Lady of Leisure

I've bitten the bullet and put in the paperwork to claim my Civil Service pension a few years early. This means that:

(a) I have a regular monthly income, albeit a smaller one than if I'd waited, and

(b) the pressure is off me to find another job, until I either get bored, or spot something I really fancy.

I've had a job since I was a teenager (part-time), throughout studying for my degree (part-time, and full-time on the summer holidays) and then after graduation for over 20 years until I left the Civil Service (full-time) so I feel like a bit of a hiatus now is not anything to get stressed about. 

And how am I filling my days, without the endless drudgery of earning my living?

Well. 

I have joined the gym, and am going along 3 times a week to try and sort out the annoying wheezing/coughing which has become much more pronounced since I had Covid. Also, it will get me fitter and hopefully give me more energy. My fitness instructor/lard wrangler was most helpful, and so far it's been very enjoyable. Let's see what I have to say in 6 months.

A holiday has been booked. We are off to France in a few weeks, to visit the gorgeous city of Lyon. I've never been there before and am very much looking forward to seeing the sights, visiting the ruins, eating the food and mangling the language.  We're going on the train, so will hopefully see a fair bit of the countryside as we travel down there. 

Dressmaking. Yes, I am once more grappling with my creative demons. We're off to a Regency picnic at the end of May (no, I don't really know what that entails) so I am making myself an early C19 outfit. I've made loads of re-enactment kit for myself, Mr WithaY and various mates over the years, but that was all either English Civil War or Medieval, so a more tailored dress in very different - and much less forgiving - fabric is proving challenging. 

So far in this project I have:

• Acquired a lovely Egyptian cotton duvet cover in a charity shop (£3!) to make a toile;
• Made a toile from a commercial pattern, then redrafted it to include more authentic C19 tailoring and construction;
• Cut out the new pattern in gorgeous embroidered fine cotton lawn for the overdress;
• Tried on the toile-and-overdress combo;
• Discovered that they are at least three sizes too big for me, and deconstructed them;
• Re-drafted the toile pattern to (hopefully) fit me properly.

I have also found some passable-looking footwear, some gloves and a straw bonnet which I can gussy up to match the dress once it's finished. I shall make a small bag to match either the dress or the jacket, depending on which fabric I have the most remnants left to play with.

Oh, and I have to make a jacket, but I think I can use the dress pattern as the basis for that, if I amend the neckline and add long sleeves. Plenty to do.

The dog is loving having both of around more during the day, and has lost weight due to the higher activity level this generates. We've also had family down (up?) to visit at weekends a couple of times, which has meant sitting in the garden and having drinks and barbecues. Lovely. 

So far, so good. 

The End of an Era

 18 months since the last post. Some sort of record. 

Lots has happened since then, of course, most of which will be all too painfully familiar to warrant re-hashing here. Bullet points relating specifically to the WithaY household:

• Neither of us has caught Covid, thankfully. Or not as far as we know, anyway. Those little lateral flow tests keep coming up negative, which may mean nothing at all, but we've clung to that, worn our masks, had our vaccines and (mostly) stayed healthy.
• We haven't managed to travel anywhere (like almost everyone else in the world) but Mr WithaY did venture over to France for a couple of weeks last summer, as soon as it was allowed, to visit his mother. The trip was a success, right up until the point where his overnight train from Toulouse to Paris was cancelled, and he spent the night sleeping fitfully in a train carriage, in a thunderstorm. He missed his Eurostar connection back to the UK as a result, and arrived home many, many hours later than anticipated. 
• Work for both of us has been variable.  All of Mr WithaY's work was cancelled very early in the pandemic so he decided to claim his pension a few years early, as a reduced income is better than no income at all. I was able to continue working all the way through the pandemic. 
• However.  Last week I was offered the opportunity to take redundancy - things in the world of bookselling are Not Going Well - which I took up. So this week marks the end of a 4 and a bit year stint with my current employer.  I might claim my pension a few years early now. I hear it's great.

