Style matters

Today I am pondering the nature of Time.

This is mostly in the context of a party we are heading off to in a bit, up there in Cheltenham.  Coo er gosh posh eh?  A dear friend is having a Significant Birthday this week, and we have been invited along to help him celebrate.  When the invitation arrived, I looked at the clever vintage-stylee design, and the large, highly visible Date of Birth thereon.

Me:  "I can't believe he's 50!  Already!  it only seems a couple of years since we all went to his 40th birthday!  Remember that evening?  That Chinese restaurant in Gloucester?  What a laugh."

Mr WithaY:  Read the date again.

Me:  1954.

Mr WithaY:  And 2014 minus 1954 is....?

Me:  (uncertainly, what with my terrible Maths Blindness affliction)  Um...50?

Mr WithaY:  No.  60.  He's 60.  It's TWENTY YEARS since we went to his 40th birthday.

Me:  But I still have the handbag I took to that party!

So, we are off to a birthday party for a friend who is, incredibly, 60 .  The lithe bugger started long-distance running a year or two ago and is fitter and healthier than he has been in all the time I've known him.  He posts photos on Facebook of him running 10k races, and 25k races, and wearing medals from races, and he looks less knackered than I do after I've hoovered the stairs.

This morning, Mr WithaY has been preparing himself for the event.  He's been rummaging in his wardrobe, selecting garments, then rejecting them, then picking them up again to see the effect with a different waistcoat.  He has, and I am not joking, just been in a quandary as to which pocket watch he ought to wear.
I suggested he forgo the pocket watch, and wear a wristwatch like any sane human, but apparently if you wear a waistcoat, you have to wear a watch chain, and if you wear a watch chain, you have to wear a pocket watch. Well duh.

Mr WithaY has two modes for clothes. He has Work Mode, which involves multiple layers of fleece, Goretex, moleskin, gaiters and heavy boots, with a complicated belt arrangement which has knives, a firelighting kit and his phone attached to it, and he has Going Out Mode, which involves cravats, waistcoats, 1930s trousers, or possibly overcoats, and the same heavy boots (minus gaiters.)  I'm pretty sure that if I didn't put my foot down, he'd wear a monocle.  Maybe two, as he's short-sighted.

To make matters worse, today he has been having to make additional holes in his belt, as he has lost so much weight due to being a manly outdoor type*, so he's smugly looking forward to showing off his svelte shape in front of our friends later.

Next week we're going shopping to buy him some sensible shoes, as all his shoes look like Ray Mears has been tromping across Africa in them.  I haven't told him yet. I'll pretend we're popping into Salisbury for a mooch round the market and lunch at Wagamama, then drag him to a shoe shop.  Bwahahahahaha.

I'm wearing a new skirt and a pretty top, and some lipstick, in order to fulfil the dress code of "smart casual" which is the most hellish of all dress codes. I can do smart - I have ballgowns, and tiaras and evening gloves and feather boas - and I can do casual - look, I am doing that right now - but Smart Casual is a nasty mixture in the middle.  Will I be too casual?  Will I be overdressed?  Will anyone care?

Thankfully, the answer to that last question is a resounding "no," because these are very old friends who for 20 years only really saw me in a field, dressed as a Seventeenth Century musketeer.  Their expectations are low.

In other news, we have had a bit of a health scare with the dog.  A peculiar lump appeared on one of her paws, just above the dewclaw, so I did what you should never do, and Googled "weird lumps on Labradors."  Immediately, inevitably, I became convinced she had terminal Death Paw Cancer Lumps, so we took her to the vet the next day for a check-up.  The vet took a biopsy and added to the alarm by telling us it could either be a cyst (not too bad) or a tumour (GAAAAH WHAT DID YOU SAY??) but that she wouldn't know till after the results came back.

A stressful few days followed, with us playing telephone tag with the vet, trying to get the results. Things were not helped by them leaving a message saying "It's not massively bad, can you ring us please?"

What the hell does "not massively bad" mean?    We only need to amputate one foot?  She could live at least another six months?  Brrr.

Anyhoo, eventually I spoke to the vet, who told me it was most likely a cyst-type thing as a result of an irritation like a bite or a sting or a thorn, and it should go away by itself in six to eight weeks. We have to take her back for a check up in a fortnight though, just to make sure.

