Addiction

I left my latest project at the farm by mistake. I'm getting all jittery without it - it's like not getting my drugs hit. I need my needles!!

So, here is a bit about what happened at the farm at the weekend:

Romney Shears International Sheep Shearing competition!

The Man's housemate Chris modelling the 'pig sandwich and beer' pose.

The Ashford spinning guild were there, cheery souls all and very patient. I had a go and could not coordinate foot and hands - it was just like trying to learn to drive again. Very frustrating, but I am going to persevere and try to use the Ashford wheel I've been loaned.

At the flat, work has started destroying the roof. Tiles are cascading off the scaffolding, apparently. I have this horrible feeling that one is going to go through one of the windows, and it's bound to be one of the Edwardian leaded lights (coloured glass) ones... Scary to think that in less than two months we will have moved out of there (fingers crossed please god let it all go through OK) and into living in sin with respective boyfriends!

I am really looking forward to it, and I've amazed myself with my patience. Mum and Dad were surprised that I wasn't seeing The Man more over the weekend, because I was helping out at the shearing event, and that I wouldn't get to see him much during the week. I said that it will happen, and that I'm trying not to be such a part of the Now! generation. A couple of years ago I was a terrible impulse person, buying clothes and tat I didn't need, and flitting around to drinks and lunches with friends and colleagues when I really didn't have time or money, and getting anything or any information I wanted instantly on the internet. (My record was going from a snippet of ear-worm to full song lyrics in under 20 seconds.)

This new Wait-For-It mindset seems to be spreading to other areas of my life, aided by the patience required to get a finished object from your knitting, and now I'm happy to wait, in fact I quite enjoy looking forward to things again. I also employ the tactics which Crazy Aunt Purl and various others online have been trying to adopt recently of curbing impulse spending by either having months of not buying anything but essentials (food, loo roll, yarn food), or writing everything you want to buy down and then looking at it again a few days later. Anything that you actually really still want, you can have. Such a good idea. Anyone else tried it?

This made me laugh out loud today in Lombard St:


Slight close up of the funny bit:


Knitting news - second pair of socks done! Yay! I'm more pleased with the toes on these, and the short row heels are better. I did Wendy's easy toes from here, and picked up a tip from somewhere to tease out the wraps and stitch so they're separate, then knit through the back of the knit stitches (but not the purls), and this seems to give a less gappy result. But I'm still not overwhelmed with short row heels, although the technique is very smug-making. *:)

Next work in progress started, which is the Minnie cable edged bolero by Louisa Harding, from June's Knitting magazine. I had a cunning plan to knit the pieces all together to save on sewing up, then realised the whole cable trim is knitted separately and sewn on at the end. Including trim around the cuffs...

Weird

22

OnePlusYou Quizzes and Widgets

Why would someone even write this sort of quiz? But hey, I could obviously cope as a teacher in a private primary school. *:)

Puppies!

How ultra super cute are these?



Mir had nine little puppies on Friday. They look like little squirmy moles.




Little Rory (who is 1 tomorrow) can just pull himself up on the side of the whelping box to see what's going on, but is really more interested in getting to the water bowl to play and make a mess.


They make squeaky noises like guinea pigs and slurp when they eat.

As they were born on 4th July, any suggestions for names? 6 boys and 3 girls!

Le Shopping and sandwich weirdness

There were some errands that had to be run this lunchtime. Firstly, Puss has kindly lent me the keys to the Pole Boudoir so I can do some practise while she's in gai Paris for a few days. As a thank you, I popped down to Paul A Young's at the Royal Exchange. I thought our local chocolatier had some interesting flavours, but wow. This guy must be on some weird shit when he plans the recipes! Port and stilton anyone? Marmite? There were lots of intriguing and yummy looking ones too, like Bison grass or something, and blood peach, and strawberry with pink peppercorn, as well as the more usual champagne truffles. (Hope Puss isn't reading this before she gets back!) The lovely lady serving let me try a Guinness ganache - chocolatey and creamy while you eat it with the Guinness flavours coming through at the end. The shop also smells divine, and it's cool and dark, and they obviously take their chocolate veeery seriously.

Then, in a multi-tasking sort of way, I popped two doors down to Jo Malone. I've been wanting to smell their basil and mandarin perfume for a while, because it keeps getting written up in magazines, but the sweetly-smiling assistant in there offered me a free arm and hand massage so I could try out a couple, so here I am typing smelling of (on my right) nectarine blossom and honey and (on my left) French lime blossom. I smell like a summer garden, or the orchard when all the trees are in full bloom. I need to be wearing more flounces and lace. It's delicious.

(That was a very sensually-themed outing, wasn't it? As in smell and touch and taste. What were you thinking, you reprobates?)

And then, on to the sandwich weirdness. Fuzzy's Grub has been recommended by a couple of people, but I didn't know much about it other than it does roast meats. You can even get a full roast meal in there. But a full roast meal in a sandwich?? The bloke serving me, armed with a bap* smothered in horseradish sauce, looks at me and asks, 'Peas and carrots?' 'What?' I say. 'Peas and carrots?' 'Um, no, just some salad please.' 'Yorkshire pudding?' In a sandwich?? 'Uh, yeah, OK.' 'Roast potato?' What the hell, in for a penny... 'Yeah, OK, thanks.' (Bloke crams in as much as possible, then wedges on half a pound of roast beef.) 'I guess gravy might be a bit much', he admits, but blatently the possibility is there, should I so desire.

Good grief.

*bread roll. Also an English term for lady's frontage (ie 'Cor, look at the baps on her').

Yarn Orgy

John Lewis Sale!! Buckets and buckets of Rowan and Debbie Bliss! And check out the big red signs - yes people, that is 50% off!!!

