driven off the site in an armoured car for me, I think.

Well, unless I try nicking any paperclips.

Debut

I did it. Last night I played a song on my guitar in public, with a proper band. And it was bloody excellent fun.

I didn't forget where I had to come in at the beginning, or where I had to shut up in the middle 8, or when I had to start up again for the big finish. I got all the chords right. I even managed to sing along and remember all the words.

Maybe if I get to do it again I'll have a mic as well as an amp.

The event they were playing at was in the local pub, in aid of Help for Heroes and the NABD , and apparently raised over £300.

My Youngest Sis, her boyfriend and my Eldest Niece were all there too which was lovely. Apparently (and she'll kill me for this), Youngest Sis got all teary-eyed and emotional.

I assume with pride, rather than at my playing.

We had a fantastic success rate on the raffle there too. I am now the proud owner of a funky new crash helmet*, and Mr WithaY has been given a splendid new bike jacket which Youngest Sis won. Not bad for 4 quid's worth of raffle tickets.

I actually won two prizes but decide to keep quiet and not go up to claim the second one as I already had what I thought was the top prize.

I am so going straight to Heaven.

There were some right scary looking "too cool for school" biker types there, which was entertaining. There was also a good sprinkling of mates from the village, so it felt like a friendly crowd all night.

I think the cider might have helped me with my "everyone is lovely and friendly" outlook, in retrospect.

Anyway, Eldest Niece is here to stay for the week, we are going to take a few day trips out and about. Planning to go to Bath tomorrow, so I am hoping it stops raining, or we'll have to spend the whole day in shops. Nightmare.

I think we might be buying some hair straighteners.

I have never straightened my hair, so if it looks especially fantastic I might take a picture. Also, if I set it alight and have to have my head shaved, I will let you know.



*Now I have to get another bike, really.

Its a long way...

Been unbelievably busy with work this week. Anyone would think they paid me, the amount of stuff I have to do for them.

We had a Huge And Important Meeting on Tuesday which took a ton of arranging, what with all the admin stuff (book room, book coffee, book IT, get agenda and reading materials sent out etc), and all the face to face pre-meeting briefing that was going on.

And that's before having to round up the 20-odd people who all had to be there. Herding cats. Oh yes.

By the time the actual meeting came around I was all set to do a Bridget Jones and shout "Oh, why don't you all just go and fuck yourselves!" as they turned up.

I didn't do that.

Well, maybe in my head. Briefly.

Anyhoo, meeting went ok, lots of useful stuff was said, lots of key people were there, nobody threw anything, nobody demanded my head be placed on a spike outside the building. So. A good day.

Wednesday night was interesting.

I went and sat in on the band rehearsal. Boy was it interesting. And boy did I realise I am pretty fucking far from being a musician. Rather dispiriting, to be honest.

Apart from a couple of karaoke encounters* I have never sung into a microphone before, and the whole "not being able to hear myself" meant that I had no idea if I was even in tune. So, not good.

Gah.

Managed to play rhythm guitar** on a couple of songs, which was nice. But I am feeling really low today. It's horrible to feel that rather than being quite good at something you are in fact mediocre and a rank amateur.

I went to London today, which meant an early start and a long, busy, demanding day. So I am knackered right now.

On the bright side, met up with my most excellent mate Tall Richard and had a fine lunch in a subterranean bar place in Whitehall. Was fab. Wish I'd paid more attention to the name so I could recommend it to you all.

Damn.

Overheard a conversation on the platform this morning as we all waited for the train. The local school was celebrating (if that's the right word) Book Week by having all the children dress up as their favourite character from a book.

Parent 1: We were up till 9 last night making wizard hats out of cardboard and gaffer tape.

Parent 2: Oh yes, Harry Potter. My eldest is going as Professor McGonnagle (sp?). Hair in a bun, glasses, robes, the lot. What are yours going as, Parent 3?

Parent 3 (gloomily): The eldest is going as Captain Jack Sparrow. She's read the book of the film, so she says it counts.

(Pause)

Parent 1: And your youngest? What's she going as?

Parent 3 (even more gloomily): Perseus. This morning I had to make a bag with a load of snakes poking out the top for the Medusa's head.

What a way to start the day.




*when I was drunk. And out with a load of mates.

**well, the easy bits at least

Rhinos

Not the spearmint kind. Real ones.

Have had a mate staying for the weekend so have been out and about the place, showing him the sights* and eating vast amounts of lovely food. Hence my lack of posting and general on-line activity for a few days.

In case you were worried.