The most encouraging thing was that they didn't find any cancer cells, which is what they were looking for.

Here she is, being all stressed out by the situation.

*And not eating 5 custard doughnuts a day whilst sat on his arse at a desk

Fancy London ways

So, the weekend in London. Away from home, and out in the big city and all that. How was it? What did we do? What did we think of it? Was it fun?

Well, I jotted down a few points to bear in mind for the future:

1) Taxis are not cheap. Even for short journeys. Seriously. You will need far more cash than you think you will.

2) When booking a hotel online, do NOT be fooled by the short-looking distance it is from Waterloo on the map. It will in fact be fucking miles away and cost you a fortune in taxis. (See point 1.) Remember, London is much, much bigger than you think, so places can be a long way apart and yet, strangely, still be in London. It's not like Wiltshire, where there are large swathes of greenery to let you know when one place ends and another begins.

3) Check the location of Tube stations relative to the hotel. If there are no Tube stations within quarter of a mile, stay somewhere else, or Point 1 will apply. Do NOT imagine that you will walk everywhere. You don't know the area, or the way to where you are going, and anyway it will rain.

4) London is crowded. Expect this. Do not give in to the desire to fling slow-walking tourists off Westminster Bridge into the river when they impede your progress. By all means imagine doing it, and add hilarious sound effects at the same time. Do not, however, allow this to become reality.

5) If it starts raining, and it will, the Natural History Museum will be full of families trying to avoid getting wet. Do not allow this to provoke you into unbecoming displays of outrage as the children shriek and gibber like howler monkeys around the dinosaur skeletons.

6) When you tell the taxi driver (see point 1) where you want to go, and he then takes you somewhere completely different, many miles away, do not get out of the cab. Simply reiterate where you want to go, as you told him at the start of your marathon cross-London journey. Give him the exact postcode to programme into his SatNav system, then sit in silence in the back till you arrive at the correct destination. Pay him a reasonable amount and make a mental note not to use that cab firm again. A magical white London cab* will appear at the right moment to take you home. Yes it will. You just have to believe it will.

You're welcome.

We went on the London Eye (so high!  So many short, squat,  loud Northern women pointing out the restaurant where they had lunch yesterday, just there, just off the edge of Trafalgar Square, look, there, see it?). 

We went to the Aquarium (sharks!  So many fish of many different colours!  So many dark corridors and small children to fall over as they blunder about, their parents transfixed by the fish.) 

We went to the Natural History Museum, where we saw the ice rink out the front and admired the huge collection of sparkly, sparkly stones (so many Christmas present ideas!)

We went for a splendid dinner on Friday night at China Boulevard, overlooking the river, with a huge screen showing Celine Dion live in Las Vegas behind us.  That was odd, but we put up with it because the food was great.  Except for the chicken curry dish.  That was weird and a bit crap, frankly, but everything else was excellent. 

We had booze!  At lunchtime! Unheard of, when you usually have to drive everywhere.  Marvellous. 

I took photos, oh so many photos, and will post some up here when I am feeling less feverish and rubbish. Because, yes! I have picked up a fancy big city Lurgy of some sort. Spent most of last night alternating between sweating profusely (usually I don't sweat much for a fat lass), and shivering as if I was in a homemade hut in the Arctic tundra, with Ray Mears mocking me from his cosy warm three bedroom semi-detached moss-lined palace.

So bollocks to London germs.

Other than that, a splendid time was had by all. The blogger/Twitter party thing on Saturday was fun. Met many lovely people, ate a million bits of chicken, drank a lot of not half bad fizz and laughed a lot. We could have done with little name badges though.

It was a bit disheartening to introduce myself to people and then watch them school their expression of "Who? I've never read a single word you've written," into "Ah yes, how charming to meet you at last."

Oh, and we got prizes! For one of the entries we submitted to the virtual Village Fete. Sadly, I have no idea which one was deemed worthy of a prize, but hey, we got a lovely** trophy and some posh Belgian chocs, so yay for us.   It might even have been for this, but I doubt it.  Or maybe this.

We need to get out more.  Lordy.   




*They are like the unicorns of the city, and only appear to the pure of heart. Mr WithaY can whistle them up like nobody's business.

**I will post a picture so all may admire its loveliness.

Animal House

This weekend has been lovely.