Unbelievably, I only spent £12 on yarn (7 balls!), which should be used to make Ysolda's Elijah. Hopefully. One day. While the intended recipients are still in short trousers at least. *:) All I went in for was some more sheets and bedlinen!

Anyway, here is a pic taken from the boat on which we had the summer party with work. I will not put any of the drunken dancing, it's just too shameful. You can enjoy sunset over the 02 and Canary Wharf Tower instead.

Roof works

I am sooo pleased that I have recently learnt how to achieve a state of zen / oblivion to various home-based problems. Most pertinent at the moment is the Roof Works... After prolonged haggling and discussion with our management company, during which time they completely ignored all of our requests as regards contractors, the work has started to basically replace the roof with absolutely no warning whatsoever. I got home from work one day to find scaffolding up outside my window. So that was the first minor grrr.

It also turns out that the scaffolders thought it would be OK to put a foot of the structure into next door's garden. Without asking them. Apparently the guy that lives there is known for being a psycho rather, um, lively, so it was lucky that he is away on holiday at the moment. As it was there was a small mushroom cloud when the rest of the house found out.

Then last night I got back, slightly pissed it must be said after our company summer do, and nearly walked into a new scaffolding pole on the front path. And this morning I turned on the TV and guess what? All those metal pipes in front of our satellite dish mean that we can get Absolutely No Reception Whatsoever! And neither can next door! Blinding.

1930s Wife

I must be bored...

52 As a 1930s wife, I am Average Take the test!

Mid year resolutions

Every year at New Year I don't make resolutions. I object to being pinned to a date to do so. Sometime around February I resolved to carry a notebook with me at all times for random jottings, and not to spend money on stuff unless I Really Really actually needed it. These have both worked out reasonably well. The spending money still seems to vanish but at least I don't have a wardrobe of impulse-bought clothes and other crapola I don't actually like.

Here are some thoughts for mid-year resolutions:

1. Carry a camera more
For blogging. I love posts with pics! And really, how hard is it now to just slip a little digi camera in your bag? I then have to start to turn into the shameless blog snapper who takes pics of everything, including socks in transit.

2. Call Grandma more
She is always the one to call me, and berates me for never getting in touch even though we live in the same end of the same town. I am a useless grand-daughter. Actually she's requested another trip to Sainsbury's, so she doesn't have to go on the Comp-aid minibus, and this is an event which I have to set aside at least all morning for. But at least since I've had a bad back, I know what it's like to have to move slowly. We do have a giggle once I make myself slow down. I spend over an hour trying to teach her how to use the bar code zapper last time, so she could scan her own shopping. Ah, technology.

3. Write down knitting projects I want to do
Of which there are usually several. Here goes:

• Cardigan with cable trim from one of the recent knitting mags
• Tank top of own design from the pale green cotton yarn I got from a market in Turkey
• Toy elephant from Ysolda's designs for my new second-cousin. Soo cute!
• New pattern for Aragon Yarns for the knitting and stitch show in October. Possibly a felted bag?

I'll think of some more. If I was feeling reckless foolhardy diligent I'd put
4. Do some professional exams
but I fear that still won't happen before Xmas, despite my best intentions. And if I did only one, all I'd become is an MCP, which is not the best thing to have on a business card. *:)

Weekend domesticalia

I don't know if that's a real word but it looks good. *:)

This was supposed to be an ultra-busy weekend of trips to see bands in London, but instead it turned out to be a nice relaxing sorting-out weekend involving things that I always want to do but never usually have time for. The most precious sort of weekend really, that only turn up when you least expect them and you wish could go on for days and days.

I popped home and one of our dogs is two weeks off having her puppies. Check out her tummy draping on the ground!

Here are some of the other dogs posing:

Here is one of the dozen or so attempts to get them to sit still:

The plan at home was to sort out some of the hundreds of books in my old room, and take some back to put on Freecycle. I've just done a great run on Freecycle and got rid of about 2 metres worth pretty much overnight, so I sorted out another two big boxes worth, all gung-ho, and the Mother comes in and says, 'Oh no, you can't get rid of them! Someone might want some of them.' And the usual classic, 'Are they all yours anyway?' Argh!! Just throw stuff away! And she wonders why her house is full of everyone else's junk. The boxes are still at home waiting for everyone to pick through them and put stuff back on the shelves... Anyway, I can recommend Freecycle. You just leave stuff on the doorstep and the freecycle fairies come and magic it away.

Then at the Man's mum's, there was time to bake bread. I used Mother of Chaos' twice risen bread recipe, which gives a good texture but I found a little sweet. Perhaps American bread is sweeter, who knows? But it was fun to do! We are still getting the hang of the Aga, so some was a little bien cuit.

The Man wanted to make a bread boob. Whatchyagonnado?

Man's mum's also got wild strawberries growing on the wall outside.They're about the size of a small pea and just explode with strawberry flavour. Mmmm.

Socks that fit

It's not something you expect to hear, your physio telling you to up the pole dancing. But hey, whatever works! My back always seems to be better after pole, and it's fantastic for core stability, so I suppose even for a physio trying to fix me it qualifies as beneficial. I finally braved an invert yesterday, it wasn't glamorous or easy, but after about six attempts I finally managed to get my ankles around the pole. I am hugely out of practise, and today my biceps and shoulders are complaining, but it's good to have got upside down again. Finally! I need to get a pole for the house so I can practise any time I like. I'm sure the Man and the neighbours would just love that!

Unfortunately some twathead keyed my car sometime Sunday night / Monday so this month's fun money is going to go on a respray job.... Sigh.

Had another knitting group meeting tonight. One of the lovely girls brought her sister along. It's really interesting seeing the mix of people who come along. There have been three knitting groups in town now, so you can pick one to suit: the trendy student one, the -um- older lady one, and ours, which is more for young professionals and young mums, who like online knitting gossip and downloading free patterns, and have some interesting life histories already but still know how to have a drink and discuss the best places to go clubbing.