Other than that, things have been more or less OK. The dog is still a source of great joy and comfort, even when she wakes us up at 5am by barfing loudly in the kitchen. Ah, Labradors.

Things which I am planning to do to fill the endless empty days include:

Writing. Yes, hello.

Dressmaking. Specifically, making a Regency style dress and jacket, because we're planning to attend a Regency picnic later this summer. I've never made anything from the Eighteenth or Nineteenth Century, so it will be an interesting project. 

Bonnet decorating. See Regency reasons above. I bought a bonnet "blank" from the Internet, and will be furbishing it up to match the dress I make. What larks.

Going swimming.  This is mainly because I treated myself to a nice new swimsuit and want to wear it. Bad luck, other members of the public. Prepare your eye bleach.

Experimental cookery. I've mastered making yeasted dough, something which always previously eluded me, and I am now keen to try out many other techniques - as I will have more time, why not? We bought a deep-fat fryer ages ago and still haven't used it, so I might crack on with some Japanese bar snack type food, which will be perfect for feeding to unsuspecting visitors over the summer.

So. Plans. All quite small-scale and domestic, but that's not bad thing. 

Sparks

I went out last night.  Yes!  Out of the house, right out of the village, even.  Ooh, get me.

Mr WithaY got home from his week living in the woods on Sunday night, had a swift shower and change of clothes to try and mitigate the smell of mud/wood-smoke/squirrels, and then we scooted over to Salisbury City Hall to watch Rich Hall perform.

He was hilarious.

My favourite joke (also one of the few I can remember) came while he was talking about visiting Graceland, and being asked to leave for laughing at something he was looking at whilst the tour commentary was talking about the death of Elvis.  He said "Anyway, if he was The King, why was he buried out in the back yard like a hamster?"

The young woman sitting next to me had the loudest laugh I have ever heard, almost to the point of pain, and she found pretty much everything he said hilarious.  Well, most of it was.  I scooched away from her as much as possible, ending up leaning on Mr WithaY cosily, if a bit uncomfortably.

It made me consider the etiquette of such a situation.  What do you do?  What would YOU have done?

(A) Say "Can you please stop laughing so much?"  It was a comedy show, after all, and I was laughing too. I'd have sounded like a miserable old bag, for sure.

(B)  Say "Can you please try to laugh more quietly?" Again, she was having the time of her life, and there was no reason for me to try to make her feel self-conscious.  Also, miserable old bag-ness.

(C)  Say "Can I have some of that white wine you're necking please?"  I think that may have contributed to the non-stop screams of hilarity she was emitting.  Greedy, but less miserable old bag, potentially.

I should have gone for option C.

To be fair, her boyfriend/partner was nudging her when she was in danger of shattering the light fittings, but he was laughing his head off too.  Well, everyone was.  It was lovely.

We drove home in a fine mood, admired the glorious stars for a bit in the front garden and then came in to a ridiculously late supper of lemon chicken, pasta and grape salad.  Nom nom nom.

Today the electrician has been here, replacing the light in my study.  I had a funky lampshade made of millions of bits of metal, like tiny mirrors on springs, which I liked a lot, but it had a single low-energy light bulb in it.  Fine when I am sitting at my computer, right by the window.  I can work in comfort, enjoying an abundance of natural light and the many car accidents and near misses I get to see out of the window.

However, when I am sewing, my sewing table is at the other side of the room, far away* from the window, and the lighting is appalling even in daylight. I realised I had to do something about it when it took me almost 5 minutes to thread the needle in my sewing machine because I just couldn't see the bloody thing properly.

So. Now I have a smart little 3-halogen spotlight, providing me with task lighting for my desk AND my sewing table.  It also lights up my guitars beautifully.  The Rickenbacker is on a stand now, next to the Les Paul, both looking rather gorgeous.  If only I could play them with anything approaching real skill.  Hey ho.

I have put the funky million mirror lightshade in the spare bedroom, so I can still admire it when I want to.