The weather has been fantastic, and as a result my mood has improved significantly. We had a houseful here. We had a belated birthday party for my lovely Mum, who was very poorly indeed when it was the actual Big Day; we decided to have a celebration now, when she was actually able to enjoy it.

It was fantastic. Both sisters were here with their respective families - we had eight children (yes, Eldest Nephew, I know you are 18, but in my head you're still a child) and six adults. Good job it was sunny, or it would have been an incredible squash in the house.

Mr WithaY had a prior work commitment* but was able to come home this morning in time to say hello to everyone before they headed home.

We had a barbecue, with Bro-in-Law manning the cooking station, assisted by various children. We had lots of lovely celebratory fizz, and a truly beautiful birthday cake that Middle Sis managed to smuggle down from London in one piece. We had lights in the trees and lanterns all over the garden so when it got dark it looked lovely. We had a tent in the back garden for several of the children to sleep in (thank goodness for the fine weather!) so there was much excitement about who was sleeping where and who was getting what bedding.

Youngest Sis managed to acquire a huge fat lip, which made her look like one of those minor celebrities who have disastrous collagen injections. We're not entirely sure what caused it, but an allergic reaction to the jalapeno burgers seems to be the likeliest candidate. And she brought those, so I don't need to feel guilty.

Charlie the dog was the star of the show, running madly between all the children, hovering hopefully whenever anyone was eating** and barking at next door's dogs when it was all getting too quiet for his liking. He also did a good deal of that cute Jack Russell "jumping really high and then dancing on his back legs" thing.

Marvellous stuff.

I spent the night in my little study here, initially on Mr WithaY's foldaway camp bed. He had taken a hammock and a tarpaulin to make a sleeping shelter in the woods. The bed was considered an unimaginable luxury I think.

Anyhoo, I set it all up, and then carefully climbed in. I am, I have decided, far too wide to sleep in a foldaway camp bed. There seemed to be knobs and spines and bars and bolts sticking into every part of me as I lay there, and the bed made alarming groaning noises when I shifted position.

It brought to mind one of those disaster movies where you know a suspension bridge is going to collapse, and you keep seeing a shot of high tension cables parting under stress, strand by strand.

I lost my nerve after 20 minutes, folded the bed back up and made a little nest of blankets and sofa throws on the floor and slept there instead.

This morning we sat in the garden and drank coffee, whilst everyone found their respective sleeping bags/socks/hairbrushes/dog toys/PlayStations/iPods/car keys etcetera, before eating the World's Largest Chilli con Carne. And barbecue leftovers. Nom nom nom.

Mr WithaY and I stood on the drive waved off the family, a tender moment only slightly marred by Mr WithaY jumping up and down waving his arms in the air like Flounder in the closing credits of Animal House.

And now I am going to have a shower, put my pyjamas on and chill out till bedtime. When I will sleep in a bed. Hurrah.



Oh - I understand that there is some discussion around the appropriateness of the use of marker pen and cocktail sticks in Mr WithaY's Village Fete entry. I would just like to state for the record that no marker pen whatsoever was used in the creation of March Of The Penguins.

That is all.



*Doing survivalist woodcraft type stuff out of doors. In the woods. I hope he gets lots of time off in lieu as it took up his entire weekend.

**ie almost all the time

Ready

I am writing this wrapped in fifty layers of fleece, mittens, ear muffs, gaiters, galoshes and an oven glove on my nose.

We are expecting snow. Up to 5 centimetres, possibly, which is about, ooh, two inches I think?

Mr WithaY has stacked logs next to the fireplace, and I have replenished all the candle holders, so when we get a power cut (as we do whenever there is the slightest hint of dodgy weather), it will at least be possible to keep warm and see where the major obstacles are around the place.

We're going over to the nursing home in a bit to visit Father-in-law WithaY. I'd better pack the Emergency Bag* just in case. That five mile journey could be tricky if the snow really settles in.

Well, alright. It isn't that cold. And it isn't snowing.

Yet.

But the forecast says tomorrow will be horrific, so I am going to boot up my work laptop later and if nobody has sneaked any meetings into my diary for tomorrow, will work at home. It seems crazy to travel 150 miles in crappy weather to do stuff I could do in my study, wearing my slippers.