So anyway, I am embarking on the third sock of a pair, because the first one was too small so I frogged it. The second turns out now to be too long in the foot, because I added a bit compared to the first, and failed to remember that socks actually stretch when they're on, so I added too much and now could actually become a size nine. Duh. I'll learn!

Possibly too much sharing...

But I just had to point out this great thing that Hugo Boss pants do sometimes, if you'll excuse looking at my boyfriend's bottom:

Twenty20 Cricket

Apparently it's not written 20:20, like the vision thing. *:) I am being slowly indoctrinated into the ways of Sport Fandom. This involves taking any opportunity to watch any sort of sport (although I'm not sure he's quite reached the heights of Chariot Racing in Welsh, which is available in the bowels of Sky). But, thankfully, this cricket was Live. We went down en masse to Brighton to watch Sussex fail miserably against Essex.

Twenty20 is speed cricket - 20 overs each, so the match lasts three hours rather than five days, and there are lots of fours and sixes scored, balls whizzing all over the park. I can't say I agree with the blaring music every time someone gets a 4 or 6 though, it's really, so to speak, just not cricket.



The seagulls were quite insistent. The Man's brother had a near miss - he had swapped seats just five seconds before this happened:

And I have taken my first Travelling Sock picture!



I actually had a moment's panic that the stewards would confiscate my lethal weapons aka dpns. I am so brainwashed by the airlines. *:) The Man was very patient, but as he was sitting with buddies I refrained from being a crazy woman who was photographing my knitting right next to them, and wandered up to near the bar. The chaps there really didn't mind, as long as I was getting a round in!

Fathers' Day

I love and appreciate both my parents very much, but I don't spend enough time with either of them, and I *especially* don't spend enough time with Dad. Dad is a brilliant person who has a very quick brain, but that quick brain has led him to take on an awful lot (he is a farmer and a vet and does all sorts of other things), so consequently he is nearly always working. He's always about, because he works from home, but he just sort of pops up, says hello, drinks tea, bolts a sandwich, watches a quick race on the telly, and zooms out again. He's so busy thinking about other stuff that you literally have to poke him sometimes to get his attention, and asking him to remember something is dicey in the extreme.

So I made him make some time for me at the weekend. It was not quite physically dragging him off the premises, but almost. I had an hour or so to play with, which was quite impressive really! We went to Sissinghurst Gardens, because the roses are so beautiful at the moment, and although we had a calming cup of tea in the restaurant to start with, it was interesting to see that it still took an effort to slow down in the gardens and literally take the time to smell the roses. You could see the mental checklist there - rose garden, check; nut orchard, check; herb garden, hmmm.. that smells nice! Perhaps I shall pretend I don't know the unwritten rules of National Trust gardens, and just pick off a few leaves to carry with me. Oh, and what's this Roman artefact? What does the inscription mean?






And finally, he started walking at tourist pace....





All these pics were taken in the White Garden.

Recommended for overworked fathers. *:)

Up in the air

Argh. Life is being rather fraught at the moment. From pulling out of the sale of one flat in order to carry on living where I am now but with a different cohabitee, it seems that there may also be a change of plan on that too. Having been unable to agree a price amongst us, it seems that the best way to see what the flat is actually worth is to just put it on the market and sell it.

Now, I'm never one to get too stressed with things and I like to think I roll with the changes quite well, but I am getting cross about all this mind-changing lately. Perhaps it's also because I am having to manage the same kind of thing at work - a large project with dozens of people involved who really don't seem to communicate with each other or know what's supposed to be going on. (Plus half of them are French and understanding project plans in franglais or English that looks like it's come through a translation wizard is hard for some people.) And then they inflict ridiculously unreasonable deadlines.

Glamourpuss has just posted about things you like about yourself that others might find annoying. Well, this is the opposite way around - these are things other people probably like about me that I find annoying. I am waaaay too understanding and patient with people sometimes. Instead of saying, 'it doesn't matter, we'll sort it out', what I really should say is, 'It does matter, you're pissing me off.'

Sigh.

Well, as some sort of relief to all this crapola, we had the inaugural meeting of a new knitting group for T Wells last night, and it was surprisingly well attended. I organised it through Ravelry and there were five other lovely ladies who turned up, laughed, drank wine, helped each other through knitting panics, and generally had fun. And they want to do it all again! I even got some tuition on how to knit lace (lace knitting is different from knitting lace apparently, did you know?).

Notes on knitting lace:
1. Write on the pattern. A lot.
2. Don't try to make witty chitchat with exciting new people when knitting lace.
3. Don't drink while knitting lace. (In fact, don't drink and knit. Bad, bad plan involving much ripping out of stitches the next day.)
4. 'No stitch' is just that, a big black hole of nothingness, which you should liken to that thing that the boffins predict space can do where it just folds up and you skip a million light years without thinking about it, tripping along without noticing a difference.
5. Count.

Battle plan for future knitting meet-ups: take complicated project to show people, but just knit socks.

Disappointing

I've just phoned the estate agents to say that we don't want that nice flat with the garden and garden shed after all. Which is a real shame, because on the surface it was lovely. But the survey threw up some problems with damp, and the vendors were becoming arsey, so we were getting a bit sceptical. We had a long hard Thunk as Pooh would say, and decided that it would be best all round if The Man bought out Darling Flatmate at a mutually convenient time.

So, no pottering in the flowerbeds or sewing cute little curtains for my shed studio. At least, not for a couple of years. But it does mean that I get to stay in a flat that I (mainly) like, and finish some more of the work I wanted to do on it, and it's in a great part of town. As for gardens and big kitchens and whatnot, well, that will just have to wait.

