I was going to begin this with "Hey! I'm not dead! Hurrah!" but on reflection that seemed a bit crass, given the events of recent weeks.
We have suffered a bereavement here.
Mr WithaY's father died suddenly at the start of October, and despite the fact that he has been ill for a long time, it was a shock. At the latter end of the summer he was diagnosed with an unusual form of chronic leukaemia, on top of the multiple severe health issues he already suffered with. Mr WithaY went with him to the hospital in Bath and the various treatment options were discussed, but to be perfectly blunt, they picked the only practical one, which was to treat the illness without hoping to cure it.
Mr WithaY said that the oncologist was lovely, kind and helpful and considerate, and very anxious to make sure that all of the possible treatments were explained and understood. The cure option involved some sort of radical gene therapy, but would have required frequent trips to the hospital, and massive bone marrow injections, which would have been cruelly invasive and uncomfortable for a frail, immobile old man.
Anyway, that crisis passed, and life continued as normal for all of us, with Mr WithaY and I popping in to see father in law at the nursing home as often as possible. We bought him a new TV, as the one he had in his room was "too small, bloody hopeless, I can't hear the bloody thing," etcetera, which he liked. I baked him caramel cookies, and he enjoyed those now and again, despite his diabetes. He complained about the "bastard birds" avoiding his window-mounted feeder.
The glorious weather over the summer meant that the view from his room was truly beautiful, the hills and woods, trees, animals, birds and the old house in the foreground. Father in law enjoyed sitting and looking out of his (thankfully floor to ceiling) window at people coming and going in the car park, it afforded him pleasure to see movement in the outside world after having spent so long in his previous care home without the ability to look outside except at the sky.
A worrying new development began, though. He became rather confused, telling us things which made no sense. In hindsight I think he was suffering a series of mini-strokes. At this time he became considerably more frail too, unwilling to leave his bed to sit and look out of the window. He even stopped watching television, seeming to be content to doze, only really waking up to chat to the staff and any visitors as they came and went.
One Saturday afternoon - Mr WithaY was away working at a country show - I had a call from the senior nurse at the care home, telling me that father in law was poorly, and they had called an ambulance to take him to hospital for tests. This was a concern, but he had suffered so many trips to hospital over the years that I wasn't particularly alarmed. I left a message on Mr WithaY's mobile to tell him his father had been taken to hospital, and that I'd let him know how he got on. We've left each other a lot of messages like that over the years, so neither of us panics early.
When the hospital rang me a couple of hours later to ask "Who is his next of kin?" I did begin to worry. I answered the hospital's questions as best I could, and then I left another message for Mr WithaY, asking him to call me ASAP.
An hour passed, the hospital called again, this time to tell me that "It might be best for the family to come in." By now it was past 10pm, things sounded very serious. I called Mr WithaY's brother and let him know, but as he lives at least 4 hours away, I said there was little point in him coming down that night. Thankfully, Mr WithaY had managed to pick up my messages, and he rang to find out what the situation was. As soon as I told him what was happening, he said he was coming home.
So, by 1am we were both at the hospital, and were able to be with father in law. It was peaceful, tranquil, dignified. The nurses at Bath hospital were wonderful. They gave us privacy but checked in on him every half hour or so, brought Mr WithaY and I tea and biscuits, and offered sympathy and practical advice at the end. We left the hospital at about 4.30am, walking out into a gloriously clear starry night. It seemed appropriate, somehow.
In the days which followed we learned about the administrative burden which a death confers on the nearest and dearest, on top of the sadness. Mr WithaY's brother came down for a day or two and helped out, which was appreciated, and we set about organising a funeral, notifying those friends and former neighbours we had contact details for, and clearing out his remaining possessions from the nursing home.
The funeral was on Tuesday this week. It was simple, respectful and gentle, and, I hope, such that father in law would have wanted. We buried him in a pretty little Dorset churchyard, where his mother was buried. It's close enough that we can visit if we want to, but I don't imagine we will. Visiting graves has never been something Mr WithaY or I have ever done, but I am glad it's in a lovely spot.
One thing which is comforting is that he saw almost all of his family in the weeks before his death, and a few of his old friends had been to see him too.
Apparently he died of a stroke, simply going to sleep and not waking up. We are very sad, but it is also a relief to know that he is not suffering under his many and irreversible medical problems, any more.
So. A solemn start to this posting, but as it's been in my head for weeks, it seems right to share it here.
In other news: I have to go and have some routine but possibly major surgery next year. I've been having a few problems, went to the doctor, was referred to have a scan, and as a result will be having an op (hopefully) in January next year. Nothing terrible, but I'm not looking forward to it much.
Gosh, what a medical post. I promise to try and be back to my normal self soon.
Showing posts with label Bath. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bath. Show all posts
Thursday, 31 October 2013
Sunday, 6 February 2011
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.
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.
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.
Saturday, 11 December 2010
Christmas spirit
We've put the Christmas tree up! I'm so excited. No, really, I am.
Mr WithaY unravelled 400 miles of LED lights, and went and wrapped them around the rose arch in the front garden, so that is now a vision of glittering be-lighted loveliness. We put up our tree in a hastily-cleared corner of the sitting room. It's an artificial one which we bought in 1994, and it looks very pretty, if a little wonky.
New tree next year, I think. I'd like a real one, so we might get one in a tub to live in the garden and be hauled indoors for the festive season. We'll see.
Mr WithaY has carefully pinned up the dozens of small straw dollies in the shape of angels and fir cones all over the hall ceiling, which is very effective. He gets extra kudos for doing it with a stonking hangover, as well as (he says) the start of a cold.
Yesterday was his work Christmas lunch. They went to a posh French restaurant in Bath, where he crammed his pie hole with cold meat, and confit of duck, and figs in honey, and all manner of fine wines. He said it was lovely.