Other news: Had a little get-together last night, with some of our lovely local mates, which was fun. Quite quiet and well-behaved, as these things go, but that was partly becasue a large number of the guests had partied a little too hard on Friday night at the pub. Much cider was drunk, and many bad jokes were told. Marvellous.

A guitar was brought in, massively out of tune, so I did my best Nanny Ogg impression, did a poor job of tuning it, and played some songs. People sang**, there was even a spattering of applause from a group who had been enjoying a quiet meal in the bar. As they left (quite soon afterwards, now I come to think about it), they all said "Thank you, very nice." Heh. Yay me.

On Saturday morning, despite slight headaches, we ventured into Salisbury to transact high finance. Once the dull money stuff was done, I bought myself:

1) A new rucksack for commuting with, bigger than the one I have at the moment, so suitable for overnight stays as well as daily travel;

2) A little black handbag which is a bit more appropriate for carrying round the office, and which fits nicely inside the new rucksack, cleverly reducing the number of items I have to carry while I stride through the metropolis;

3) A pretty pink, cream and grey silk scarf from Accessorize which will work with many of my dull suits;

4) A set of short knitting needles and some funky wool to make Mr WithaY a scarf while I am on the train. Long needles are too unwieldy, but these are short so should be ok for commuting knitting;

I also went to get my engagement ring back from the menders, where it has been languishing since well before Christmas. I was quite apprehensive because they were remaking the whole thing, and I was really worried that they might not make it look the same as it had before.

I need not have worried. They have done a superb job, and the diamond looked fantastic. They had cleaned it, and the resetting meant it looked HUGE! Hurrah!

However, when I tried it on, it was much too small.

They had made it the same size that it was, but I hadn't realised how much too small it was for me while I was wearing it. If that makes sense. Anyhoo, when I tried it on, it was much too tight, and I realised that my wedding ring is also too small now.

I have been wearing my engagement ring for 21 years, and my wedding ring for 15, so no great shock there, as I have increased in mass significantly since I was 21.

Sooo, they are both off being sized, and I should get them back in a few weeks. Feels very odd being without them.

And now, a story with a happy ending:

Last weekend I went to the music shop and asked about acquiring an electric Rickenbacker 12-string. In blue.

I found out many sad things....

There is a 2 to 3 year waiting list for a new Rickenbacker 12 string, the prices are going up and up all the time, thanks to the dollar/pound relationship breakdown, and that if I ordered one now I would not be able to fix a price, and would have to pay whatever they asked me when it was ready. So, pants.

However, the man in the shop was very nice, and said he'd do some ringing round of dealers and so on, to see what was available out there. He said he;d call me back.

He called me back on Friday, to tell me that he had some good news and some bad news. The bad news was that the model I wanted, in the colour I wanted was not to be found in the UK. He'd even been on EBay to see if he could find me one, to no avail.

But the good news was that one of his customers had called him that morning to say he wanted to trade in a guitar for a new, rare model which was in the shop. Guess what he was trading in?

Guess what I have in my sitting room, right now?



It's wonderful. It sounds like the 1960s.













*Torch, chocolate, map, de-icer, more chocolate, bottle of water, book, extra chocolate. Everyone should have an Emergency Bag.

**I mentioned that we'd all been drinking, yes?

Picture nicked from http://www.rickenbacker.com/

What chores

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

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

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

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

You can get pretty much anything at Salisbury market.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

Me and my wine

Ah, Def Leppard. Before they went a bit shite.

This morning I have been mostly baking* and having a hangover.

Our mates arrived yesterday, along with the spaniels, and we sat out in the garden catching up. Come 4 o'clock, we thought it would be rather nice to have a glass of wine, it being such a lovely summer afternoon. And that's where it all started.

We were halfway through the second bottle of white wine and ice (classy, us) when our long-lost mate Bill the Spill turned up as well. He was not up for wine, being en route elsewhere, but stayed and had a cup of tea or two and a chat, which was lovely.

We drank more wine, played Stick** with the spaniels, ate olives and breadsticks and chilled out. It was lovely. By the time supper was ready we were, to put it bluntly, shitfaced.

The four of us got through five bottles of wine, a huge mound of tasty snacks, a giant dish of Moroccan chicken, and then we went to a party over at the pub. Yay for weekends.

Other news: Work has been ridiculously busy again, but after the Big Important Meeting on Friday we might be getting some more help on the team and a deadline extension, so fingers crossed for that. If nothing else it will make the rest of the summer slightly less pressured.