Yesterday we went for a stroll to Heaven's Gate, a local beauty spot** but as it was a misty day the view was disappointing, so we walked down the path through the trees and had a gawp into Longleat. We saw:

Camels
Giraffes
Pere David deer
A variety of other(unidentified)deer
Rhinos
A raven
Robins
Oh, and I heard a woodpecker

Two of the rhinos were fighting, which was quite exciting, especially as there was a car broken down in their enclosure. Sadly there were no YouTube moments for us to capture on camera, but it was worth watching just in case.

I bought a load of new guitar strings in the music shop as I managed to break two last week. I tend to break the heavy strings too, not the thin ones which is odd. Maybe I should stop wanging them quite so hard.

Other news: Made scones. Which were damn fine.



*Salisbury cinema, mostly

**and dogging site, allegedly

Positive thinking (and a Meme)

Been a bit under the weather one way another for a few days, and realised that I was getting a bit low. So. What to do?

I did a few things.

Firstly, had a long chat with the lovely Mr WithaY, which helped.

Did a few long-neglected domestic tasks which means I now go "Ooh that looks nice" rather than "ugh, I really need to get on and clean/repair/iron/dust that".

I also (and this was my favourite) got around to using the box of words my Mum gave me as a present ages back. It's one of those kits with a load of magnetised words to stick on the fridge. Or in my case, on the metal noticeboard in my sewing room*. It is the "Erotic Poetry" kit.

There are some very interesting words in the box.

You can get other ones. I have also seen a Shakespearean Words version.

Anyhoo. I spent a pleasant few minutes finding all the most positive words and putting them in the middle of the board. Words like Laugh, Sing, Write, Eat, Drink, Love, Friends, Family, Travel, Learn, Read, Joy.

All good stuff. And now, if I feel a bit grumpy, I take a few minutes to look at them and remember what life is about. A small thing, but I am finding it helpful.

It is also amusing to make up sentences with some of the other words. Heh.

I also decided to do a Meme.

The back story: A long time ago I was on a training course and one of the things we had to do was write a list of all the things we were most proud of about ourselves.

I managed two items.

Everyone else in the room was writing and writing, and I sat there with my short list, feeling more wobbly and inadequate with every passing moment.

When we shared some of our lists, I was astounded by what the others had written. One lady had put "Cooked a 4 course meal for 8 people." Someone else had said "Gave a presentation at work to a large group." Someone else said "Gave the Best Man speech at a wedding." And so on.

Not that they weren't achievements, but it never occurred to me that stuff like that was worth recording.

My list was "got degree" and "passed driving test". Both things are about external approval and validation. Not about me recognising good things in myself. It was a real shock to realise that I didn't see that a lot of what I can do is good, or worthwhile, or valid, even without a certificate saying so.

So. I decided to do a Meme on here.

It is a list of 7 Positive Things About Your Life.

1) I have a lovely family. Mr WithaY really does make life worth living sometimes. My sisters (and partners) and Mum are all lovely, kind, funny, caring people. The nieces and nephews are all cheerful, bright, entertaining, well-mannered and healthy. And we all love each other to bits. I know that if I needed them to, any one of them would drop everything and come to help.

2) I have some wonderful friends. Some of them I hardly ever see because life is unpredictable and everyone is busy, but I know they love me, and I do them. We are also so lucky to have such lovely neighbours and friends in the village. It has changed my life immeasurably, having so many kind, funny, geneorous people sharing their lives with me.

3) I live in one of the most beautiful places in the country. Really. It is gorgeous. I can sit in my sewing room and look out at an area of Outstanding Natural Beauty** which would lift anyone's spirits. Plus, if I want to, I can watch people coming and going at the shop and the pub, which is interesting.

4) I can sing. It took me a bloody long time to even be able to say that. But I can. And I'm pretty good at it.

5) I am becoming a half decent guitarist. Which is fab. See item 4. And I adore my Les Paul. Although, I tried a 12-string Rickenbacker semi in a music shop in Cardiff and fell hopelessly in love. Am saving up.

6) This blog. I thoroughly enjoy writing it. It acts as a sort of diary for me, and has introduced me to some great people as well. I started doing it for my own amusement on MySpace almost a year ago, and it has evolved into something which I am now very fond of. And rather proud of. It isn't saying anything clever, or making any great insights, but I love that people read it, and tell me they enjoy it.

7) I make people laugh. And it has taken me the best part of my life to realise that it is a valuable gift. I laugh at my own jokes because, hell, I make myslef laugh too. No bad thing, surely?