The electrician had also been asked to look at one of the lights in the kitchen.  We have v posh downlighters under the cabinets on the walls, and one of them packed up a few months ago.  We replaced the bulb, we replaced the replacement bulb, we tried the non-working bulb in other light fittings where it worked perfectly, and we eventually concluded that the actual light unit was broken.

The electrician listened to this tale of woe and said "Ah, it's probably the transformer."

I had visions of Optimus Prime putting together light fitting ineptly, thus causing the problem, but no, he meant the little box of electric magic that sits up on top of the cabinet, out of sight.

He got up on his stepladder and waggled the cables about till the transformer came into view.  He inspected it and said "Hmm, looks ok."

Then he turned the lights on, and hey presto, bastard corner light worked.

Mr WithaY almost had kittens.

So.  A loose connection. Probably.  If it stops working again, we may have to get a new transformer.  But we may just need to get the electrician to come and waggle it about a bit.  Much cheaper.

Today I have applied for a couple more part time jobs, but with no great expectations of being fortunate.  I think I am too old and/or too over-qualified for a lot of the jobs I see advertised.  I am also picky.  I want something part time - not more than 25 hours a week, ideally - within 15 miles of home.  That limits me considerably.  And I don't want to do anything dull.

I read this article with interest the other day.

This quote in particular struck a chord:


Ministers are determined to change the culture of the civil service in which “lazy” staff are allowed to get away with poor performance because their managers are unwilling to have “difficult conversations”.


They also say:

Another minister, with a background in business, said there were “real problems” with the quality of the civil service. “It is far too big.  They are lazy. There is no leadership. You can’t get rid of people,” the minister said.

Sacking 90% of staff and paying the remaining 10% high salaries would revolutionise the way some departments work, the minister suggested.

Yes.  Yes it would.  For example, I suggest that a lot of Departments would simply grind to a shuddering halt, with the remaining staff squawking in terror as the sheer volume of work overwhelms them because no fucker has had the forethought to cancel projects, or cut out entire workstreams which no longer have the resources to complete them.

Be nice, too, if they remove the multiple layers of externally-imposed measurement and reporting schemes which took up about a quarter of my time in some jobs.  All "important" and "urgent" and "mandatory" so you had to spend fucking hours filling in Dashboard Reports and Progress Plans and Transition Staircase Reviews rather than actually delivering anything.

....aaaaand breathe.....

In the almost 23 years I was employed by the Civil Service, I only knew of one person who got fired, and that was for breaching the rules about publishing information on the Interwebs, the fuckwit.  I did, however, encounter a number of people who were lazy, dishonest, cunning, under-performing and sometimes downright mental, all of whom kept their jobs because they were able to play the system and make sure that they got transferred to be someone else's problem before they were put on formal disciplinary measures.

I worked with a chap once who was suspended for looking at porn on his laptop in the office.  Whilst several colleagues were in the same room, me included.  Yes, that's right.  ON HIS WORK LAPTOP.  IN THE OFFICE.  DURING WORKING HOURS.

He continued to do so after several of his colleagues asked him not to.  Eventually - after a couple of polite requests were ignored - he was reported to his boss, and then to the head of the team.

He got put on "gardening leave" for fucking months and months, there was an enquiry, he was reprimanded, he dropped a grade in pay, and then came back to work in the same office, tanned, fit and gloating about how nice his garden was looking after having all that time off to look after it.

Not very impressive.

I've also worked with people who had social skills presumably learned from bonobo chimps.

Scratching.  Hands waaaay too deep and too active in pockets whilst talking to female colleagues.  Inappropriate "adjusting" of parts whilst in meetings.  Nose picking.  Farting.  Belching.  Taking off shoes to share the stench of old socks with the rest of the office.

Yes, it was pretty much all there bar the shit flinging, and given the right combination of canteen food and boredom, I expect that could have happened.

I might not be earning much money these days, but by Swansea I am far, far less stressed and unhappy and frustrated than I was for the last 5 years of my corporate career.  






*About 8 feet.  It's a small room.

It costs a lot of money to look this cheap

This week is the (sort of) official start to the new way of life in the WithaY household. 