I think the trouble started after they finished lunch at about 4.30pm, and went on to the pub. I was half expecting him home any time after about 5, and even looked at the train times online to see roughly when I might be greeting him into the bosom of his adoring home, hem hem.
Well, it got to 8pm, so I had a bite to eat and watched some TV.
It got to 10pm, and I checked the train times again.
It got to 11pm, and I went and played World of Warcraft Cataclysm (yes, yes, I know, I know) for a bit, fully expecting him to be home soon, as the last train gets in at 11.15-ish.
Midnight came and went.
I went to bed and read my book, waiting for a phone call to say "I missed the train and I'm mysteriously stuck in Bath/Frome/Trowbridge/Exeter...will you come and fetch me please?"
Readers, it was almost 1am when he finally burst through the front door. Drink had been taken, he informed me.
He was very cheerful, having had a delightful meal and then a fun time in various pubs in Bath. And yes, they'd missed the last train and got stuck in Westbury. I have done that myself, although in my case the last train was cancelled, and I had to phone home to ask Mr WithaY to come and fetch me. Which he did without a grumble.
I asked how he'd got back from Westbury.
"Taxi!" he bellowed as he hopped around the hallway trying to take his shoe off.
"Was that very expensive?"
"Fuck yes!" More hopping, on a different leg as the other shoe was removed.
"Why didn't you ring me and ask me to come and get you?"
"Hahahahahahahaaaaaaaa. I'm not brave enough."
Hmmm.
Mr WithaY unravelled 400 miles of LED lights, and went and wrapped them around the rose arch in the front garden, so that is now a vision of glittering be-lighted loveliness. We put up our tree in a hastily-cleared corner of the sitting room. It's an artificial one which we bought in 1994, and it looks very pretty, if a little wonky.
New tree next year, I think. I'd like a real one, so we might get one in a tub to live in the garden and be hauled indoors for the festive season. We'll see.
Mr WithaY has carefully pinned up the dozens of small straw dollies in the shape of angels and fir cones all over the hall ceiling, which is very effective. He gets extra kudos for doing it with a stonking hangover, as well as (he says) the start of a cold.
Yesterday was his work Christmas lunch. They went to a posh French restaurant in Bath, where he crammed his pie hole with cold meat, and confit of duck, and figs in honey, and all manner of fine wines. He said it was lovely.
I think the trouble started after they finished lunch at about 4.30pm, and went on to the pub. I was half expecting him home any time after about 5, and even looked at the train times online to see roughly when I might be greeting him into the bosom of his adoring home, hem hem.
Well, it got to 8pm, so I had a bite to eat and watched some TV.
It got to 10pm, and I checked the train times again.
It got to 11pm, and I went and played World of Warcraft Cataclysm (yes, yes, I know, I know) for a bit, fully expecting him to be home soon, as the last train gets in at 11.15-ish.
Midnight came and went.
I went to bed and read my book, waiting for a phone call to say "I missed the train and I'm mysteriously stuck in Bath/Frome/Trowbridge/Exeter...will you come and fetch me please?"
Readers, it was almost 1am when he finally burst through the front door. Drink had been taken, he informed me.
He was very cheerful, having had a delightful meal and then a fun time in various pubs in Bath. And yes, they'd missed the last train and got stuck in Westbury. I have done that myself, although in my case the last train was cancelled, and I had to phone home to ask Mr WithaY to come and fetch me. Which he did without a grumble.
I asked how he'd got back from Westbury.
"Taxi!" he bellowed as he hopped around the hallway trying to take his shoe off.
"Was that very expensive?"
"Fuck yes!" More hopping, on a different leg as the other shoe was removed.
"Why didn't you ring me and ask me to come and get you?"
"Hahahahahahahaaaaaaaa. I'm not brave enough."
Hmmm.
Saturday, 7 November 2009
What to do, what to do....
Mr WithaY is off out for the day tomorrow, weather permitting. I am wondering what to do with myself, home alone all day. I could get up to all kinds of mischief.
I toyed with the idea of going to Bath on the train to gawp at the redevelopment of the city centre, but then I remembered I spend fucking HOURS on the train every week anyway, so rejected that idea.
I could drive there, but parking in Bath is like a punishment for transgressions in a former life. I bet even people on their 50th incarnation, one small step away from Nirvana, still struggle to find a decent parking space in Bath on a Saturday. Unless they get there at 7am. Which they probably do, smug Karmic bastards.
But. But. Bath has some great shops.
Long Tall Sally for one. I always find lovely things in there, and buy them in a sort of deprived-villager shopping frenzy, having learned from painful experience that they will NOT be there next time I pop in. There always seems to be a sale on, with stuff on the rails in my size (that I admired but didn't buy at full price) reduced to eight quid. Who could resist?
Not me, matey.
Also, Lush. Now I am having a moral dilemma about Lush at the moment. They have taken a stance on an issue which I think is wrong; they are, of course, entitled to their opinion.
They are donating a percentage of the profits of a particular product to the hunt saboteurs association. I don't hunt, nor do I think I know anyone who does, but I feel quite strongly that the hunt saboteurs' methods should not be encouraged.
So, do I stop buying Lush products completely, to make a point? Or, do I continue to buy their other products, not the one which they are donating the profit from, as I am completely in support of their organic, environmentally-friendly, non-animal-tested, minimal-packaging, fantastic products?
Does the good that they do in terms of enviromental impact outweigh what I consider to be a bad decision to offer financial support to a group which I think shouldn't be encouraged?
Tough call. So many italics.
There are also some fine jewellery shops, but I am not really able to afford to buy myself a pair of huge solitaire diamond earrings this month. So. Arse.
I expect I'll just pop out get the papers, maybe watch a dvd as there is seldom anything worth watching on TV, play my guitar for a bit, faff about on the Internets, and drink tea. It's not a bad way to spend a day, especially if it's peeing down with rain, as the forecast is promising.