Now, what will be interesting is what sort of stamp The Man wants to make on the place. For the other flat, he was talking about vast flat screen TVs and various other boy-pad toys. And he wants to buy a mountain bike. Not so practical in a first floor flat. We won't need a huge amount of new kit when DF moves out, so there won't be much scope for showing new design flair. Unless he wants to get really wacky crockery, which I doubt. I know that when I moved in to an ex's flat where he had been living for a while, it was more like being a house-guest. I didn't have any space to make anything Mine, and that starts to get annoying. So, I foresee that we just ride through this 'housing crisis' for a year or two and then get somewhere we can make a home out of together, starting from scratch.

Lurve

I am sickeningly loved up at the moment. My friends, bless them, don't seem to mind. In fact, they even ask me about it and don't mind the big goofy grin I get. The Man tells me he loves me and even missed me terribly when he was away recently. Such demonstrativeness!! (Is that a word?) I am prostrated. *:) He doesn't often say these things, so he must have missed me a lot to tell me several times over.

I have always been fascinated watching couples. In fact, I did my dissertation on it. From the long term loving couple who still hold hands in the street aged 70, to the old battle-axe who practically chased her poor hen-pecked husband down the street, waving her finger above her head and yelling (yes, I'm not making that up, Fenella will corroborate), seeing couples in action is the best people-watching there is.

I wish I could see myself from the outside sometimes. I'd love to know my opinion on The Man and me. As far as I can tell, it's pretty good. We don't argue, we discuss amicably. We respect each other and each other's capabilities. We mess about together and have fun. We never (that I've noticed) snipe about anything or criticise the other. We do point out things that are pissing us off, and those things get sorted, but they are very few. We look out for each other and help each other out. We give each other space, and don't resent it when one goes out for a girly/boy's night out. We have similar levels of being tactile with each other and mess tolerance, similarly close relationships with our own families, similarly batty but brilliant mothers, so we can relate. We have (boringly) a similarly low requirement for alcohol. I am constantly amazed by how well we work together. I mean, you occasionally see a perfectly loved-up successful married couple with kids in the park, but really, who expects that?

I don't know, I keep expecting something hideous to happen to break up all this happy happy joy joy. So in the mean time, I'm just keeping faith with that really old couple that I saw walking along hand in hand. Perhaps it is actually possible....

Time

I've been away for a week in Turkey, lazing around and doing nothing. I love the way life comes down to revolving around eating and sleeping when you're on holiday. It feels quite primitive and right - subsistence living. Once you've sorted those out, any other time you have is a bonus.

I purposely only took limited entertainments with me, because I wanted to start journalling and am amazingly good at wimping out and finding something better to do. I've been having long discussions with a friend about writing and how to write from the heart, something that she does amazingly well but I struggle with. It's to do with being brave, and writing despite your Inner Censor complaining that it's all trite rubbish.

I took The Artist's Way with me, which, despite the major drawback of being written by an American (they do get rather over-enthusiastic about things I find), did actually make some good points. It boils down to writing your Morning Pages (three pages of whatever comes into your head, which can be like a diary, or a rant, or just about anything, which serves to just Get You Writing) and having an Artist's Date with yourself once a week (which can range from going to the corner shop and buying some kid's stickers to mess about with to visiting a big gallery or going to a concert). After that there's lots of chapters about regaining your artistic confidence if you've lost it in some terrible psyche-crippling rejection incident. Luckily for me, all I've got to contend with is that pesky Censor.

There's another book which I was given for my birthday which has been a real revelation. So many of the published journals you see are so beautiful - artistic and finished - but this one, Spilling Open, is scratchy and messy in parts, but raw and honest and insightful. There are ink splots and glue marks where something has fallen off, and misspellings aplenty, but the author is so open it's impossible not to love it.

So, anyway, I'm journalling. I've done three pages, but it's a start. The next challenge is getting into a routine whereby I keep going! For me it would be an end of the day, sitting in bed sort of task, but what to do when The Man is there demanding attention? Perhaps I should just entertain him and then let him roll over and fall asleep, and spend 10mins quickly scribbling. *:)

The flat we're looking at buying does come with a large shed in the garden though. The (darling) Man has promised me I can have it for a craft room. I foresee some insulation and DIY-ery, some white paint and homemade curtains, and lots and lots of paper, paints and mess. What more does a girl need?

Bog of Eternal Stench

Following the inaugural Film and Pudding night, here is the recipe for Bog of Eternal Stench pudding, to be eaten while watching Labyrinth:

Chocolate Pudding (serves 4 to 5).

Pudding:
100g (4oz) self raising flour
100g (4oz) soft margarine
100g (4oz) barbados sugar
30ml (2tbsp) cocoa
2 eggs
Handful nuts (walnuts / pecans) - optional

For the sauce:
45ml (3tbsp) barbados sugar
45ml (3tbsp) cocoa
375ml (3/4 pint) boiling water
Demarara sugar for topping

Turn on oven at 180C to heat up.
Beat all pudding ingredients together until smooth and glossy.
Place in a greased 1 litre oven-proof dish and level with back of spoon.

Sauce:
Blend sugar and cocoa with fingertips. Sprinkle over pudding mixture and gently pour on the boiling water in a circular movement.
Place dish on a baking sheet in the oven for 35 to 40 mins. Sprinkle with demarara sugar and serve immediately, with cream or ice cream if you like.

You'll see an uncanny resemblence to the Bog of Eternal Stench when you take this chocolately yumminess out of the oven. The water you pour over the top seeps through the pudding mix to make a lovely fudgey sauce on the bottom.

The power of the list

Don't you just hate the web sometimes? I get so inspired by all the lovely craft projects that everyone seems to do, but I *just don't have time for them*!!! How do these people manage to knit endless baby jackets and work out patterns for Jack Sparrow socks? Or take hundreds of gorgeous pictures of all the beautiful tulips they have time to grow in their garden? Or bake bread and cupcakes and make vats of butter icing?