Mr WithaY finished his job last week - although today is the last formal paid working day for him - and had a leaving party on Friday lunchtime at the pub.  It was very pleasant, a lot of his colleagues came to join him, some travelled some distance to be there, which was very touching.  There were the traditional semi-embarrassing speeches, the giving of gifts and cards, and then it was home for tea and medals.

Twenty eight years and one day, he's done.  It's a long time, and a lot of memories.  But now it's all change, moving forward with the new life and all that.  We're both still feeling positive about it all, despite the facts that:

a) We are no longer earning any money
b) The world economy seems to be doomed.  DOOOOOOOMED
c) Winter is coming

Hey, what's the worst that can happen?  Frankly, given the amount of shite* that we have coped with together over the last few years, I think we can handle it, whatever it is. 

So.  Today.  Dawning of a new era etcetera etcetera etcetera.

We began by getting up at a reasonable hour, drinking tea, eating porridge and listening to Radio 4 Extra, a radio station I like more and more.  All very domestic. 

Then Kevin the Decorator arrived.  He's great.  He's fixing the huge unsightly crack across the bedroom ceiling, repainting the (cracked) bathroom ceiling, repainting the water-stained patch on my study ceiling, and replacing the broken front doorstep in our porch.  He can do anything. 

Mr WithaY made him a cup of tea, then headed off to see his mate Josh in Somerset.  They are both on the bushcraft training course, and he handily lives nearby**.  Josh is having our hideously uncomfortable futon for his house (although the more I hear about the house the more it sounds like a shelter made from brash in the forest) and in return he is helping Mr WithaY make a knife.  For bushcrafting. 

Mr WithaY has lately also been making lengths of cord out of nettle fibres.  It was the homework he was given after the last bushcraft course instalment.  The mice set up home in the bundles of cord-making and fire-lighting vegetation he has been garnering, hence his determination to remove them at all costs.  Well, peanut butter doesn't grow on trees.  Unlike the bark he needs for kindling.

He is thoroughly enthusiastic about his new career choice, which is excellent. I am going to have to learn to tolerate the seemingly endless collections of twigs, bark, reeds, plant seeds and Interesting Bits Of Wood that are accumulating around him.  He's like Saint Francis of Assisi, but for woodland detritus.

I've been sorting out stuff around the house, hence Kevin the Decorator's visit, partly in preparation for the winter, partly to try and kick start myself a bit as I have got lazy over the last couple of weeks.  In fact, once I finish this, I am going to cut out a load of cushion covers that I have been meaning to do for about 3 weeks now. 

Yeah.  Lazy.

Later on this week we are off to Gloucestershire for our lovely mates' wedding, which I am very much looking forward to.  I am hoping their mad spaniels will be dressed as bridesmaids, with baskets of rose petals around their necks but I fear I may be in for disappointment.
 
The hen party I went to last week was interesting.  I'd never been to a hen party before, which for a woman in her mid-40s is remiss.  It was at a "Spa Hotel" near Bath***, and whist the hotel part was mostly ok, the spa wasn't great.  Perhaps I am spoilt by having been to Ragdale Hall a couple of times.  However, I don't think that having to walk across a car park and a fairly busy road in your robe and slippers to get to the treatment rooms is very nice, or wait in the lobby of the block while guests and conference attendees squeeze past you.  Not classy.

The treatments themselves were fine; I had a sparkly manicure:

It lasted approximately 36 hours before I'd mangled the polish to such an extent that I had to take it all off again.

We had Champagne and nibbles and balloons and all sorts in one of the rooms before dinner, everyone dolled up in their party finery:

The photo is blurred due to Champagne.  Note the straws with plastic cocks on.  Niiiiice. 

We ate a pleasant dinner in the restaurant, in a little side room that was semi-private so our laughing didn't (I hope) disturb too many other guests.  However, after dinner we went back to one of the rooms and had more Champagne, and I suspect we may have been a tad noisy.  But bugger it, I'll not be going back there, so it doesn't matter, eh?