Mr WithaY's dad is still in hospital, and not too good at all, unfortunately.

Ah yes, last week we were sat watching one of the seemingly endless reruns of Friends. Undemanding and sometimes amusing, and great to sit and stare at blankly when you have just got in from work and are having a nice cup of tea. I asked Mr WithaY which of the cast he thought was the star of the show.

"Well, Jennifer Aniston always gets top billing" he said.

And that would be because it's an alphabetical listing, dear.

Bless.

*Muffins, plain and chocolate chip, cup cakes, a Madeira cake. Damn I'm good.

**A challenging game of skill and dexterity, involving a stick. We throw it. They bring it back.

Up the wooden hill

Well didn't the weekend just fly by?

We had a rather traumatic trip to hospital on Saturday to see father-in-law WithaY who has had a very nasty fall and is in a pretty bad way. At least he has been moved to a slightly nearer hospital today so we can get there more easily.

Went to the party on Saturday night which was lovely, met lots of people for the first time, including a terrifyingly keen chap who had brought many, many musical instruments. He spotted my case, and was demanding that I get my guitar out this instant, despite me having literally just walked in out of the rain, dripping water all over the hall floor. Still, we played a few songs* which was fun.

Such a shame about the weather, but it was warm enough to stand under the marquee in comfort and admire the fire and the twinkly lights. All very atmospheric.

Sunday was spent in a blur of domestic activity** and eating a fine roast duck Sunday Dinner.

I am away for a few days now, about to head off to a friend's house for dinner and a bed, then driving to Bedford at the crack of dawn tomorrow morning. Pray for me. The M25 will be hell.


*Later. After I'd taken my coat off and been handed a drink.
**Ironing. Gah.

Finding My Way

Ah, the summer Solstice. A time of deep, profound, mystical communing with the Earth and all of mankind, bathed in the glow of the dawn light.

Sadly, to do all that, you have to get to Stonehenge. Which is what every fucker in the West of England is trying to do this afternoon.

It has taken me over an hour and a half to get home from work, even after I baled out early to beat the traffic.

I thought I'd be cunning and go the back way, taking in a grand tour of Military Establishments of the South West. I avoided the A303, and instead went through Tidworth, then Bulford Camp, gleeful and confident. I got to an unmarked junction and took a guess, trusting to luck and my own sense of direction. To my dismay, I ended up back on the A303, going in the wrong direction, back towards work.

How I laughed.*

I gave up and did a U-turn, which was interesting, and then went back along the route I normally go. Where I would have been 40 minutes earlier, if I hadn't taken the back way, in fact.

I did cut off across country after that to avoid going past Stonehenge itself. I could see the traffic queue from the top of the hill, and it looked like hell on toast.

Finally made it home, exhausted and harrowed. It's pissing down with rain now. That'll be nice for them all, stood out there in a field, waiting for the night to end.

Bastards.

Other news. Another mental week at work. I'm starting to panic about it all, but strangely, running around waving my arms and making Daffy Duck noises isn't helping things.

I have to flog up to Bedford (fucking Bedford!) next week for 2 days which is a hassle I could do without, but it might get me some useful contacts. Last year I got a freebie teddy bear too, so not an entirely wasted day.

We're off to a party this weekend, supposedly in a garden, so I am really hoping the rain stops. We went to a great more or less impromptu** one last weekend, and ended up sitting under the stars till 2am, drinking wine and chatting. Was fab, but has given me Summer Party Fever, so now I want to do that every weekend.

Mr WithaY found out that his dad has had a nasty fall and is in hospital so we plan to go and see him over the weekend too. Poor bugger.

I need to practice my guitar a bit too, as I have been asked to bring it (and the amp!) to the party tomorrow. Be a bit embarrassing if I set it all up and then was unable to remember how to play anything. Heh.



*I didnt really. I said "FUCKING HELL" several times, quite loudly.

**i.e: The hosts put in a ton of work, we turned up and ate all their food and made lots of noise. Hurrah.

Communications

Good job I spoke to my lovely Mum earlier. The big family get-together that I had on the WithaY calendar as happening on Sunday, is actually happening on Saturday.

Gah.