What Would Captain Kirk Do*?
*Other than teach alien women how to love, and get his shirt artfully ripped in a fist fight.
I toyed with the idea of going to Bath on the train to gawp at the redevelopment of the city centre, but then I remembered I spend fucking HOURS on the train every week anyway, so rejected that idea.
I could drive there, but parking in Bath is like a punishment for transgressions in a former life. I bet even people on their 50th incarnation, one small step away from Nirvana, still struggle to find a decent parking space in Bath on a Saturday. Unless they get there at 7am. Which they probably do, smug Karmic bastards.
But. But. Bath has some great shops.
Long Tall Sally for one. I always find lovely things in there, and buy them in a sort of deprived-villager shopping frenzy, having learned from painful experience that they will NOT be there next time I pop in. There always seems to be a sale on, with stuff on the rails in my size (that I admired but didn't buy at full price) reduced to eight quid. Who could resist?
Not me, matey.
Also, Lush. Now I am having a moral dilemma about Lush at the moment. They have taken a stance on an issue which I think is wrong; they are, of course, entitled to their opinion.
They are donating a percentage of the profits of a particular product to the hunt saboteurs association. I don't hunt, nor do I think I know anyone who does, but I feel quite strongly that the hunt saboteurs' methods should not be encouraged.
So, do I stop buying Lush products completely, to make a point? Or, do I continue to buy their other products, not the one which they are donating the profit from, as I am completely in support of their organic, environmentally-friendly, non-animal-tested, minimal-packaging, fantastic products?
Does the good that they do in terms of enviromental impact outweigh what I consider to be a bad decision to offer financial support to a group which I think shouldn't be encouraged?
Tough call. So many italics.
There are also some fine jewellery shops, but I am not really able to afford to buy myself a pair of huge solitaire diamond earrings this month. So. Arse.
I expect I'll just pop out get the papers, maybe watch a dvd as there is seldom anything worth watching on TV, play my guitar for a bit, faff about on the Internets, and drink tea. It's not a bad way to spend a day, especially if it's peeing down with rain, as the forecast is promising.
What Would Captain Kirk Do*?
*Other than teach alien women how to love, and get his shirt artfully ripped in a fist fight.
Wednesday, 21 January 2009
Credit crunch
Blimey. Wednesday already. I know it's a cliche (and we're supposed to avoid them like the plague) but time does fly when I am at work these days.
The shopping trip to Bath on Sunday was very successful. My lovely mate bought some glamorous yet work-like clothes, I stocked up on tops from Long Tall Sally in the sale, we had lunch in town, and I made a huge HUGE retail error. A schoolboy error, in fact. If schoolboys buy makeup.
I don't go shopping much, except to the supermarket to buy food and toilet rolls and bin liners, so going out with a girly mate for the day is a real treat. I know this is starting to sound like a pre-emptive plea for mercy, but please do read on.
She and I went into Boots to look at makeup. I do like makeup. I don't wear it every day, although I am tending to when I am in the office these days. It's a confidence thing, see.
Crap noob with no idea about anything + eyeliner, mascara and lip gloss = confident knowledgeable woman of the world.
In my head, anyway.
Anyhoo. In Boots, mate is choosing posh expensive face care products, I am looking at the Chanel makeup on the next counter. I spotted a gorgeous nail varnish, in a vibrant yet subtle dark winy purple colour. Ideal for wearing with my black/grey/black and grey suits to work. Perfect. So practical!
Into the basket it went.
And then, a lovely lovely eyeshadow compact, two shades of purple, one pale and slightly sparkly, one deep and smoky, perfect to keep in my handbag for work emergencies. And it matches the nail varnish. So co-ordinated!
Into the basket.
A few more dull necessities later, I had finished my shopping and went to pay at the till. Ahahahahahaaaaaaaaa. They don't put prices on stuff at the Chanel counter. It was after I left the shop that I thought "Hm, that was expensive for half a dozen items...let me check the receipt."
Let's just say I will be wearing my new eyeshadow every day for the rest of my life to get my money's worth.
Other news: Is anyone else dismayed by the increasing prevelance of rock icons advertising sad sad things?
Iggy Pop advertising insurance, for example.
Alice Cooper advertising building society name changes?
*Tch*
What's next? Angus Young advertising retirement apartments in Portugal? Slash endorsing Specsavers? Ian Anderson putting his name to vitamin supplements?
Gah.
The shopping trip to Bath on Sunday was very successful. My lovely mate bought some glamorous yet work-like clothes, I stocked up on tops from Long Tall Sally in the sale, we had lunch in town, and I made a huge HUGE retail error. A schoolboy error, in fact. If schoolboys buy makeup.
I don't go shopping much, except to the supermarket to buy food and toilet rolls and bin liners, so going out with a girly mate for the day is a real treat. I know this is starting to sound like a pre-emptive plea for mercy, but please do read on.
She and I went into Boots to look at makeup. I do like makeup. I don't wear it every day, although I am tending to when I am in the office these days. It's a confidence thing, see.
Crap noob with no idea about anything + eyeliner, mascara and lip gloss = confident knowledgeable woman of the world.
In my head, anyway.
Anyhoo. In Boots, mate is choosing posh expensive face care products, I am looking at the Chanel makeup on the next counter. I spotted a gorgeous nail varnish, in a vibrant yet subtle dark winy purple colour. Ideal for wearing with my black/grey/black and grey suits to work. Perfect. So practical!
Into the basket it went.
And then, a lovely lovely eyeshadow compact, two shades of purple, one pale and slightly sparkly, one deep and smoky, perfect to keep in my handbag for work emergencies. And it matches the nail varnish. So co-ordinated!
Into the basket.
A few more dull necessities later, I had finished my shopping and went to pay at the till. Ahahahahahaaaaaaaaa. They don't put prices on stuff at the Chanel counter. It was after I left the shop that I thought "Hm, that was expensive for half a dozen items...let me check the receipt."