The hotel could be really lovely, but they consistently failed to get things right - everyone's bill was wrong, so we had to get them all recalculated, and even then they didn't seem to charge us for all the wine we had, despite being asked several times to check the numbers.  The bedroom I was in was clean and comfy, despite one or two issues with the bathroom****, and the food was (mostly) good, if a bit chaotic and disorganised.  It was ok for a one night "party" awayday.  I'd have been very disappointed if I'd booked it as a spa weekend break. 

I had a two day hangover afterwards, which I am blaming on lack of sleep. 

Right.  Cushion time. 










*See multiple previous posts about ill health, various family crises, the Shitstorm From Hades, many and varied tiresome work hassles, yadda yadda yadda...

**Within 50 miles.

***We went here...the reviews are a fair reflection of my own experience. 

****The shower head was hanging on by a thread from a large ragged hole in the ceiling, and the sink drain stank of sewage.  Not nice when brushing your teeth with a hangover. 

Powerage

I was planning on writing a post yesterday to whine about how hung over I was after a hen party, but then all the power went off - and stayed off for 9 hours - so I didn't. 

It was a very odd day.  Having no electricity makes life uncomfortable and awkward when you're utterly used to it.  I kept thinking of things to do:

"I'll do some laundry...oh, no power." 

"I'll just put the hoover round...oh, wait...."

"I'll do the ironing this morning....oh, no I won't."

"I'll make some cushion covers...gah, no sewing machine..."

"Cake! I'll bake something...oh...can't light the oven without the power*.  Bugger."

So it went on.  In the end I cleaned the windows (inside).  By mid afternoon I was stressed and grumpy, so tried to chill out and read a book, but it was really very strange. 

And of course my fallback "thing to do" - dick about on the Internet - was completely unavailable.  I'd failed to charge my iPhone overnight, so couldn't even play Angry Birds on that, a favourite time-wasting activity.  Oh, the horror. 

The reason for this all-day trip back to the Dark Ages was the upgrading of the local power supply, which mostly seemed to involve men in high visibility coats standing in our front garden, pondering where to put the new power lines.

We were given prior notice, to be fair. A man came to the door a few weeks ago, handed me a letter telling me that the electricity was going to be turned off, and asked me to sign a sheet pf paper to confirm that I had received the letter. All very organised.

It would have been even better if I had remembered that yesterday was the Big Day.  As it was, Mr WithaY and I were enjoying a lie-in - his first morning of "Not Being At Work Any More" -  when there was a knock on the front door, and there stood a cheery man in a high visibility coat and sunglasses, grinning at my dishevelled appearance.

"Sorry, love," he said.  "Did I wake you up?" 

I thought about saying "No, we were engaging in wild, uninhibited, unimaginably hot monkey sex, it being Wednesday and all," but decided not to. 

"Not at all, I was just about to get in the shower," I said with what dignity I could muster.

"Ah, well, we're turning the power off now, love."  His grin broadened.  Bastard. 

I went back upstairs and dressed - no shower, no hair wash - and reflected that I would be spending the day festering in my own filth.  Not for the first time, dear readers. 

Mr WithaY carefully wrapped the fishtank in towels to try and keep it warm once the power was off, and scampered away to find the camping kettle in the garage, checking the mousetraps while he was there**. 

When we had our kitchen renovated we decided to have a gas cooker installed, as we tend to get power cuts in the winter.  Top tip.  It means you can make tea, or even cook a meal when there's no electricity.  We have to remember to replace the gas cylinders, but apart from the occasional panic (There's no gas!  It's 6.30pm on New Year's Eve!  Crap!) it's a very efficient and useful system. 

Our long term plan for the sitting room involves replacing the open fire with a log burning stove for much the same reasons; it'll be more fuel efficient, and we can cook soup on top of it. 

Anyhoo.  The workmen set up a series of huge crane type machines all around the village, and started taking down all the power cables, which was quite interesting to watch. 

