Confloption

New word for the day: confloption (n) a random mishmash of parts that may or may not work out. Such as, for example, a flight booked under one company name (XL), arrives as a rust bucket of quite different branding (Viking Airlines) with Finnish food, Spanish crew and Welsh pilot.

I feel for the poor people stranded abroad at the moment. Not only does XL fold, but the Channel Tunnel has a fire and closes for two days, sparking Operation Stack up with M20 and whatever the equivalent is in Calais. And also apparently bun fights in business lounges when economy is booked out and they check in too many people for the business seats. (Fenella will vouch for that.) What a lot of travelling we do these days, without realising until there's suddenly a problem.

The Man and I will hopefully be adding to the stats soon, with a week or so in Egypt in October to try to find some sun (shock!) and heat (will we cope, it will be over 20 degrees?!). We've never had a holiday together before so it should be interesting! His job means that getting away in the summer is difficult, but does mean that any holidays will therefore involve winter sun, which has got to be a plus.

The flat is coming together. The huge mirror is up, and looks elegant and homey. We had our first proper visitors the other day - Clare and Nick came over to see our friend Sarah who currently lives in Paris, and was back visiting her family. Sarah even cooked dinner for us poor working unfortunates! She's got herself a boyfriend and she brought some pictures to show us. 'Don't you think he's handsome?' she demanded, while Nick and The Man looked on. Is one allowed to appreciate other men when one's own is in the room? I decided yes, and Clare did also, pronouncing him 'very Gallic'. And also, it seems from the two pictures of him holding babies, good with children, and from the last of him holding a scribbled 'Sarah is so lovely' note to the camera, not scared to show how he feels. Which I guess is also a French attribute. Aw.

I have 12 more working days of being in the IT department, and suddenly, with booking underwriting training courses and taking holiday sheets to someone else, it's actually dawned on me that I'm getting a new job! I can't wait - not just to get out of this crapola, but to start something fresh and have opportunities and learn stuff. There is more weekend work this weekend, and it seems that won't be the end of it, but the hands on stuff in the UK is done, and what the French teams want to do to mess it up from now on is up to them. This may be the last overtime I get from this company so I'd better make the most of it - IT is the only dept that gets money rather than time in lieu. (BTW we were working until 4am the other night.)

While work is crazy I am seriously behind on knitting. The big stitch show at Ally Pally is coming up at the beginning of October and I have to check-knit a baby jumper and design, knit, check-knit and write the pattern for a felted bag. Argh! Knitting on the train and during lunch hours is the only option. Once AP is out of the way, I have seen several beautiful jumpers on the net lately that just have to be knitted: this one, but with something different done to the sleeves, this one, with brilliantly quirky cables, maybe this one, this bag and this scarf. Yikes! Looks like some serious stash enhancement will be happening at AP!!

Brave New World

Well, a new chapter has well and truly started - not only have I now moved house, but I've just accepted a new job! Same company, but completely different department. I've been doing some key account management for about 18 months, which means I've been working directly with clients, who are big multinational companies, and coordinating the teams (underwriters and claims) dealing with them. About a month ago, I had a phonecall from my dept manager to say that one of the underwriting teams wanted to invite me to apply for a vacancy with them. Which was a bit of an, 'Oh, right!' suprised moment, but made sense when I'd thought about it for a while. It was by no means a dead cert as paperwork must be followed and I had to interview, but everyone who knew had great confidence in me (even if I didn't), and thank the gods, I got the job.

If life wasn't so manic and crazy at the moment I might actually have time to sit down and think, 'wow!' about all this. I was so excited before moving about living with The Man, but since we have moved I've been so shattered I've hardly been able to keep my eyes open when I'm at home. Added to that is the pressure of this big IT project (for which we are working until midnight tonight) and all sorts of other things at work. I am hoping that after tonight's work, and a good sleep tomorrow night, I'll get that amazing lightness of heart feeling like at the end of exams, and feel happy happy happy like I should do. At the moment I just feel drained, and I think more likely I will suddenly get ill. I've been too busy to have time to be sick lately!

The new flat is coming along. It turns out The Man is a real tidy bug and all the boxes really stressed him, so the bedroom and sitting room are now almost done, even if everything else is crammed into the other bedroom. We have cooked our first meal there, and even before the curtains were up The Man ran around the house, first to be nekkid in every room. Something tells me he is somewhat excited to have his own place at long last!

Moving

I went to have breakfast this morning, and there was no milk for cereal, so I pulled a slice of bread from the bag, turned around and discovered.... Clare has freecycled the toaster!! All that is left of the funky toaster with leaves and ladybirds on it was a sad little pile of crumbs. So, it was a croissant on the way to work for me...