Let's just say I will be wearing my new eyeshadow every day for the rest of my life to get my money's worth.
Other news: Is anyone else dismayed by the increasing prevelance of rock icons advertising sad sad things?
Iggy Pop advertising insurance, for example.
Alice Cooper advertising building society name changes?
*Tch*
What's next? Angus Young advertising retirement apartments in Portugal? Slash endorsing Specsavers? Ian Anderson putting his name to vitamin supplements?
Gah.
Sunday, 18 January 2009
Bath time
I'm off shopping in Bath in a little while with a lovely mate. She found out this week that she was successful in her Very Important Interview, and therefore needs to buy suitable clothes for a scary London job.
And (ha!) she asked if I wanted to come with her. So, of course, with my fantastic sartorial track record, how could I refuse?
My plans, other than saying "Mmmm, that looks smart" a lot, are to look at spoons* in Habitat, maybe think about curtains if I see anything I like, and possibly get some more earrings.
Haven't been to Bath for months and months, possibly not since Eldest Niece was here in the summer, so it will be fun to look around a bit.
And then, later, when I get home, I am making marmalade. On a whim I bought 2 kilos of marmalade oranges yesterday, and spent an hour slicing them insanely thinly**. They have been soaking in a bowl of water overnight, as per the recipe, and now need to be cooked for an hour with a shitload*** of sugar till it marmalises.
Right. Time to find shoes that won't rub my newly-healed blister to bits again.
*At, not into. Although I might do that too.
**After I got them home, not while I was still in the supermarket.
***Official British measurement of quantity, American readers.
And (ha!) she asked if I wanted to come with her. So, of course, with my fantastic sartorial track record, how could I refuse?
My plans, other than saying "Mmmm, that looks smart" a lot, are to look at spoons* in Habitat, maybe think about curtains if I see anything I like, and possibly get some more earrings.
Haven't been to Bath for months and months, possibly not since Eldest Niece was here in the summer, so it will be fun to look around a bit.
And then, later, when I get home, I am making marmalade. On a whim I bought 2 kilos of marmalade oranges yesterday, and spent an hour slicing them insanely thinly**. They have been soaking in a bowl of water overnight, as per the recipe, and now need to be cooked for an hour with a shitload*** of sugar till it marmalises.
Right. Time to find shoes that won't rub my newly-healed blister to bits again.
*At, not into. Although I might do that too.
**After I got them home, not while I was still in the supermarket.
***Official British measurement of quantity, American readers.
Tuesday, 5 August 2008
Pigtastic
So, I've been to Bath today.
Look:
We thought about going to have a giant teacake there but we ate our own weight in chicken at Wagamama's for lunch, so were too full on the way back to the car. Maybe next time.
It was rainy and warm, a nightmare combination, because you're wearing a coat to stop you getting wet, then you're far too hot. Because you're wearing a big raincoat.
Why aren't scientists fixing stuff like that? Tch.
Bath is having some sort of pigfest . We spotted several.
I particularly like "Piggles" at the end there.
The one with the bandage had a little sign saying "I have been to hospital, please DO NOT sit on me." Maybe I was seeing things, but he had a worried look in his eye.
I have a lovely picture in my head of 25 foreign* tourists all piling on his back and trying to take an amusing photo, with hilarious consequences.
Other news: Remember my glorious raffle victory from the weekend? Yeah you do. When I played my guitar with the band. Did I mention that already?
Well, check this out, all you sad unlucky non-raffle winners:
How great is that, eh?
Also. Been shopping for anti-mole hardware.
The problem:
Bastards have dug trenches all over the front garden, and are now making mole hills. So, I took Eldest Niece into town to the ironmongers** where we both eyed up the handsome young man behind the counter while I asked his advice. I bought this:
It's been installed:
Having a top-of-the-range sonic disrupter in the garden hasn't stopped Mr WithaY jabbing the ground with his longbow arrow, muttering furiously.
Tomorrow we're off to Salisbury, to the cinema if we can all agree on a film. I want to see the X Files, but as I am the only geek in the house, I may get outvoted.
We are definitely going to the Thai restaurant to eat, and I expect we'll look at eye makeup for a few hours. Eldest Niece is a bit of an expert. I haven't used so much makeup since I was testing the new camo range at the AGC open day.
Oh yes. Bought some hair straighteners. Managed not to set my hair alight. A proud day. My hair looked pretty much the same, but lacking the interesting waves and curls which make it look a bit special. So. Money well spent there.
I am going to give Eldest Niece ringlets*** at some point. What larks. It's fun being a girl. I forget sometimes.
*Italian, probably
**She's having the time of her life.
***She asked me to, it's not a punishment.
Look:
We thought about going to have a giant teacake there but we ate our own weight in chicken at Wagamama's for lunch, so were too full on the way back to the car. Maybe next time.
It was rainy and warm, a nightmare combination, because you're wearing a coat to stop you getting wet, then you're far too hot. Because you're wearing a big raincoat.
Why aren't scientists fixing stuff like that? Tch.
Bath is having some sort of pigfest . We spotted several.
I particularly like "Piggles" at the end there.
The one with the bandage had a little sign saying "I have been to hospital, please DO NOT sit on me." Maybe I was seeing things, but he had a worried look in his eye.
I have a lovely picture in my head of 25 foreign* tourists all piling on his back and trying to take an amusing photo, with hilarious consequences.
Other news: Remember my glorious raffle victory from the weekend? Yeah you do. When I played my guitar with the band. Did I mention that already?
Well, check this out, all you sad unlucky non-raffle winners:
How great is that, eh?
Also. Been shopping for anti-mole hardware.
The problem:
Bastards have dug trenches all over the front garden, and are now making mole hills. So, I took Eldest Niece into town to the ironmongers** where we both eyed up the handsome young man behind the counter while I asked his advice. I bought this:
It's been installed:
Having a top-of-the-range sonic disrupter in the garden hasn't stopped Mr WithaY jabbing the ground with his longbow arrow, muttering furiously.