Right. Taggage:

Badgerdaddy
John at Cognitive Malfunction
Manuel
B.E Earl
Peter Kenny









*Why I still call it a sewing room when it is at least 3 years since I did any proper sewing, I don't know. Should be the Guitar playing/Working/Frittering away life on the Internet Room.

**and a petrol station. Heh.

Rain

I am hacked off with the weather. We had freaky snow on Friday, bloody torrential rain most of yesterday, and yet more rain and high winds all day today.

Still, am working at home tomorrow so will avoid any floods with a bit of luck.

Other news: Am learning to play Def Leppard's "Bringing on the Heartbreak" on my guitar.

Hurrah for me.

Oranges and lemons

Continuing with the (apparently dull) satsuma theme, a colleague was sat next to me today, his laptop bag left open. I looked, looked again, and spotted what looked like about 50 oranges in there.

I commented on this, and he said "No, only two oranges. The rest are clementines." About ten pounds of fruit.

He then proceeded to cruelly mock my satsuma that was on my desk, eloquently comparing his brighter, bigger, rounder, nicer-smelling clementines to my rather sullen, greenish, lumpy and frankly Frankenstein's monster of a piece of fruit. I believe the expression "I wouldn't touch your satsuma with a ten foot pole" may have been used.

I would have wept with chagrin, but he gave me one of his. And it was much much nicer than mine.

Other news: Sold my Strat yesterday.

I have hardly played it since I got my Les Paul, so it just sat there day after day, looking sad and neglected. My lovely guitar teacher told me about one of his contacts who was after a decent guitar, and gave me his number. I rang him yesterday and asked if he'd like to come round for a road test. So to speak.

He turned up as arranged, and then played the bejeezus out of my Strat for half an hour, making me feel completely rubbish and inadequate. He decided to buy it, and I am pleased it's going to someone who will do it justice.

The down side is that I now feel like all the time and effort I have spent on getting to the standard I have has been wasted and I might as well give up and admit I will never be any fucking good.

Gah.

Rock Chick

Yes, really.

Had a superb guitar lesson this evening. Learned The Hives "Hate To Say I Told You So", Jefferson Starship's "Jane" and we did a cracking version of Metallica's "Nothing Else Matters" - me on rhythm, my lovely teacher providing the (and I quote) face-melting guitar solo. We also did a fine version of Neil Young's "Rocking in the Free World"

Bloody excellent.

And I made him listen to Whitesnake's "Child of Babylon" which he hadn't heard before. I sang that in a folk club once. When they asked if I'd like to perform, I stood up and belted that out.

There was a bit of a stunned silence, then the compere said "Um...very good. Who's that by?" He looked a bit wounded when I said "Whitesnake".

People should sing more. It's good for the soul.

Printer error

Was watching The New Adventures of Superman the other night. One of the episodes where Nazis try to take over the world. There was some kind of a complex plot involving cryogenic freezing, political skulduggery and a bomb, but I wasn't giving it my full attention.

Until this struck me...

Whenever an evil organisation attempts a coup involving the overthrow of the media (especially the Daily Planet), they always have a huge supply of posters, billboard hoarding thingies, pre-recorded videos of themselves gloating and dishing out orders, and those huge building-sized fabric wall hangings, ready to be unfurled at the drop of a hat.

All nicely printed up with their evil logo, in this instance, swastikas.

Why don't the printers just call the police and foil the plot? Tea and medals all round.

They get a rush order in for ten thousand huge banners saying "All Hail the New Evil Regime, Death to All Who Oppose Us, Especially Superman, The Bastard" or something similar, but they never blow the whistle.

Presumably an evil mastermind turns up at the print shop with a badly-sketched image on the back of a fag packet, demands they design a decent one, tells them how many posters etc he wants, and by when ("My Evil Plan comes to fruition on Wednesday, so by 11am would be great, thanks"), and the printers just take the money and get on with it.

What are they thinking? Tch.

Other news: The WithaY house is uncannily tidy. Mr WithaY has been slowly but surely sifting through several years worth of crap in his study, and we can now see the floor again. Just as well because our mate Big Les is sleeping in there on Saturday night.

Kevin the Decorator has played an absolute blinder and the downstairs loo is stripped, pipe-removed, scrubbed, wood-clad and painted, and looks the biz. He is coming back tomorrow to fit new under-stair shelves, and it will then be finished.

I am going to move one of my stained glass panels from upstairs to cover the window in there (for privacy as otherwise it's a clear view out into the garden...and back in of course), and it is all ready.