This is all about moving, and getting rid of stuff in order to fit two people's belongings into the same flat. Clare and Nick both have a full complement of Stuff, so they're having to shed a lot. The Man and I have the opposite problem - we've both lived so far mainly using other people's stuff. I believe as far as kitchenalia goes he owns a steamer and a George Foreman grill. But it's kinda fun to set up a house together, rather than have it all there already, and choose things you both like. And get unnecessarily excited about a box of plates and a new hoover. *:)

I am shattered, but tonight I will pick up the keys to the new flat and start the task of moving boxes. Living with Clare has had its ups and downs, but on the whole it's been great fun and I've loved being in that flat. It's been a two year transition period, and now that part of life closes and the next chapter begins. It's exciting, and I can't wait!

Tired out but loving it

Apparently I look tired but I keep jumping up and down and clapping my hands. I'm moving in with The Man this weekend! As well as trying to juggle work, I have to move on the Saturday, go to a wedding on the Sunday, and another wedding next Saturday, and do another all-night work stint next Thursday night, and possibly work the following weekend too.... Hey ho. By the middle of September I will have time to sit down and have a cup of tea.

The puppies are going soon, I think there are only a couple still looking for homes. Very sad, they are extremely cute, but they'll have lots of fun where they're going. Hopefully by the time Mir has another litter we'll be in a position to keep one ourselves. We being me and The Man. How domesticated! Some even sadder news is grandma dog Millie, Mir's mum, had a nasty medium-grade tumour removed from her leg last week. It's just a case of wait and see now in case it metastased, or however you spell it. No jumping over fences for her for a bit.

The cable cardi is nearly finished, I just have to make myself sit down for a couple of hours to complete the cuffs. The rest is all blocked and sewn together and looks very smart. I love seeing construction detail in the knitting on finer knits - slanting decreases three stitches in from the edge around the arm hole, that sort of thing. I think my finishing is getting better, I am trying to take a hint from The Knitting Curmudgeon who was talking about seeing it as a whole other skillset rather than just an annoyance you have to tack on the end of knitting. I'm sure thousands would disagree but I use backstitch which creates a lumpier seam but also gives a really crisp finish. I'll play around with other ways of doing it I'm sure.

I've also finished the knitting on a Dumpling Bag from the Fall edition of Interweave Knits. Perhaps it was a good issue but there was loads in there I loved! I just need to felt the sucker now, will do that tonight, once I've sorted the rings of the strap handle out. Pattern is complicated in its explanations, but the proper way of doing it came to me in a flash as I was waking up this morning. Will post some pics when it's done.

Right, off home shortly to cook dinner for poor Fenella and Andy who have been working like stink on their new house, rewiring, reflooring, sanding floorboards, sorting out deliveries, massacring the hedge... They're moving the last of their boxes out of the flat tomorrow, and then on Friday night, after the cleaner has been (isn't Fenella sweet to book a cleaner?) I can start moving stuff into our new flat!

Yes or No?

Fenella can be priceless sometimes. We were sitting around on the carpet, drinking champagne in their new house (which had been theirs for all of fours hours) and she somehow turned the conversation to jewellers, and a specific jewellers in town, and commented to The Man that they do beautiful rings there. Poor Man collapsed on the floor, defeated by her lead brick approach, while we all creased up.

The Man has said before that he really is not fussed about marriage, he would rather just save the money and go to the kids stage. For me, that's not an option, I need the security of marriage before considering kids. I can see what he means about all the hoopla that goes with a big white wedding. In fact, I've heard from a few people recently that weddings fill them with dread and they find them really stressful. But I love weddings! It's a huge romantic party with everyone determined to enjoy themselves, what's not to like?

So, you can hopefully realise why I am pleasantly surprised and also slightly confused how to react by a sort of show of committment of looking into getting a personalised number plate for the new motor with both our initials on it. (For info, I'm told the most expensive plate at the moment, coming in at £100,000, is PEN15.) (Also for info, on the DVLA site, you can mock up an image of the plate on your model of car, which is kinda nifty.)

This is committment indeed, from a bloke's point of view. Branding your man-mobile with your missus' initials?? Good grief, must be loved up.

But, personalised number plates? Yes or no? Please, I need advice on this one!!

Mice and Men

Cities are funny old places. If a mouse ran under the table if you were at the farm, you would have stern words with the cat about responsibilities and layaboutish tendencies, and spend some time evicting the mouse while mentally scripting a good story to tell everyone later. In a London restaurant, everyone goes, 'Oh look, a mouse!', pushes their handbags around with their foot a bit (I suppose to scare it away from jumping in) and gets on with their meal. Any thoughts about Health Inspectors are not (loudly) voiced.