Tomorrow we're off to Salisbury, to the cinema if we can all agree on a film. I want to see the X Files, but as I am the only geek in the house, I may get outvoted.
We are definitely going to the Thai restaurant to eat, and I expect we'll look at eye makeup for a few hours. Eldest Niece is a bit of an expert. I haven't used so much makeup since I was testing the new camo range at the AGC open day.
Oh yes. Bought some hair straighteners. Managed not to set my hair alight. A proud day. My hair looked pretty much the same, but lacking the interesting waves and curls which make it look a bit special. So. Money well spent there.
I am going to give Eldest Niece ringlets*** at some point. What larks. It's fun being a girl. I forget sometimes.
*Italian, probably
**She's having the time of her life.
***She asked me to, it's not a punishment.
Saturday, 10 May 2008
Blimey
Another week gone - life is starting to flash by. Probably just my age.
It's been an odd week too, I have been out of the office for much of it, either in Bath or Bristol, so it has felt a bit disjointed. And the weather has been incredible - warm, sunny, gentle breezes, perfect. Even the journeys on the train were relatively enjoyable.
Went into the office on Friday which was all a bit depressing - most of our colleagues have now moved to the Bristol office so the place was all but deserted, with huge packing boxes everywhere. We move to the other end of the building next Friday so this week we need to get all our stuff packed as well.
Whilst doing the day job. Arse. I bet we have no working phones by about Thursday. And then I get moved onto the new improved IT system at the end of the month. We have been advised to save everything we possibly can onto CD because the migration so far has had mixed success.
This worries me.
Big achievement this week - I have learned how to make cupcakes. I found a recipe on Nigella's website, and it works brilliantly:
4oz self-raising flour
4oz sugar
4 oz butter
2 eggs
vanilla essence
milk to make it the right consistency (a few tablespoons, add it slowly)
Mix everything together, adding the milk at the end, carefully put the mix into 12 baking cases, place in oven, make icing, wait.
Bake in the oven at Gas mark 6 for 15-20 minutes, allow to cool a little, add icing and decorations. Makes 12.
They are really nice.
Other news: Mr WithaY has finally got his Landrover back from Barry the Fish, and it seems to be working properly. Long may that continue.
So, we are a 2-car family again. Shame diesel is now costing us £1.23 a litre so we can't afford to go anywhere any more.
I still miss Badgerdaddy. *sigh* Still, nice that people are chipping in on this blog, thanks to all who have done so.
I'll try to be a bit less crap and slow to post this week. Sozz.
It's been an odd week too, I have been out of the office for much of it, either in Bath or Bristol, so it has felt a bit disjointed. And the weather has been incredible - warm, sunny, gentle breezes, perfect. Even the journeys on the train were relatively enjoyable.
Went into the office on Friday which was all a bit depressing - most of our colleagues have now moved to the Bristol office so the place was all but deserted, with huge packing boxes everywhere. We move to the other end of the building next Friday so this week we need to get all our stuff packed as well.
Whilst doing the day job. Arse. I bet we have no working phones by about Thursday. And then I get moved onto the new improved IT system at the end of the month. We have been advised to save everything we possibly can onto CD because the migration so far has had mixed success.
This worries me.
Big achievement this week - I have learned how to make cupcakes. I found a recipe on Nigella's website, and it works brilliantly:
4oz self-raising flour
4oz sugar
4 oz butter
2 eggs
vanilla essence
milk to make it the right consistency (a few tablespoons, add it slowly)
Mix everything together, adding the milk at the end, carefully put the mix into 12 baking cases, place in oven, make icing, wait.
Bake in the oven at Gas mark 6 for 15-20 minutes, allow to cool a little, add icing and decorations. Makes 12.
They are really nice.
Other news: Mr WithaY has finally got his Landrover back from Barry the Fish, and it seems to be working properly. Long may that continue.
So, we are a 2-car family again. Shame diesel is now costing us £1.23 a litre so we can't afford to go anywhere any more.
I still miss Badgerdaddy. *sigh* Still, nice that people are chipping in on this blog, thanks to all who have done so.
I'll try to be a bit less crap and slow to post this week. Sozz.
Friday, 16 November 2007
Still frosty
Off to Bath in a bit. The place. Not the activity.
Heh, I make myself laugh.
Anyway, driving over to the office there, dropping some stuff off, having a chat about the general rubbishness of the IT system and then coming back here to work at home this afternoon.
I have a ton of planning to do, and here I can do it in my slippers. Bonus.
It's another glorious frosty sunny morning. I could get used to this.
Feeling far less crap and grumpy today, which is a relief. Hurrah.
Heh, I make myself laugh.
Anyway, driving over to the office there, dropping some stuff off, having a chat about the general rubbishness of the IT system and then coming back here to work at home this afternoon.
I have a ton of planning to do, and here I can do it in my slippers. Bonus.
It's another glorious frosty sunny morning. I could get used to this.
Feeling far less crap and grumpy today, which is a relief. Hurrah.
Saturday, 4 August 2007
More monkey magic (but with fewer monkeys)
So, to Bath on Thursday for a day of tourist activities. The weather was less than perfect, in fact it started to piss down with rain 15 minutes into the journey, and kept going for the next three hours solid.
Thanks a lot, weather deities.
Bastards.
So, we went straight to the tourist bus stop and got tickets to do the Skyline tour (I think) which takes you all around the outskirts of the city, up to the top of some of the hills. It was quite good, except the guide kept saying "Ooh, it's much better in the winter when the leaves are off the trees".
Great. We'll wait 5 months and come back then, shall we?
Anyway, that aside it was most enjoyable. We did the traditional Tea At Sally Lunn's (no buns though), then the other half of the bus trip all round the city itself, and then it was lunchtime.