I've been driven to start a list of Projects - To Do When I Have Time. I must say I love lists. There's a magical quality about a list which makes things happen. For instance, on the new list of projects is 'dye own wool', which means take some Aragon Yarns wool in the natural colour and hand dye it using some MX Procion dyes I bought off the web, ooo, about a year ago. And guess what? Last weekend I did it! And it took my list about three weeks to make it happen. Yay for the list. Another thing is sock knitting, and I'm over half way through my first sock at the moment, including stopping and ripping it to shreds when I realised the gauge was all wrong, and starting again. Note to self - always, always do a proper tension square, no matter how boring it is.

So what else is there to do?

1. Bake bread (I found a great recipe for twice risen bread on someone’s blog)
2. Double knitting (since I saw a pattern online for a blanket supposedly knitted my Mrs F D Roosevelt)
3. Scrapbooking (OK, this was a real live book that has inspired me again, but there’s lots online for this too)
4. Lace Knitting (too many online patterns to count, but I don’t want to make a granny style triangular shawl, so still looking for the ideal one)
5. Order some cards from moo.com (which will involve trailing through all my pics for ones I like best). Moo seems to be everywhere at the moment – including with the lady with the tulips.
6. Design more patterns – including a lot more felted items, as our wool seems to felt like a dream.

So, I challenge you guys to write a list and see what happens. Leave it lying somewhere you will see it every day. Let me know if it works for you too. Good luck!

(And yes, before you say it, if I didn't spend so long reading other people's blogs, I'd have time for my own projects. What do you think I do at work all day?)

House Doctoring

Colour is a wonderful thing. I heard that some institutions paint their walls pale green to keep the inmates calm. What, therefore, do dark red walls do for one's mental state? Well, having recently redecorated our hall to something calm and restful, I can tell you that dark red is oppressive and crossmaking. Flawless fawn, by comparison, is uplifting and relaxing.

It does, however, show up how filthy our carpets are, so in a rare show of organisational talent, two days after completing the painting, we booked a nice Geordie man to come in and professionally clean them. He really is a worker of miracles.

And while we were at it, we got that kitchen cabinet up that I bought in January 2007. Finally!

February 29th

February 29th came and went uneventfully. The Man had no qualms about spending the evening with me, having dinner together alone in the house. I offered him several get-out clauses - a work colleague had invited him on an overnight fishing trip for example, so they could both keep out of harm's way. But he quite cheerfully said he was coming to see me.

So did I miss a trick here, or does he just know me well enough to be sure that I wouldn't do anything as daring / rash / modern feminist as getting down on one knee myself? Was he not quite sure and just testing me? Or would he not actually have minded if I'd proposed?

It was tempting. Veeeery tempting!! I've never been as content and happy, as various people have observed in me, nor felt as supported and valued. And loved, in an understated yet sure way. But in the end I'm an old fashioned girl and I want the man to propose to me. There were dozens of column inches devoted to the 'should you shouldn't you' argument in the paper on the day, and one of the most interesting comments was about the power play. It said something along the lines that if men are not the ones to propose they will always feel that they are not steering the relationship and therefore they will become resentful. Another article said: 'Research shows that it is crucial that a man makes a “positive decision” to marry rather than be dragooned into matrimony for the relationship to be a success.'

My first instinct was - yep, I can see that. My second was Hang on! as my feminist conditioning kicked in. Are men really going to conform to stereotypes and become grumpy if they consider themselves not the dominant partner? Will they convince themselves they're henpecked if they were not the ones to do the proposing?

I have to say I squashed the internal bra-less feminist. She really needs to get off her soap-box and take a more balanced and realistic view sometimes. (And I like having doors opened for me.) But some more interesting arguments arose from this: Is having a dominant partner in a marriage usual, good or bad? Or how do couples mould the marriage, formed at the request of the man, into a partnership of equals? (And therefore why are men bothered who asks?) Why are men still usually the ones to pop the question? I'm going to answer that one: women are still old fashioned traditionalists at heart. Wear it, droopy boobs.

All this 'Oh, the manly man should do it' does not preclude us girlies putting his knackers in a vice until he asks though, now does it ladies?

Spooky

I picked up a free magazine at Sainsbury's a few days ago, because it was about houses, and The Man and I are househunting at the moment. The first paragraph of one of the opening articles was so spot on, I could have written it myself:

I am the sort of person who likes to get on with things - no dilly-dallying or fannying about on the fence for me. Almost without realising it, I usually manage to end up in control of most situations - apart from those involving The Boyfriend, who is very much in possession of a mind of his own and will therefore not be controlled by me, or anyone else for that matter.

So, you can imagine that househunting becomes rather more difficult than it may otherwise be, and it's never all that at the best of times.

It's a new experience for me, coming up against someone just as stubborn as me. We don't argue, but sometimes we just don't agree about stuff. Like whether to hire a DJ from Moss Bros for a 'black tie optional' affair. (I say yes, definitely, with a proper tie-up bow tie. He'd rather just wear a suit.) But rather more importantly, about which house to buy. I want in town, near the station. Period features, perhaps a little garden. He wants to be out of town to avoid the traffic, maybe some modern purpose build with laminate flooring. A few weeks back he said that he thought that I was more stubborn than he is, and therefore you would assume that would mean that I'd finally manage to win every argument. I think that his estimation may have to be revised...

Although, trembling on the brink of just giving up on the DJ argument, I am feeling a curious sense of lightness at just letting someone else get on and take the decisions. I can understand why some wives just go along with whatever their husbands like. Hopefully this affliction won't spill over onto the house discussions though or we'll end up living in a modern beige and glass flat in East Grinstead....

Thoughts

Thoughts for the day:

I can't bear commuting any more. I *just* *can't* *bear* it.

When I'm old I want to be part of one of those couples that still love each other enough to walk down the street hand in hand.