Anyway, I was having dinner with an old uni friend, let's call her The Lawyer for the time being, otherwise I'd just have to call her CRAZY!!! because she was telling me, again, about her working hours which make my last week look like a walk in the park. I mean, I know lots of my friends work long hours, but she never eats at home, all her colleagues get takeaway dinner in the office every night, they usually work until 10 or 11pm with no lunch breaks, and several regularly work until 2am. To me, this kinda screams sweat shop and employment law and so on. One presumes there's something in the contract to say that they will work until they drop. You can keep it, frankly.

So, a deal has recently fallen through which is bad but it does also mean that work is quite quiet for her at the moment and she can escape at a reasonably time (read 7 or 8 ish) each night. After two weeks of this, she's finally realising that there is actually a Real Life out there, and you should indeed have a couple of hours in which to do things you want to do in the evenings. Like, meet up with friends for dinner, or go to tango classes (which we didn't quite manage, but hey, the intention was there). And you can see in her face that this is an amazing realisation for her! Huh?

I do get concerned about the slightly crazed and hunted look behind the eyes that some of my friends get in times of greater stress at work. I really don't think it's right that work should impact that much on your psyche. After all, the company doesn't really give a shit about you, you're just a grunt (at whatever level) who can be replaced if necessary. The company might shrug and go, 'it's a shame that Vladimir/Horatio/Bob has gone', turn around and get on with the next thing, while poor Vlad is instantly forgotten (until they can't find a file or spreadsheet that Vlad made about something, then his memory is cursed and secretaries are sworn at).

Perhaps I don't get it. I suppose the friends with the hunted look also are the friends with bloody-great and gorgeous houses, and the ones who can afford the sharp suits and gadgets and posh holidays (but, I'm guessing, struggle to get the time off agreed and then never turn their blackberries off). To be honest though, I'd rather live a little more humbly and have time to enjoy myself between the posh holidays.....

Smug-making incident of the week: seeing a fat-cat executive Audi being towed, and as the truck moved off the car alarm starts shrieking.

Ew! incident of the week: Woman on train, having spent the entire hour-long journey talking about her baby (how cute / how strong / teething / nappies / botty burps etc) to her poor un-fecund friend who is now bored to stone, then starts breastfeeding in a carriage full of commuters.

Happy of the week: Getting a text from Fenella saying she'd been up since 3am, then another that she was cross she'd not heard anything, then finally one saying she'd just had a call and that they have completed on the purchase of their new house. Hurrah!

Mamma Mia!

Quite appropriately titled, that film. I have not seen quite such a concoction of cheese and tenuous story lines (or lack thereof) in quite some time. And Pierce Brosnan singing? Please, someone, anyone, make it stop!! But the absolute best bit, worth the price of the seat alone, was after the end credits when the whole cast are up there, spangly lycra jump-suited to the nines, singing Waterloo. Including Brosnan and Colin Firth. Seriously, I will never be able to watch Pride and Prejudice the same way again.

Terrible film, great tunes, Meryl Streep valiant in face of all - go see it, it's hilarious.

In other news, The Man has bought himself a new car. It's the same, but newer, and the sports version, and blue. As far as I can tell the only differences are the colour, there are two fewer doors, and the suspension is 'sports' which means I need to bring a cushion. Oh, and it's got that new car smell which makes me want to heave. You can get that stuff in a spray-can now. Why, for the love of god??

We have commenced battle with the buyers to our flat. I should have known it was all going rather too smoothly. They want some ridiculous amount retained from the sale price in case they get a big stinking bill from the management company at the end of the year. Having done some homework which took about 20mins, this appears to be about three times too much. Why doesn't our solicitor investigate this? Surely that's what we pay them for? Sheesh. I should do my own conveyancing in future. A friend who did her own tells me it's not that difficult. Anyway, the upshot is that we still have not agreed an exchange. Pah. I want to move house in two weeks people!!

Knitting news - all pieces of cardigan blocked, ends are being woven in, and then I can start sewing up! Yay!

It was a long week...

...and unfortunately it got the better of me on Sunday night. I'm just not used to working a full day and then on until 1am under a lot of pressure (breaking and restoring our whole network), and then back in for a long day to do the same thing all over again. So by Friday night I was somewhat emotionally exhausted tense, but managed to get over to the The Man at his mum's while he watched the golf. Now, The Man is usually wonderfully considerate, but he has never worked in an office environment, much less under pressure. I expect the nearest he has come to feeling how I did would be after a 24hr flight with delays and transfers. Kinda like you've been through the wringer. Perhaps I should point this out to him, so he can empathise a little more next time, instead of teasing me and not being helpful. He did however quickly take the hint when I stopped playing along and has been an absolute sweetie since.