All Bar One. Tapas. Bloody great.
We ate like kings for about 20 quid for the three of us, then wandered round town a while. We were going to do the tour of the Pump Rooms but there was a queue of about 150 foreign students, so we decided to sack it and come home.
I paid the traditional visit to Long Tall Sally first, of course.
One thing I particularly liked was the West Indian busker who was making the huge long queue of people outside the Pump Room join in with his rendition of "Don't Worry, Be Happy".
Another little siesta when we got home, then to the pub for supper, and afterwards watched Casino Royale on DVD, mostly to settle an ongoing debate about who was the best James Bond. Mum and the lovely Spanish student both voted for Sean Connery, I still hold my view that Daniel Craig is pretty superb in the role.
Friday morning I drove them back to Sussex, then more or less came straight home to try and avoid the nightmare that is the English road system on a sunny Friday. I failed, but at least I was able to detour away from the worst of it.
Sadly all the driving (about 500 miles over the week) has not helped my back, which is playing up again. Fuck it.
Mr WithaY arrived home safe and sound on Friday after what sounds like a highly entertaining week away. He said that the floods in the West are still pretty horrendous. I can't imagine what it must be like for those poor bastards who've had everything washed away and ruined.
Still, it's been nice and sunny here all day.
I now have a great recurring fantasy, though. The naughty monkeys at Longleat are not trashing cars at random.
No.
They are scavenging for parts. And one day soon they will complete their ownw Mad Max stylee vehicle, made from stolen bits, and escape to a life beyond the fences.
They'll have to get through the lion enclosure first, mind, so they'd better get some decent bodywork sorted.
Thanks a lot, weather deities.
Bastards.
So, we went straight to the tourist bus stop and got tickets to do the Skyline tour (I think) which takes you all around the outskirts of the city, up to the top of some of the hills. It was quite good, except the guide kept saying "Ooh, it's much better in the winter when the leaves are off the trees".
Great. We'll wait 5 months and come back then, shall we?
Anyway, that aside it was most enjoyable. We did the traditional Tea At Sally Lunn's (no buns though), then the other half of the bus trip all round the city itself, and then it was lunchtime.
All Bar One. Tapas. Bloody great.
We ate like kings for about 20 quid for the three of us, then wandered round town a while. We were going to do the tour of the Pump Rooms but there was a queue of about 150 foreign students, so we decided to sack it and come home.
I paid the traditional visit to Long Tall Sally first, of course.
One thing I particularly liked was the West Indian busker who was making the huge long queue of people outside the Pump Room join in with his rendition of "Don't Worry, Be Happy".
Another little siesta when we got home, then to the pub for supper, and afterwards watched Casino Royale on DVD, mostly to settle an ongoing debate about who was the best James Bond. Mum and the lovely Spanish student both voted for Sean Connery, I still hold my view that Daniel Craig is pretty superb in the role.
Friday morning I drove them back to Sussex, then more or less came straight home to try and avoid the nightmare that is the English road system on a sunny Friday. I failed, but at least I was able to detour away from the worst of it.
Sadly all the driving (about 500 miles over the week) has not helped my back, which is playing up again. Fuck it.
Mr WithaY arrived home safe and sound on Friday after what sounds like a highly entertaining week away. He said that the floods in the West are still pretty horrendous. I can't imagine what it must be like for those poor bastards who've had everything washed away and ruined.
Still, it's been nice and sunny here all day.
I now have a great recurring fantasy, though. The naughty monkeys at Longleat are not trashing cars at random.
No.
They are scavenging for parts. And one day soon they will complete their ownw Mad Max stylee vehicle, made from stolen bits, and escape to a life beyond the fences.
They'll have to get through the lion enclosure first, mind, so they'd better get some decent bodywork sorted.
Wednesday, 20 June 2007
I've seen the future...
...and it's piebald.
On my way to Bath yesterday I was stuck in a long queue of traffic. Not a huge shock, as Bath is always a complete nightmare to get across, especially in the afternoons. This hold-up however was on the A36, in the middle of nowhere. And what caused it?
A horse and cart.
Fair enough, I suppose. Glastonbury this weekend, Stonehenge about to get the annual hippy invasion, bound to be a few odd vehicles on the roads.
But no. This cart was not driven by hippies or druids or bloody star children.
It contained what appeared to be a local famer and his mate. Loads of stuff in the back, looked like they'd been shopping, most likely at the nearby Mole Valley Farmers. Probably buying rat traps and enormous industrial-sized boxes of washing powder. Maybe some sheep ointment. And a new pair of odd-coloured corduroy trousers. I love that shop.
It was a refreshing little inclusion in a long and otherwise dull drive.
The presentation went very well, by the way. In retrospect, maybe I shouldn't have compared the current financial approvals process to an Arthurian Quest:
"Bring me the head of the Black Knight, and then, and only then, shall the first committee review your submission. If you please them, they will set you another mighty task. Succeed, and you may submit your second iteration for review. Fail, and you shall be cast into the outer darkness FOREVER. Mwahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaa."
Apart from that, it was constructive and positive. Got loads more work to do as a result, but it will all help us get to where we want to be. And my boss was pleased, so that was good.
The trip home was a bloody nightmare. Left Bath at quarter past five, got home at quarter to seven. Dead Maids Hill was closed, I assume living up to its name, and so everyone got diverted off the main road.
I love it when that happens. The police block the road, stick a "Diversion" sign up to guide you into a maze of tiny lanes - cars, caravans, huge European articulated trucks with no clue about the fucking Highway Code - then effectively tell you to fuck off and find your own way home.
Do they only have the one "Diversion" sign in Wiltshire?
Aha, no. They have hundreds, but it seems they are all stacked at the side of the roads around Stonehenge (where the demons dwell) for tomorrow's big Solstice event.
Druids. Bastards.