In itself, changing the day is not a big deal, but we are going out to dinner with some of our outrageous rapscallion neighbours on Saturday night, so we'll have to scoot back home rather than stay late at my Mum's.

Never mind. Looking on the bright side...

At least we now know the right day to turn up, and won't have the dreadful scenario of the rest of the clan looking at their watches all afternoon, wondering if we've been flattened under a truck on the M3. (Look on a map, American readers....Wiltshire to Sussex, quite a long way but very pretty scenery.)

So. Have finished wrapping all the gifts, and am very pleased about that.

I am rubbish at gift wrapping. I envy women who can make parcels look tempting, tidy and pretty. Mine look like someone has thrown wrapping paper over a pineapple and then sellotaped it together with their eyes shut. Even rectangular gifts.

Other news. I am now the proud owner of a red, fur-encrusted cowboy hat. It was a gift from one of my colleagues and I had to wear it throughout the team Christmas lunch at the pub yesterday.

I might take pictures when I can face it again.

We did Secret Santa gifts. (Sorry Manuel )

Mine was really good*. In fact, I think everyone got a really nice gift. Nobody was offended, nobody looked disappointed and everyone spent a while playing with their respective presents, and showing them off to the others around the table.

The food was excellent, everyone got what they ordered, everyone ate it all and the staff were brilliant. One of the nicest Christmas lunches I;ve been to for work, I think.

The pheasant seems to have left us. I am imagining him sitting happily in a cosy corner somewhere, surrounded by his mates and plenty of food. The sad reality is probably rather different.

No sign of any bastard rats for a while too, which is excellent. The poison bait has been "nibbled" apparently, so with any luck they will all be dead and gone in a short while.

If they didn't make such a bloody mess I wouldn't have nearly as big an issue with them, but they have eaten holes in the garden fence, dug up the compost bin and gnawed all the fenceposts we were storing under the shed. Fuckers.



*Not the cowboy hat, that was an unexpected bonus.

Loud Bangs

Had an amusing time at the local bonfire and firework thingy last night, marred only by the ridiculously long wait between lighting the fire and starting the fireworks. Getting on for an hour and a half, I reckon.

All so the local halfwit radio station presenters could screech "Woo! Yeah! Let's part-ay!" over the tannoy. Over and over again. The adoring crowd of potato-headed fans (total number - about 6) stood slack-jawed and hot-dog covered until the fireworks started, when they all pointed vacuously at the sky instead.

Probably trying to work out why the stars were falling. I look forward to the panic-stricken letters to the local paper next week.

Fuckwits.

Saw a bat flying about among the rising embers of the fire. Was probably getting really pissed off that every moth he grabbed turned out to be red hot.

Getting out at the end was a bit of a shambles. Everyone stampeded for the exit the minute the last rocket had done its thing, so there was a massive queue. The soldiers who were managing the traffic did their best but it was obvious that it was going to take ages to get everyone out.

We got stuck behind a nervous young girl who was disinclined to push out into the ever-increasing stream of traffic, which was a bit tiresome. She plucked up courage eventually, and we waited to take our turn. Sadly, the utter bastards in the moving traffic began to squeeze closer and closer together, preventing anyone else pulling into the line. Most annoying, as we had been waiting patiently for half an hour by this time.

Suddenly a large shaven-headed* bloke leapt out of his car and stood in front of the moving traffic, stopping it in its tracks. He waved us out, saying "Go on mate, you were there first" which I thought was very nice of him.

And then home for chilli and beer. Hurrah.

Off out shortly to a neighbour's for another firework party. It transpires that Mr WithaY has some sort of medical condition which means he cannot walk past a shop selling fireworks without buying a load. Tragic really.

I might start a charity.


*and not at all potato-like

Apples

Hey, guess what kind of local produce-related event I went to today?

Apple Day! Hurrah!

We have been having fun, here in Wiltshire.

Our visitors arrived safe and sound on Friday, having crossed the Atlantic in about 5 hours. They had a monster tailwind and apparently were doing about 700mph. Their plane got to Heathrow by 5am, and had to circle for an hour before they were allowed to land.

Still, they managed the train journey to Salisbury and were met by Mr WithaY, and were safe and sound at ours by 11am. Marvellous.

And since then we've been for a walk round the village, to the local farm shop, to the Olives et Al food show at Sturminster Newton (mmmm...olives), to Tescos, and to Apple Day.