I was disconcerted when I went into the bathroom later in the day, and was waved at by a workman up the power pole in next door's garden.  Usually we don't have anyone overlooking the bathroom, so our curtains are the sort that only cover half the window.  The lower half.  He was waving at me over the top of them. 

The pwer was restored at about 4pm, and I breathed a huge sigh of relief.  The kettle was put on, the lights came back on, I put washing in the machine, and all was well with the world again. 

Today I have been catching up with the domestic drudgery that a combination of hangover and lack of power had prevented me from doing earlier in the week.

Thank goodness I have an acoustic guitar, that's all I can say. I made my own entertainment. 






*I think it is possible to light the oven with matches, but anything that involves me sticking my head into a gas oven with a lit match in my sweaty paw is classed as "too bloody dangerous, matey."

**7 mice caught so far.   They had set up a nest in his bushcraft supplies, and are therefore being terminated with extreme prejudice.  And peanut butter.

Basket cases

Last week Mr WithaY and I went on a one-day willow basket-making course.  You can't become a basket-maker in one day, but you can make a basket.  Here's how:

You start with 6 sticks, all approximately the same thickness and straightness.  You have to find the natural curve of the wood and follow it to get the proper basket base shape.  My sticks all looked to be either completely straight or wavy as anything, not the gentle curve talked about by the instructor.

Once you have aligned your sticks properly, you stab them with a deadly steel bodkin, pointy, sharp and scary.  Oh, before you do any stabbing, you grease the bodkin point with tallow.  It's positively medieval. 

Our instructor told us how she once had to rescue her can of tallow from a greedy dog which had its face in it.  She didn't mention it to the dog's owners;  I expect they found out later that day.

This is how the sticks look once you've STABBED them with the greased-up bodkin.  It's interesting how unnerving it is, having to stab something when usually you are all English and repressed and un-stabby. 

Once you've finished stabbing, you slide one set of sticks through the other, thus:

This is the basis for your basket.  I had to stop and have a cup of tea at this point, all the craftsmanship was exhausting.

After you've had tea and braced yourself, you start doing the next step.  It has a technical name which I have completely forgotten, but it involves weaving small willow stems to make the basket base.

See the two different colour willows?  One sort has bark on and is slippery, the other sort doesn't and isn't.  They're both bloody awkward to weave properly.  You have to hold the spokes pressed hard into your tummy as you do this.  Painful. 

Once you've got the base woven, and it is properly convex, you add long sticks to make the sides of the basket.  If it's not convex enough, you have to help it along using your knee and brute force.

Adding the long sticks was fiddly and hilarious, with all of us wrestling with our baskets on the floor.  We got there in the end.

Once we'd got to that stage it was lunchtime.  Lunch was excellent. Home-made and delicious. I recommend it. 

After lunch it was time to start building the basket up.  Da da daaaaaaaaa.

You have to STAB it once again with the bodkin to hold it in place while you weave the willow sticks.  That's harder than it looks.  Getting everything nice and even and tidy is even harder.

Once you've built up the base, you change both style and material to make the sides.  I was using a weaving technique that involved using two lengths of willow in pairs at once, in a traditional English style.  It's strangely hypnotic. 

Then, when your basket is tall enough, you do another set of the stronger weave that you used for the base, to make the top nice and sturdy.  If your basket is less than perfectly circular, you assist it with your knee and brute force.

Willow is very forgiving. 

Once you've done that, you make the top edge, using the long sticks you stuck into the base to form the sides.  Remember them?  Yeah you do. 

If you're a bit forgetful and have failed to keep your willow sticks wet, they will snap at this point.  The instructor will then rescue you and fix it so it will not show.  She was very good at rescuing people.

And at the end of the afternoon, you will have a lovely basket.

There were as many different baskets made as there were people on the course.  Mr WithaY made one with a French weave in the middle, and conveniently it stacks neatly inside mine.  There's tidy.

That's his on the left with the fancy French weave thing.  Sacre bleu.

One lady made an up-and-over handle.  Very pretty.  Those round things in the background are big bundles of willow sticks.  The barn we were working in smelled lovely. 