Our American guests are actually turning up on Friday, not Thursday as we originally thought. They leave Boston on Thursday, but don't get here till Friday. I hope they're not too horribly jet lagged. Still, the spare room is lovingly prepared for them. I plumped the pillows up specially.*

We're off to Salisbury tomorrow to get some Big Town shopping and hopefully also get to the pictures to see Stardust.

I re-read it on the train the other week whilst trying to get to London. It is a lovely, lovely story. If you haven't read it, do so. And then read American Gods. Go on. You'll thank me one day.

Shamefully, I realised that I love that Take That song from the film. Gah. How embarrassing. I like a Take That song.

But (hasty attempt to re-establish some feeble rock chick credentials) I can now play "Teenage Kicks" on the geeetar, and it sounds bloody marvellous.



*Not a euphamism. Tch.

Wardrobe malfunction

Blimey this feels like a long week.

I think it has something to do with Monday's hellishly early start, then a busy (if depressing) day in the office, then a reasonably stressful day in Bath yesterday, and another busy day in the office today.

And I went to the gym on Tuesday, AND had a guitar lesson. So busy.

My new guitar is away being set up, as it has terrible fret buzz which is really irritating. My lovely guitar teacher is taking it to his mate's to have new strings and a bit of technical tweaking done. I am looking forward to getting it back, as I miss playing it. My Strat is great, but I do prefer the Les Paul.

How fantastic to have the choice of two such incredible guitars. Shame my playing isn't really doing either of them justice. Heh.

Working at home tomorrow so at least I can slouch about in my pyjamas all morning whilst drafting job specifications if I feel like it.

The pyjamas, I mean.

I'll be doing the drafting whether I feel like it or not. Well, they pay me, so I ought to make the effort, really.

Realised this morning that I need to wash my car - that time of year already - because when the sun hits the side windows I can't see through them properly due to the layer of filth plastered over the glass. Such a slattern.

On a more positive domestic note, had a bit of a clear-out last night. I took a load of clothes and shoes out of my wardrobe and am going to try them all on tonight (not all at once, you understand) and anything that is too small, too old, too scruffy, too stained or too frumpy will either make its way to the recycling bin or the charity shop, depending on condition.

I have a wardrobe stuffed full of clothes, but always wear the same few things, so this will be a good way of remembering what else I have, and also clearing some space to put new stuff if I need to.

I seldom buy new clothes because I think "I already have loads" but if I don't wear them, I should get rid of them and make space for stuff I will wear.

In fact today I am wearing a pair of shoes I'd forgotten I had. I was wondering why I'd shoved them to the back of the cupboard as they are quite pretty, I can drive in them, and they go well with my work trousers. I kept wondering right up until they rubbed a huge blister on my instep. Ahhhh. THAT'S why I stopped wearing them! Now I remember.

Good job I have a box of plasters in my desk. Why yes, I was in the Girl Guides....how did you guess?

I found some suits from Long Tall Sally that I bought in a sale which still had the tickets on them - not worn once in the last 5 years. All two sizes too small when I bought them.

What a fucking waste of money that was, eh?

I'll try them on tonight and if they don't fit (which they just might as I have lost a bit of weight) off to the charity shop they go. And then instead of seeing a row of half a dozen suits when I open the wardrobe, I will see the three I actually wear.

The same goes for the jumpers I bought which don't suit me, the paint-covered jeans with a busted zip, the T-shirts that are too shabby even for the gym, and the many, many bizarre scarves, gloves and bags I have acquired over the last 20 years that are too mental to ever leave the house.

Mr WithaY is away so I have no fear of being discovered dressed like an inept drag queen on a bad hair day.

Toast in a Car!

After a very grumpy and tiresome morning in the office, I am off this afternoon to go clay pigeon shooting as part of a team building event. Team building. And they're letting us use guns. Excellent.

This morning's drive to work took over an hour which is a bit of a record on a non-snowy, no-flood day.

The reason for this is that it is harvest time, and the roads round here are full of huge agricultural vehicles towing trailers of grain. All very nice, part of the great cycle of life and all, but fucking annoying when you have to cross Salisbury Plain at 10 miles an hour, the fifteenth car in a queue behind two of them. With at least seven more cars behind you.

Not that I was counting or anything.

One thing made me laugh - a guy heading in the opposite direction who was driving along with a plate of toast balanced on his dashboard. Breakfast on the move.

Saw a dead cow too. A first for me.

It was lying on its back in a field beside the road, hind legs stuck straight up, front legs kind of curled up over its chest. And boy was it bloated.

There was a Police off-road truck on the tank track next to the field so I assume they were dealing with it. Calling the farmer, the butcher, the tanner, notifying the next of kin, that sort of thing.