And we've had a dinner party and a party party. Sooo busy.

No wonder I'm knackered.

Back to work tomorrow, while Mr WithaY and our guests fly off to the South of France for a few days. Gah.

We were given a new toilet seat as a gift by some of our demented neighbours. They refused point blank to take it home with them again at the end of the evening. So, I now have plans. Mwahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

Anyway, Apple Day. I took pictures.



There were many, many different apple varieties. This room smelled absolutely lovely.



There were apples that sounded like a grumble:



Apples that sounded like porn films:



And apples that were just gorgeous:



We also met some pigs:



Which reminds me. Roast pork and apple sauce for lunch. Bloody excellent.

Aftermath. And beforemath.

So, dinner last night was fun. Mr WithaY made the word's biggest paella. Well, probably one of the top 20 largest, I bet.



Mmmm. Fishy.

We drank a lot of lovely wine, and had a great evening catching up with friends, so hurrah for that.

But my burn! Oh lordy! Sooo incredibly disfiguring! I may need some kind of surgical mask until it heals up.



See?

No, look closer.

There, just by my finger, see it?

Ow.

It's exactly the same shape as the match head which will make for interesting tales* in the future.

Other news: Mr WithaY and I have been up to Gloucester today to help a very dear friend celebrate her birthday. It was fab.

Loads of nice people, lovely food, champagne (although I just had the one as it was my turn to drive home) and increasingly aggressive and competitive boxing on the Wii.

Heh. Excellent.

But the drive home...the M4 on a Sunday evening. For fuck's sake! What a nightmare. Took us well over an hour and a half to travel less than 50 miles. Gah.

Anyway, it's been a very nice weekend one way and another and I am not feeling too stressed about work tomorrow for a change. Which is nice.


*not really very interesting, but you have to take your entertainment where you find it, I think.

Games

I ache.

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

Why?

Not because I have been working hard at the gym.

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

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

No.

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

I am a natural at boxing, it seems.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Party animals

Just got back from very pleasant party weekend, helping my mate Steve celebrate his birthday. It was fab. He'd organised a big field, a barbecue, beer, a band, and loads of mates to turn up and party with him. Bloody great.

I took pictures. Especially took one of the birthday cake...



And here are some rather atmospheric shots of the party, fairly late on, after drink had been taken:







It was great.

Oh, and here's a party animal.



It's a depressing sign of age when all your mates' dogs are limping about because they are old and arthritic. Much like your mates.

Party animal

Just got home after a fab party over at the pub. A mate in the village had her 50th birthday, and my lovely guitar teacher's band was playing, so a grand night out for all.

Especially me, because I drank a shitload of gin and danced like nobody was looking. They were, obviously, because a large bird bouncing about on the dancefloor always attracts attention. Heh.

The band were fab, despite the intermittent addition of an extra singer who seemed to be so nervous that she forgot all the songs she was doing. Still, a cute dancer so I guess nobody minded too much.

It was very tempting to do the Joan of Arc thing from "Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure" though ...the bit where she shoves the aerobic instructor sideways off the stage and takes over the class. Maybe next time.

The birthday cake was a true work of art. I took a photo, which I will post on here as soon as I am sober enough to work the camera again.

Had a great time at my bestest mate's last night too. Was lovely to catch up, it's been months since we got together. He took me into town in his new car. Well, tried to.

Winchester, sort your fucking traffic problems out. Please.

We ended up driving all the way across town to the Park and Ride, and getting the bus back into the city centre. Not terribly sensible, but all the carparks were full. Gah.

Had a pasty at Reeves the bakers for lunch (mmmmmm pasty) then wandered around in the sunshine for half an hour, buying bits and pieces I cant get locally. Then had to head home, braving the hellish Friday afternoon A303 traffic.

Mr WithaY was gratifyingly pleased to see me after my night away, so that was nice. Especially as he danced with me at the party, despite his earlier predictions about the unlikelihood of that happening. Heh. Excellent.

I was told that my blog "isn't spiteful enough" by one of my mates in the village. I think she's planning to start her own, so hopefully if she has any spite to spare I can have some. Heh. Hello Sarah.

Mr WithaY and my guitar teacher are cooking up something to do with me playing in/with a band later in the year. Slightly worryingly, I was told they plan to "groom" me. Hmmm.