On other news, I got to see my cervix on the big screen the other day. Which was rather surreal and mildly unsettling. I was called back with a borderline smear (apparently one in ten are) for a further check, and the nurse asked if I wanted to see what they were looking at. I said I did, and she casually flipped on the remote and there it was on the telly, all pink and squidgy looking. When she poked it with a cotton bud I realised how small it is (only about three times the width of the bud), and makes you realise how much it has to stretch for a baby to come through. Ouchee, with knobs on. Trouble is this image is now branded on my brain. I mean, in some ways it's kinda nice to finally see the bits that for years various nurses have had a look at while taking smear tests. In other ways, it would have been nice to finally say hi in slightly less tense circumstances.

On a more fun note, pole dancing classes have started again. It's about a year since the last course, and I'd forgotten how much it hurts! Pole burn in very delicate places, let me tell you, is not glamourous. But it's still a good laugh and a challenge in strength and coordination. And lovely to catch up with some pole pals again. All I need to do now is find the arnica cream....

What do you do when you want to do nothing?

It's is *such* a drag coming back to work. Having some time off is always a dangerous thing, and even though I've not been away on a hot sunny island, I've still spent some fun time at home with family and friends, really appreciating the town I live in (T Wells it lovely). Coming back to work in London is painful. Reading a novel set in the south of France while commuting to said painful work was probably not the best choice. All I want to do is potter in a garden and drink local wine and eat local cheese. Grrr.

Add to that the fact that my Esteemed Flatmate has quit work for three months to do all the things she wants to do but never has time for, viz:
1) write (book / radio play / short stories)
2) walk long distance paths around the UK
3) go on a National Trust working holiday
4) Play Zelda on Nintendo DS.
Well, you can see why coming in to work may be quite difficult at the moment!

Apart from that, all is good. Christmas was lovely, my man wants me to move in with him in the summer, my nephew has stopped screaming blue murder and is actually becoming quite cute, the boiler hasn't broken for a while (touch wood), the days are getting longer, I've caught up with quite a few friends recently, and Amazon has just sent me another parcel.

On the Men's Pants front, I am still searching. I was in Hoopers with my man just after xmas and caught sight of some Calvin Klein pants boxes, and I could not stifle a giggle. I'm sorry. They just look so ridiculous, all posing and rippling and thrusting. I prefer men in natural macho poses ie. throwing hay bales about or chopping logs. You know, perhaps if they changed the theme of pants pictures and did them in a natural setting like most ladies' clothing is, it might improve things. So, man in bathroom. Man washing up. (In pants? It's a stretch, but possible.) Man getting dressed (as long as socks go on later). Man drinking coffee and looking pensively/sternly out of the window. Man offering girlfriend flowers. Or maybe just lots of pants pegged out on the washing line. Look, no bulge!!

Relief

I'm reading a book at the moment which is making me want to cry with relief. Books are magical - some can be fusty and dusty and you never quite connect, some are like those magic books in Dungeons and Dragons which you open and beams of light shine forth, and ideas and knowledge rain down on you.

This book is called What do I do when I want to do Everything? and it talks about people who really can't just settle down to do one thing, but are enthralled about learning and doing everything. The author Barbara Sher calls these people Scanners, and the more I read the more I think That's me! And it's such a relief to know that I'm not just lazy and unable to finish things, or unable to find a career that I want to do until I retire because I lack passion. It's just because I want to learn about everything, and once I've learnt one thing to a reasonable level, or planned and implemented a project, then that's enough for me, and I want something new to do.

How many people do you know that's always starting something new? That flits between jobs and never settles? That has dozens of unfinished projects littering the house? And how many of these people feel guilty about that? I know I used to. But in the past couple of years I've actually felt good about that, it makes me feel accomplished and rounded as a person that I shoot, I knit, I poledance, and I've set up a small business. OK, I do none of these things to an exemplary level, but I do them all pretty well. I love to learn, I love to facilitate, I love to know that nothing is impossible. And when I'm doing these things I am the happiest person I know.

What do you guys think?

Football

I had to go to the Arsenal vs Man U match with work. Anyone who knows me also knows I can't stand football. I'd rather stick forks in my hand than watch a game. So going to the temple of men who run around, swear, and fall over at the slightest tap - well, frankly, you can keep it.

So the actual match was OK. The food was excellent. And here are three amusing things from the day:

1. The crowd. As someone goes in for a strike they all take a gasp, and stand up. As the player misses, they sigh and groan and sit down. Forty thousand people doing the same thing made it seem like a giant crowd creature breathing in and breathing out.

2. Sagna's ridiculous haircut. It looks like a rooster and flicks into his face when he takes a header.

3. Considering how much Wayne Rooney does actually look like Shrek. (Although even I could admit he is a little bit of a football wizard.)

But the most exciting thing was getting Shayne Ritchie's autograph and getting called darlin' twice by him in one sentence. *:)

Glorious

Something startling happened last night. I was at the station, late, hungry, and *I did not go and buy a Burger King*. I went into M&S and got a healthy looking sandwich. What??? Has turning 30 finally caught up with me? It was most unnerving. I also bought a bag of salad because we needed it for home and *I nearly opened that too*. Huh?


Anyway, on less inane matters, the burlesque workshop nobly led by Miss Glory Pearl last weekend went very well. I think the girls were a little apprehensive, as only Clare and I had ever done any stripping before (and that was only a couple of 15mins sessions at the end of our pole classes in the spring), so they were rather quiet to start with. But a few rehearsals of removing undergarments and ending up in nipple tassles and bowler hats soon wore down the embarrassment and we all started to get into things. We learnt the most delicious way to remove long evening gloves (to be repeated in the bedroom only!) and also how to twirl said tassels. There is nothing more ridiculous than four girls standing in a row in stockings and suspenders, watching their bouncing boobs with grins of glee.