Aaaanyway, reverting back to my original point...this morning as I was driving in I encountered another horse and cart. A different one, driven by an elegant elderly lady with a couple of long dogs running alongside. Obviously on her way to town, presumably to go shopping as she had a load of bags and baskets in there with her.
Makes sense I suppose. If you don't have far to go why use a car? Got a field? Stick a couple of horses in it and get a cart. Do they have to pay road tax? No fuel costs, just vet bills and horse food. If I had a shorter commute I might think about it. I could store it in the bicycle rack until hometime. Heh. If I didn't hate and fear all of horsekind.
Off to London tomorrow for a meeting. On the train. No fighting through the post-sunrise throng for me. And I am taking a day off on Friday because I have some stuff to do locally, and have no desire to join the long slow crocodile of Glastonbury-bound traffic that is bound to fill every road for miles around. I shall watch it on the local news and be smug that I am not involved.
The weather forecast is appalling. I have spent too many long, long weekends wallowing in mud on campsites to want to do it again anytime soon.
Mr WithaY is off shooting on Saturday. I, however, am going to sit with my nose pressed to the window, waiting for the windscreen repair guys to turn up.
On my way to Bath yesterday I was stuck in a long queue of traffic. Not a huge shock, as Bath is always a complete nightmare to get across, especially in the afternoons. This hold-up however was on the A36, in the middle of nowhere. And what caused it?
A horse and cart.
Fair enough, I suppose. Glastonbury this weekend, Stonehenge about to get the annual hippy invasion, bound to be a few odd vehicles on the roads.
But no. This cart was not driven by hippies or druids or bloody star children.
It contained what appeared to be a local famer and his mate. Loads of stuff in the back, looked like they'd been shopping, most likely at the nearby Mole Valley Farmers. Probably buying rat traps and enormous industrial-sized boxes of washing powder. Maybe some sheep ointment. And a new pair of odd-coloured corduroy trousers. I love that shop.
It was a refreshing little inclusion in a long and otherwise dull drive.
The presentation went very well, by the way. In retrospect, maybe I shouldn't have compared the current financial approvals process to an Arthurian Quest:
"Bring me the head of the Black Knight, and then, and only then, shall the first committee review your submission. If you please them, they will set you another mighty task. Succeed, and you may submit your second iteration for review. Fail, and you shall be cast into the outer darkness FOREVER. Mwahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaa."
Apart from that, it was constructive and positive. Got loads more work to do as a result, but it will all help us get to where we want to be. And my boss was pleased, so that was good.
The trip home was a bloody nightmare. Left Bath at quarter past five, got home at quarter to seven. Dead Maids Hill was closed, I assume living up to its name, and so everyone got diverted off the main road.
I love it when that happens. The police block the road, stick a "Diversion" sign up to guide you into a maze of tiny lanes - cars, caravans, huge European articulated trucks with no clue about the fucking Highway Code - then effectively tell you to fuck off and find your own way home.
Do they only have the one "Diversion" sign in Wiltshire?
Aha, no. They have hundreds, but it seems they are all stacked at the side of the roads around Stonehenge (where the demons dwell) for tomorrow's big Solstice event.
Druids. Bastards.
Aaaanyway, reverting back to my original point...this morning as I was driving in I encountered another horse and cart. A different one, driven by an elegant elderly lady with a couple of long dogs running alongside. Obviously on her way to town, presumably to go shopping as she had a load of bags and baskets in there with her.
Makes sense I suppose. If you don't have far to go why use a car? Got a field? Stick a couple of horses in it and get a cart. Do they have to pay road tax? No fuel costs, just vet bills and horse food. If I had a shorter commute I might think about it. I could store it in the bicycle rack until hometime. Heh. If I didn't hate and fear all of horsekind.
Off to London tomorrow for a meeting. On the train. No fighting through the post-sunrise throng for me. And I am taking a day off on Friday because I have some stuff to do locally, and have no desire to join the long slow crocodile of Glastonbury-bound traffic that is bound to fill every road for miles around. I shall watch it on the local news and be smug that I am not involved.
The weather forecast is appalling. I have spent too many long, long weekends wallowing in mud on campsites to want to do it again anytime soon.
Mr WithaY is off shooting on Saturday. I, however, am going to sit with my nose pressed to the window, waiting for the windscreen repair guys to turn up.
Thursday, 31 May 2007
Fixed!
Hurrah!
The plumber came round today and fixed the cold tap in the bath, after several months of chasing. He's a really great plumber, and a really nice bloke, but is unbelievably busy, so very hard to get hold of.
Hm....maybe those factors are linked somehow?
Anyway, I can now use the bath instead of having to go and wash in the pond every morning.
I predict a Lush-intensive session later on tonight. Maybe with candles. I am not a very girly girl (as my boss kindly pointed out to me today) but I think after 3 bath-less months a few candles are called for.
Oh, I am pleased.
The plumber came round today and fixed the cold tap in the bath, after several months of chasing. He's a really great plumber, and a really nice bloke, but is unbelievably busy, so very hard to get hold of.
Hm....maybe those factors are linked somehow?
Anyway, I can now use the bath instead of having to go and wash in the pond every morning.
I predict a Lush-intensive session later on tonight. Maybe with candles. I am not a very girly girl (as my boss kindly pointed out to me today) but I think after 3 bath-less months a few candles are called for.
Oh, I am pleased.
Tuesday, 15 May 2007
Tagged! How exciting!
Ooh - never been tagged before. I feel special now.
Right. I'll do the "5 places to eat" one first, I think. In Bath, because it's the one of the very few places around here with a wide range of foody choices. So, places I like:
(In no particular order)
1) The Fishworks. It's a fishmonger. WIth a restaurant attached. If you don't like fish, you really won't like it here. It's next to the sausage shop, so a bit of a bonus there. IF you like sausages, of course.