More news on that as it breaks.

Off out...

...very soon. Going up to London to help Middle Sis celebrate her 40th.

It's still pissing down here, so the motorways will be a delight. We're stopping off at a supermarket on the way to get some stuff for the party. Fizz for the many, many children, probably some gin for me, beer for Mr WithaY and the other chaps, plus anything else that takes our fancy.

Had a very nice evening at home last night. Mr WithaY was a bit traumatised after his 2 day trip to London for work, what with the car bombs being found in the same area he and our mate Richard had been wandering round in that evening. As if London wasn't stressful enough without fucking nail bombs.

So we decided to stay home, have a lovely supper (cooked by me, domestic goddess that I am), watched an unexpectedly enjoyable film on TV and just chilled out.

Oh, and I had a very successful guitar lesson, which was great fun.

Hmmm...some Antipodean woman has just knocked on the door looking for someone who she thinks lives in the village. It ain't us.

Well, time to get dressed and prepare for the rigours of the trip. And the rigours of the party. Heh.

Trains

Been up in London all day today. I hate it. With a passion. I mean, the city itself is great: the buildings, the theatres, the museums and galleries, the river, the parks, the unexpected beauty of the place. Everything else about London can fuck off though.

The people. So many. So bizarre and hip looking. So many languages. So few manners.

The traffic. The TRAFFIC! It's insane! My colleague and I had to scamper out of the path of a taxi which deliberately swerved towards us as we crossed a road. Bastard.

And of course we got horribly lost. We'd been told "It's really easy to find" about the office we were heading for.

No it fucking isn't.

We came out of Tottenham Court Road station, turned the wrong way and walked miles down Oxford Street before pleading weakly with a very nice policeman to help us get to where we needed to be. Thank you kind copper, if you're reading this. He laughed at us for a bit then gave clear and accurate advice as to how to get where we needed to be.

We followed his directions, found the office, only 10 minutes late, had a very successful meeting and then (at the suggestion of our colleague) walked all the way across the West End to a different office to meet someone else who might be helpful. And that took over 40 minutes, because we got really lost again.

We went down Shaftesbury Avenue. Back up Shaftesbury Avenue. Up and down the Strand. Through Chinatown (I think). Past Trafalgar Square. Past Horseguards. Saw the National Gallery from almost all possible angles apart from the birds-eye view. It was an education.

My feet are killing me. I thought long and hard about which shoes to wear, and decided on heels because it was a formal meeting. Bloody fool that I am. Should have worn my big stompy boots or trainers or something sensible for walking in. Wellies maybe. Heh.

And getting there is such a pain in the arse. To London, I mean. Mr WithaY kindly dropped me at the station so I didn't need to fret about parking. However, I'd not been there more than 5 minutes when the announcement came that my train had been cancelled. And me with no car to drive to the next station, or back home, or to the office, as has happened before.

A "technical problem" apparently. Oh, great.

So that leaves all these people stood on the platform with their very own Technical Problem - that of getting from A to B without using a fucking train. Gah.

Well, the long and the short of it was that we all hopped on the next train regardless of its destination and forced the driver to go to London at gunpoint, then abandoned the train in a multi-storey car park and torched it.

Well, no we didn't.

But we should have. We all hopped on the next train and changed at Salisbury, slightly later than planned, and a lot grumpier. I met my colleague as arranged, and our journey continued more or less uneventfully. But shit like that happens every bloody time I have to use the train. And when it costs the best part of a hundred quid for a ticket, it really isn't good enough.

Other news. 24,000 people at Stonehenge for the Solstice celebration. Saw a few of them on the train - they looked like people who'd been up all night smoking dope. There was a group of three lads, probably late teens, who had clearly all been wearing "Alice Cooper" stylee eye makeup. In the fun-filled party atmosphere among 24,000 like minded souls it probably looked fab. On a grubby, crowded South West train at 9 in the morning it looked both crap and hilarious.

Ah well. A day off tomorrow. And I really feel like I need it.

Another thing - why do all the escalators on the London Underground have adverts for cheap flights to places you would love to visit? It's like torture...Canada, Hawaii, Bermuda, Mauritius, New Zealand....yes, thanks for telling me I could get there for £200. However, I'd much rather flog across London and then spend 3 hours on a train to get home.

Bastards.