We were discussing about stripping, pole dancing, lap dancing, and other darker sides of using one's femininity after the class, while sipping glasses of pink champagne. One of the ladies said that a few years ago she wouldn't have touched a class like we'd just done with a bargepole as she was a subscriber to the 'stripping takes advantage of women' school of thought. I'm not sure exactly what her thoughts are now, but it was something along the lines of exploring her feminine side more, and feeling more liberated to be herself. And showing off the amazing corset she got in the states. *;) I find stripping, particularly burlesque stripping, quite empowering (men go all wobbly when you tell them about it), as well as being confidence boosting - you have to appreciate your body to get it out in public, even a little bit, and there was not a murmer of 'oo, your boobs are bigger than mine!' or anything of the sort on the day, but just mutual appreciation. Confidence is by far the sexiest thing a woman can wear.


Well, confidence, and perhaps this corset.

*corset from www.fairygothmother.co.uk

Big Stix

Quote du jour, discussing new size 50 Speed Stix:

I want knitting needles that double as vibrators. And light up. ... Now those, I'd buy.

The Knitting Curmudgeon pulls no punches. Quite right. There's enough tat coming out in the knitting world for unsuspecting newbies. Someone needs to say something!

Aragon Yarns had a stand at the Knitting and Stitching Show at Alexandra Palace and it went really well. We had loads of interest and hopefully it will keep snowballing. Also several requests from wholesalers to stock it! Yay!

Just off to tango now. We're trying a new place out just off St Martin's Lane. Glide glide, flick flick. Should be fun!

Men's pants - update

Clare has found a link to the following website which sells interesting men's pants:

www.asdrumark.co.uk

Please, gentle reader, be sitting down and not too close to the screen when you view. (My first reaction was a loud Argh!! followed by Eww!!)

Good luck!

And many thanks to B T Bear for linking.

Men's Pants

What can be done about men's pants? I find them indescribably dull. The best you're going to get are jersey shorts with stuff written around the waistband. Ladies, in comparison, have a chocolate box of choice: lace, silk, satin, velvet, ribbons, ruffles, pin tucks and polka-dots, embroidery, sequins and a rainbow of colours. And that's just the knickers - what about all the bras (push-up, plunge, half cup) and bewildering arrays of corsetry?

Seriously though, what can you do with men's pants to make them more fun and sexy without also making them look camp and/or Village People bondage? Any sort of embellishment bar a brand label (scratchy)? Leather, rivets? No. Prints? I think not - may well cause sniggers when trousers are removed. (Any men out there with cartoon characters on their boxers, please ceremonially burn them now.) Obviously all the frills and furbelows listed above are out. So what, what, what?

Another problem with pants is that the area of the body they cover, unlike the female form, is not the most aesthetically pleasing. Men's pecs and shoulders - Mmm. Men's bottoms, often hairy and pale. What can be done to enhance?

Perhaps we can borrow from ladies' corsets and look at some interesting tailoring, with some seamage which follows the contours to refine, slim and enperken. Or enperten, depending on the view. *:)

What about the tease, a vital part of ladies' ware? Is there a way of getting that 'look but don't touch' into men's grundies? Perhaps the tease won't work with men, they're not usually known for being coy. We should be looking for something more butch - 'come and get it, laydees' pants.

Another big problem with all this is men themselves. They like to wear their pants for comfort. Not for them enduring being poked by underwires, scratched by lace or flossed all day by a thong. Would sexy pants with enperkening tailoring actually get worn? Something is telling me not.

Please, leave comments and suggestions. I lay down the challenge. There must be something out there for our poor men!

Smoke, fire and roses

We have had skate for supper. To get rid of the fish smell Clare suggests burning some incense. Our fire alarm is set to Sensitive And Then Some. I foresee some Bells and people running up and down the stairwell again...

We have closed the door to the hall and opened the windows. It looks like a smoky bordello in here. Clare drifts through the haze on the other side of the room. We need some high heels and feather boas. Fancy a good time, sir?*;)

So anyway, I have reached a career impasse. I need a change. IT is just dull and stressful, which is not a good combination. So, I could:

1. Look at getting into IT sales. This will use my IT experience but also mean that I could earn some proper money and not have to work in the same office Every Day. Argh.
2. Look at resurrecting my psychology degree. I'm quite interested in training as a life coach at the moment.
3. Find a job that pays the bills in T Wells and devote the time saved from commuting to doing something less boring instead. Like sleeping in and being home in time for Neighbours.
4. Go on the dole.

I should also be devoting a lot more time and energy to the wool business, as that's currently languishing for wont of effort. We have a couple of shows coming up and it's going to be a last minute scramble as usual. I have made the following resolutions in the past week:

1. Stop any unnecessary spending
2. Carry a notebook at all times to write things in like Wool - To Dos and ideas and 3BTs.

I can't believe that I still have an overdraft. I mean, I'm 30 years old, have a reasonable job, don't go out boozing every night, nor do I have a Jimmy Choo habit, and yet there it still is, nasty minus numbers. I have about three days every month when it's in the black, then the mortgage goes out, the few hundred goes out to my monthly pocket money allowance, the cheque goes out to the parents as repayment for the house deposit, and suddenly it's all well back in the red. Well, enough. Perhaps it's my stars - apparantly Saturn is somewhere to do with responsibilities at the moment. Huh. Perhaps I am just growing up finally. I'll be telling everyone to make do and mend soon, and darning socks.

On a brighter note, my man met me at the station on Friday armed with flowers. Well, actually, he had to chase me up the hill because when I get off the train I'm on a mission to get home, man. But I am hugely smug that I have such a wonderful man (and flowers). They do exist! (Wonderful men. We knew flowers exist.) There is still a little part of me that's questioning if it will all last, he's surely going to let on that in fact he spends 5 nights a week in the pub scratching his arse and farting like the rest of them, but we are ignoring that evil little pipsqueak voice at the moment. Get back in your box.