Mr WithaY and I have been there a few times and it's always bloody great. Had the best starter EVER - some hand picked (dived? harvested?) scallops seared and served with lemon oil. Very simple. Amazing. And then a HUUUUUGE bowl of fat prawns cooked in lord knows what. I ended up with bits of prawn shell all over my faace, in my hair, up the walls. Superb.
We went there for lunch for our wedding anniversary a few years ago, not long after after we'd had our beloved dog put to sleep and it made us both feel better than we had done for ages. I can't think of a higher recommendation, really.
2) The Moon and Sixpence. In a courtyard behind the Podium, not obvious from the street. Lovely fairly posh food. I've been there a couple of times (and once I wasn't paying - is there anything better than a free meal?) and it was lovely. Beautiful place, gorgeous presentation, nice staff, and a bar upstairs so it was lively, rather than being a "hushed" eating place.
3) The Firehouse. I think it's part of a very tiny chain, as there's another one in Bristol somewhere. They do a pretty small range of food but the half a chicken and mesquite fries is fab.
4) Mai Thai. Down Manvers Street, not far from the police station. Top notch Thai food, very small restaurant, beautiful Thai ladies bring you glorious food, and you can stagger a few hundred yards to the railway station to get home. Marvellous.
5) Sally Lunn's. Go there for tea and Sally Lunn buns. It's like being in someone's house, but you have to pay for a cup of tea. Mmmmm. Buns.
Right. I'll do the "5 places to eat" one first, I think. In Bath, because it's the one of the very few places around here with a wide range of foody choices. So, places I like:
(In no particular order)
1) The Fishworks. It's a fishmonger. WIth a restaurant attached. If you don't like fish, you really won't like it here. It's next to the sausage shop, so a bit of a bonus there. IF you like sausages, of course.
Mr WithaY and I have been there a few times and it's always bloody great. Had the best starter EVER - some hand picked (dived? harvested?) scallops seared and served with lemon oil. Very simple. Amazing. And then a HUUUUUGE bowl of fat prawns cooked in lord knows what. I ended up with bits of prawn shell all over my faace, in my hair, up the walls. Superb.
We went there for lunch for our wedding anniversary a few years ago, not long after after we'd had our beloved dog put to sleep and it made us both feel better than we had done for ages. I can't think of a higher recommendation, really.
2) The Moon and Sixpence. In a courtyard behind the Podium, not obvious from the street. Lovely fairly posh food. I've been there a couple of times (and once I wasn't paying - is there anything better than a free meal?) and it was lovely. Beautiful place, gorgeous presentation, nice staff, and a bar upstairs so it was lively, rather than being a "hushed" eating place.
3) The Firehouse. I think it's part of a very tiny chain, as there's another one in Bristol somewhere. They do a pretty small range of food but the half a chicken and mesquite fries is fab.
4) Mai Thai. Down Manvers Street, not far from the police station. Top notch Thai food, very small restaurant, beautiful Thai ladies bring you glorious food, and you can stagger a few hundred yards to the railway station to get home. Marvellous.
5) Sally Lunn's. Go there for tea and Sally Lunn buns. It's like being in someone's house, but you have to pay for a cup of tea. Mmmmm. Buns.
Sunday, 13 May 2007
Wet weekend
It has been pissing down almost non-stop since Thursday morning. We went out in Bath on Thursday night for beer and curry and got bloody soaked walking from the car to the pub.
I had no idea what had been going on in Bath city centre. It's been flattened!
I mean I knew there were all these plans in the pipeline for urban regeneration stuff, new shops, better parking (about bloody time too), removal of shite 1960 "architecture" and so on, but it looks like one of those old newsreels of the Blitz. Without the bombs.
The whole bottom end of the main drag through town is gone, surrounded by huge hoardings decorated with optimistic artists' impressions of how great it will be once it's finished.
We didn't really stay to look for long as it was pissing down, but I will go and have a good poke around soon. I think I'll go in on the train though, as half the car parks have vanished as well.
Other exciting weekend news. Um. None really. I made a cake today. Cherry madeira, if you're interested. Not too bad, but not one of my best. The whole baking thing was enlivened by a dramatic tumble down the stairs mid-bake though. The beeper timing thingy went off and I dashed down to check, and was too clumsy and inept to make it down without incident. So now my knee, wrist and ankle all hurt like hell. Nothing broken, but some great bruises.
We went out earlier today and the roads are quite scarily flooded. There were cars having to creep along in the middle of the road to avoid being under water. Hope it clears a bit before the morning.
Oh yeah - my car was leaking on Friday! Bloody rain coming in through the (I think) sunroof. Bollocks. Better check that tomorrow.
I had no idea what had been going on in Bath city centre. It's been flattened!
I mean I knew there were all these plans in the pipeline for urban regeneration stuff, new shops, better parking (about bloody time too), removal of shite 1960 "architecture" and so on, but it looks like one of those old newsreels of the Blitz. Without the bombs.
The whole bottom end of the main drag through town is gone, surrounded by huge hoardings decorated with optimistic artists' impressions of how great it will be once it's finished.
We didn't really stay to look for long as it was pissing down, but I will go and have a good poke around soon. I think I'll go in on the train though, as half the car parks have vanished as well.
Other exciting weekend news. Um. None really. I made a cake today. Cherry madeira, if you're interested. Not too bad, but not one of my best. The whole baking thing was enlivened by a dramatic tumble down the stairs mid-bake though. The beeper timing thingy went off and I dashed down to check, and was too clumsy and inept to make it down without incident. So now my knee, wrist and ankle all hurt like hell. Nothing broken, but some great bruises.
We went out earlier today and the roads are quite scarily flooded. There were cars having to creep along in the middle of the road to avoid being under water. Hope it clears a bit before the morning.
Oh yeah - my car was leaking on Friday! Bloody rain coming in through the (I think) sunroof. Bollocks. Better check that tomorrow.
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