One chap made these rather fetching finger holes.  I shall try that next time I make a basket. 

If at any point you got bored or frustrated, and went outside to look around, you could see where the willows grow:

They had information boards up to let people know all the kinds of animals and birds you might see if you looked for long enough.  I saw bugger all.

I liked these gigantic sculptures, left over from a Glastonbury Festival, apparently. 

And the maze was fun, despite being very low.  I reckon I could have stepped over the partitions in an emergency.

So, after a long and full day, a splendid vegetable lasagna and fruit crumble for lunch, a lovely drive through the Somerset Levels, and weird bruises where I hadn't expected any, I now own a basket that I made.  And it works.

Did I mention  how much nicer this is than being stuck in the office?

Departure lounging

Today is all about the packing. 

I have piled up pretty much all my summer clothes in a heap on the bed, and my, what a lot of bright colours there are.  There are many random toiletries, hairbands, scarves, swimsuits, beauty products and a travel hairdryer buried in the heap.  It's like a lucky dip for someone planning a day trip to the beach. 

Mr WithaY is doing ironing.  We have an unofficial task allocation system in this house.  I do the washing, drying, folding, sorting and some of the ironing; he mows the lawns and puts up shelves.  The ironing that I do can be summed up as "all my stuff, plus stuff that isn't too tiresome to iron."  This encompasses teatowels, napkins, pillowcases (sometimes), his t-shirts and some of his less complicated trousers.  Work shirts and trousers with more than one zip per pair, I leave in the basket. 

So, it can build up a bit.  He has been known to go and buy new shirts rather than iron anything. 

Ha.  Just received an email from the airline telling me we can check in online.  Hurrah for technology!  I followed the complicated and repetitive instructions (enter name, and middle name, passport number...and again...yeah, one more time, oh, and your full name again in case it's changed from 30 seconds ago...) only to be met with the flat "Sorry, we are unable to check you in online, please check in with an operator at the airport."  Arse.  So, we'll do that, as originally planned.

Airports are unrelentingly stressful until the point where you are actually on the plane, and then all you have to worry about is the fact that you're in the sky. Gah!  Up in the sky! Above the clouds!  It's just not right.  That passes eventually and you can sleep, or watch a film.  Mr WithaY watched one about ice climbers being lost in a crevasse for days, last time we flew to the States.  I declined. 

Once you land, having enjoyed the stomach-knotting terror of seeing the ground rushing up to you, feeling the plane bouncing wildly down the runway, and trying to quell the strong nausea that the changes in cabin pressure give you*, you get to enjoy Immigration and Customs.  I am interested to see what will happen when we get to Immigration, what with our shiny new visas and all.  We've always just swanned through the normal channel on our previous visits, so this year will be very different.  Hopefully we'll just get to swan through the "Visa" channel.

Anyway.  This time tomorrow we will be somewhere over the Atlantic, all being well.

Other news:  I had my last day in my job yesterday; I start a new one when I get back in late July.  The team had bought me some gorgeous presents, which was kind, and everyone had written lovely things in a card, which I had to wait to read on the train as I knew it would make me go a bit wobbly. 

I popped out at lunchtime to get a few last-minute bits and pieces, which included a beautiful scarf.  It's very fine linen, in a series of muted pinks, greys and lilacs, and will be ideal to wear over a dress, or even over my head in the sun.  I proudly showed my colleague what I had been buying, and when I pulled the scarf out of my bag she went a bit quiet.  Shortly afterwards she disappeared, and was gone for some time.

Later, when they gave me my gifts, another very lovely scarf was in the bag among the treasures.  Apparently they had originally bought me the same scarf I had bought myself, and my colleage had had to frantically rush out and exchange it after I proudly showed her mine.  Heh.

Shows what excellent taste they have, I think.   

When I got back to the railway station, the briar rose in the car park was looking rather fine.

It's caught me by surprise, feeling sad to miss the garden while we're away.  The roses are just coming into full flower, and the peonies will be out next week if the sun shines for a few more days.  I hope that some will be left when we get back.  The fruit and veg should be well advanced, though, assuming that Mr Mole keeps his paws out. 