Made me feel a bit sad, oddly. I am so used to seeing the cows as I drive back and forth every day; they always look so happy, eating, mooing, blinking their long eyelashes, just wandering about. I felt a small shock of loss when I saw one of them (one of the nice pale yellow ones too, not a brown and white bastard) stark and stiff in a field.

Other news: Our lovely mate Owen came over for dinner last night. I made a rather fab curry, which contained (among other things) peppers, aubergine, chickpeas, cumin seed, coriander seed and chicken.

Bloody great. Mr WithaY made his world famous Bombay Potatoes (ingredients: potatoes, other stuff), and I also knocked up a plum, dried cherry and walnut crumble. With custard. Boy were we full.

We watched The Brilliant Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (or whatever) which was really, really good. Jim Carrey in a serious role. What a revelation. He was superb. And not in the least bit annoying enough to make you want to hit him with a frying pan, which made a nice change.

If you haven't seen it, do so. Although the bit with the woman in the waiting room with a box full of dog toys brought a tear to my eye. What a sap I am.

Also had a guitar lesson (busy night) and can now play the complete "Black Dog" riff. Hurrah for me.

Games

I ache.

My shoulders and right arm are stiff as hell, and every time I stretch (because I'm not quite tall enough yet) I go "Yow...fuckit!" because I forgot how much they ache.

Why?

Not because I have been working hard at the gym.

Not because I have been pulling big weeds out of the garden.

Not even because I have finally tackled the Mount Kilimanjaro of ironing that threatens to overwhelm the whole village before too much longer.

No.

Our lovely mates we stayed with after the party on Saturday have a WII game thingy. You know, one of those ones where you hold the little controller and wave your arms about like an idiot, trying to play darts, or kill goblins or whatever.

I am a natural at boxing, it seems.

Not sure if I'm pleased with that or not, really. Especially as my shoulders hurt so much today. Anyhoo, it was great fun. We also played a bit of "Zelda, Slightly Unconvincing Anime Fairy Princess of the Bog People" or something, which was amusing in a prescriptive kind of way, but I liked the boxing best.

I might get one, as Mr WithaY quite liked it too. I'll look around and see how much they cost. Plus it would entertain the nieces and nephews when they came to visit, rather than them asking what DVDs (loads, none you'll like though), games (loads, none you'll like though) and places to go locally (loads, none you'll like though) are available to them at our house.

That exciting walk to look at the river loses some charm after the third or fourth trip, apparently.

I took the scratch plate off my new guitar at the weekend, so now it looks even lovelier than it did before. Sounds pretty damn fine too.

I am learning the riff for Led Zep's "Black Dog" at the moment, which is hugely satisfying. I play it much too slow, but at least I can remember it properly. I tend to play too fast, so slowing things down a bit is no bad thing.

Took my acoustic guitar to the party but the band who were playing were a bit too serious and musician-y to make me feel ok about playing along. They were very good, but I don't think anything I can play would have worked with their sound. They were very nice and asked me if I wanted to join them, but I declined on the grounds of shyness and ineptness.

Did play Semisonic's "Closing Time" for some of my mates though. Ha. It's surprisingly hard playing the dark, in a field, whilst outside the best part of a bottle of red wine.

Smug. Again.

Ha. Have had a hugely constructive day at work, and am about to leg it to my bestest mate's house for the evening. Hurrah! Haven't seen him for bloody months, and am very excited cos he has a new car to show me.

He's been without one for about 3 years now (don't quote me, I'm winging the numbers here) so I will begin the traditional "Why don't you come and visit for the weekend" hassle-fest today. I bet he's missed that.

I'm in a goooood mood today, the sun is out at last, so it actually feels like summer again.

We had an email last night from our lovely mates in America who are coming over to visit in October. Unfortunately too late to visit the Frome Cheese Show (Sept 8th, tickets on sale now!) but I daresay we'll find something to do to keep them entertained. The pub over the road is likely to be a good place to start.

Had a nice guitar lesson last night. My lovely teacher showed me how to re-string my Strat, which was surprisingly straightforward. It sounds gorgeous now. It keeps dropping out of tune, of course, but once the new strings have settled down it'll be fab. He said "We're a guitarist short for the gig on Friday, bring your guitar to the party". Heh. Silly bugger.

Other news: The ungrateful bastard birds have started to eat the food in the garden. Rather like sulky teenagers they are pretending they're not interested, then going "Well, I'll just have this one sunflower seed, as you make such a FUSS".

When you look out again five minutes later, the air is thick with chaff. Excellent.