Molly, Rory and Agnes

We went back to the farm on Friday for Pete's birthday, and we got to see the new sheepdog puppy. Originally christened Spot, we have all decided that's waaay to boring, so currently she's called Molly.

Molly and Sam the kitten have a love/hate relationship.

I failed to get a shot of the well-aimed paw swipe from Sam.

Cute one of Sam hiding in the roses.

Molly terrorising the inmates. Poor doggies.

And little sleeping Rory! He was a little angel (misleading), he was passed around about nine people and apart from a little grizzle about being moved he slept and looked angelic for everyone. I expect that meant he was up half the night for his poor parents. It's now the official time he was supposed to be born, but he's actually just over a month old.

Clare cuddling Rory:

And, on Sunday night, Clare went off to her adventures looking like Agnes from Labyrinth:

Can you spot the difference? Only by lack of broadswords I think.

Pride 07

I know, this was two weeks ago, but you just have to see this new police car:






Yes, that is indeed a Lotus. Anyone want to sign up for The Force suddenly?

I followed these dudes into the park, and was v impressed by the chap's a) height, b) corset and c) inch long purple feather false eyelashes. They most kindly let me take their pic:


Paul V and pal:



Me with my face painted! Finally! No one ever lets me get my face painted. Paul didn't care. Also note the hippy balloons the police were giving out. They were also giving out pink whistles with Kent-Gay-Police.co.uk logos on them.

I did like Paul's T shirt with Maggie Thatcher in stockings and suspenders.

Anyway, it was v hot, and as predicted there were lots of burnt gay bottoms by the end of the day. (Flashing flesh is not an issue at these events.) But a gay old time was had by all and it was extremely entertaining, good fun, and very friendly. Recommended for anyone if you're down in Brighton at the right time of year. Just be careful which shops you stray into... We were just window shopping and ended up in the burley man's BDSM rubber implement shop. Mon dieu. I don't even want to know what they do with some of that stuff. It looks distinctly painful.

Garden delights

Look how well our tubs are doing! Two tubs, two bean plants, two tomato plants, one squash plant, and a satellite dish.

These are runner beans Red Rum:


This is a butternut squash in embryonic stages (it's only just over an inch long):




This is cherry tomato Sungold which only goes orange, not red, and is sweet and tasty (and more beans and the satellite dish):

I think we're helped because the plants are on a balcony so we don't get the slugs, and we get more sun. And of course the tubs are full of well rotted farmyard manure. Arhhhhh.

Lists and legumes

Just a question before we start - does anyone else get that thing when you're dozing and having this very very long and involved Think, and thinking some really good thoughts, and then you are roused from the doze and cannot remember a single thing you have thunk? Although it's all just a gnat's whisker away from your memory? What's with that?

Anyway, our bean vines and our tomato plant are looking amazing. We've had seven beans off the bean vine (one seven different days), and it's draping very prettily over the satelite dish at the moment. However there are suddenly lots of baby beans on it so perhaps after the weekend we might actually get a full serving from it! How exciting! There are also loads of clusters of tomatoes. They are the little cherry tomatoes Sungold. We will have to make chutney or something at this rate.

It all goes to prove the wonders of a lot of good sheepshit. *:)

So the bloke's best buddy got me pissed the other weekend and we had a long and involved conversation about what we look for in a partner. (The bloke was driving and therefore sober, and I expect was getting rather concerned about what I might say, at drunken volume, in a pub full of his mates.) Best Buddy got me to confess that not so long ago I wrote a list of all the things that I wanted from a man, and worse, got me to promise to send it to him. I think it was more an effort on my part to make him think more about what he wanted from a girl, other than she's breathing and not swearing every other word. Such high standards. Whereas I had a list of 30 criteria. He was intrigued.

So, the next day, with a hangover, the list was duly sent. Best Buddy sent back an email starting OH MY GOD!! I hope all girls don't think like that or I'm ****ed! Hee hee. Bloke, at this point, was also dying of curiosity, wanting to know how he measured up. But also perhaps a little cross about it. He's right though, it can be viewed a bit nastily to have a tick-list for a future potential partner.

Best Buddy (with permission - well done) sent the list on. Bloke read it. Bloke's mum read it, and raised an eyebrow. (Yikes!!) Bloke, thank Christ, was not cross. Bloke gets loads of extra points.

He already scored 28/30 anyway. *:)

Rockin'!

Clare at 3BT has tagged me with this:

Thank you Clare! I'd tag her back but I can't. So I'm going to nominate my mum at Pauline's Garden, and hope she has time to post the button before the end of the summer.

Babies

I am an auntie!

Rory Peter Skinner was born a month early by emergency caesarian section yesterday morning, 8 July. All doing well now. Peter and Claire have had so many problems with the pregnancy, it's lovely to see them now with their little boy, shattered but extremely happy.

It's also very strange seeing my little brother being a daddy!

I went to visit last night and Pete grabbed my hand and pulled me over to see Rory, turned to me and said, 'Look! Isn't he so cool?!' Aw!

It was a pretty frenetic weekend all round. Elliot and Jo came down from Nottingham with their new little long-haired Jack Russell puppy Archie (who is super cute), we went to visit another uni friend Titch and his 8m old baby Alex, then all was prep work for the Tour de France which came through the village on Sunday. Sissinghurst put on a big fete and we were selling cherries, strawberries and cream, and had a wool stand. The sun shone and there were thousands of people there. The baby news was announced over the tannoy to the village. The cyclists and convoy of beeping floats and gendarmarie whizzed through at top speed. People queued for ages for burgers. Small children got their faces painted. Large adults threatened to abduct Archie. Finally the roads were reopened and we managed to escape: home for tea, and then to the hospital to see the new arrival.

Guess what? I'm knitting baby clothes already. *:)