I will try to blog while we're away, but if not, I'll be back in a month.

Be good.

*Or is that just me?  I feel as though I am going to die when we're landing, all that circling and dropping lower and lower.  After I've broken out in a cold sweat, my stomach lurching violently, I often wish I had.

Mock The Leek

Ah the joys of not sleeping. So, rather than going and doing something useful like...oh, I don't know...the ironing maybe, I am posting photos of Mystery Vegetables for you to identify for me.

We could have a competition maybe?

Name That Green. Now That's What I Call Greenery. Green Or No Green. I have a great format in my head, if only I could come up with a great title.

I might need to call the BBC with my ideas tomorrow.

Anyhoo. Picture 1, an arty leaf shot:



Picture 2, displaying the rhubarb-like stems:



Picture 3. Admire the mighty WithaY vegetable patch! Look upon our works of cultivation and despair, humanity!



The basil's still not dead, which I think is rather impressive.

Also, due to popular demand* I am posting up the photos of the Huge Fire we witnessed the other week.

Scene 1 was taken from inside the coffee shop, Scene 2 was taken from the steps outside the coffee shop. I was all set to run much closer and take Scene 3, but then my brain managed to finally make itself heard and stopped me from endangering my life.





Other news: I am waiting expectantly for our new cleaning team to turn up. I have tidied up specially. When the lady from the agency came round to assess the house the other week, she said "Oh good - they like having to do houses with a bit of dust!"

I was mortified.

Also, am officially back at work today, although I suspect that the work will mostly consist of reassembling my laptop and trying to get back onto the work intranet and email system. I am going up to London on Monday which will be a bit of a big step, but hopefully it will be ok.

Aha. Domestic assistance has arrived. Marvellous. I'll go and put the kettle on.


Bah. Just noticed that this post has the time I started it at the bottom, ie late last night, rather than the time I actully posted it, ie at about 0900 today. If I were more technically competent (and could be arsed) I'd amend it, but sadly I will have to pretend I meant to do it this way.

Yes, I am a time traveller. I hope you're impressed.


*Youngest Sis was grumbling that she hadn't seen them.

Grumpy

Well, I have had a rubbishy couple of days, feeling sorry for myself with a nasty stomach upset. Couldn't have gone down with it last week, when I couldn't get to work anyway. Oh no, had to wait till this week when I was supposed to be in London doing lots of meetings.

I think I am over the worst of it but the last thing I want is to be on a train for 2 hours and suddenly realise that in fact, no, I am not over it at all.

Gah.

And it was pissing down with rain all yesterday. The snow shark is still there, but looking a bit sad and misshapen now.

But, today the sun is out. Hurrah. I feel less crap than I did, and things are looking up.

Electric shock

I have been at home today, waiting for the Man.

The Man in question is the fantastic local handyman, who can fix anything at all, ever. Even light switches that are intermittently rubbish, like the one outside our bathroom.

And radiators that have mysteriously stopped working even though you've checked the fuse. Like the one in our bathroom.

He turned up at about 11am, had a cup of tea*, looked at the light switch, made concerned noises, then took it to bits. We had to help him read what was written on it because apparently our eyes are better, being younger and all. Both Mr WithaY and I being speccy twats, I am not sure I agree with that theory, but still.

A similar pattern followed with the radiator. Cup of tea (the same one, he's not greedy), concerned noises, examination of various bits and our help in reading the details writetn on it.

And then he left.

When will he be back? We have no idea. Will he fix the light switch? Or the radiator? Who knows?

He's like one of those mythical heroes, who arrive when least expected, when all hope is gone. At least, that's what I am telling myself as I brush my teeth in the dark.

Other news: Watched "Meet Joe Black" on dvd this evening. Not really a feel-good movie, is it? But it did have Brad Pitt being diffident and half naked which is always worth a look, in my opinion.

*Two sugars and have you got any biscuits my dear?