The rest of the weekend was wonderful but not restful. My brother was having his 30th birthday party, complete with hog roast (yes, a whole pig) and 50 people or so, so on arrival at the farm at 11am I just walked into organised pandemonium of sorting out catering and beer and balloons and lighting and music and more beer and wine and babies and people arriving and beds and feeding puppies and so on. My brother invited some of my good friends too which was lovely because we don't get to catch up often, and serendipidously another friend from Hong Kong was over to go to a wedding the previous day just down the road! It's kinda weird but kinda nice that my parents get on well enough (ie very well) with my friends that they all get drunk together and laugh at each other. Dad, at midnight, came into the house to find his ancient Russian phrase book because he wanted to show some Russian bird who had come to the party around the farm in his Land Rover. We all told him not to because he would probably drive off the bridge into the river. Mum just laughed, rolled her eyes, and asked for more wine from the bottle she relocated from the bar table for her own purposes. (Later on it turned out the bird was German anyway.)

(This kind of makes it sound like my parents are alcoholics...)

So anyway, after a lovely lunch and mooch around in T Wells on Sunday, I retired to the settee with a cup and tea and a DVD of Becoming Jane, and half way through, from a combination of relief at work stress being over, happiness at spending time with lots of the people I really care for in the world, general tiredness, time to sit down, and PMT, I just burst into tears and cried for about half an hour. And I still easily could if I started thinking about it all again. I am so lucky to have the option of immersing myself in such a charmed life. Some people would say that coming away from all that back to work in London is coming back to the real world, but more and more I think it's the other way round.

(Sigh.) Life is good.

(Apart from crappy work, but we won't talk about that.)

Communication

OK, so this is not a new thing, but what is it about men and communication?

Communication + testosterone = Talking About Sport

I know this is always true:

Men + Beer = Talking About Sport

It also appears that just two blokes sitting together on the train = an hour long chat about baseball. But this morning I also had a guy call me for something and proceeded to try to make some chitchat, which is fine, I'm not a machine and I like chitchat, but this chitchat was about football! And worse, Celtic / Rangers!! Do I look like to care about football, least of all Scottish?

Good grief. Someone issue all staff with a social skills handbook, please.

Puppies update!

Gratuitous puppy pr0n but here they are with eyes open, rough-and-tumbling and starting to look like proper Andrex puppies.

I love those little tails sticking up like aerials! And their ears are so silky and the pads on their paws are still soft as anything. You could just snuggle them for hours - apart from the atrocious puppy breath. They just don't tell you these things in the text books. *:)

We now have a moving date so in under a month The Man and I will be living in sin together. Today I've ordered a box of plates and a hoover from Amazon, about which I got unduly over-excited. I'm nesting, and it's the PMT time of the month, which makes it worse. I can't help it!

Here is The Man, in the snows in March.

Special big golfing mittens apparently. Not a big soft southerner at all! We are having Discussions about settees. There are two black leather sofas kicking around, and we're short of a sensible size sofa for the new place. As it will only be temporary, I say we take one of my huge ones and split it in half (they are designed to do this, it won't be me getting trigger-happy with a chainsaw) to have two chaise longues. Please, no, not black leather. Massive flatscreen telly with playstation plus and sky 360 and setanta I can deal with, but don't make me have black leather!

Surprise Surprise!!

I love it when a plan comes together. *:) I really was nervous about it - on the train up to town to lay the treasure hunt trail I was getting serious butterflies, mainly revolving around whether I'd be able to charm someone to hold the first clue for me or whether I'd get a point blank No (which has been known). But, all went to schedule, and I have a very happy man as a result.

So, as you may have heard, for his birthday last weekend I gave The Man a locked money box with 'Surprise!' written on it, but no key. He spent several days doing his nut and threatening to withhold priviledges until I let him open the box, but hey, he's rubbish at resisting me. *:) I think he'd then got busy at work and sort of forgotten about it. Meantime, I'd called one of his work colleagues and got them to agree to be an accomplice, sent them the key and got them to book in some fake work for The Man on Saturday afternoon (he works weekends) to make sure that the time required was mine.

The Man (luckily) dropped a horrible clanger on Wednesday night when he said he had to be in work early on the Sunday as well - argh! Impossible! So another call was made to the Accomplice, and all was sorted. I owe a couple of people some bottles of wine....

So, anyway, back to the treasure hunt. I'll do it from The Man's point of view, so as not to spoil the surprise. At about 2.30 on the Saturday afternoon he was told by my Accomplice that his last client had cancelled. 'How do you know about my diary?' queries The Man. 'Oh, and I have this key for you', adds the Accomplice. It takes a couple of minutes for this to compute, during which time the Accomplice notes dryly that The Man can be bloody hard work sometimes. Finally the penny drops, and there is an excited opening of the box.

Inside they find a London streetmap, train tickets, a note to bring an overnight bag and half a postcard of The Ritz. The Accomplice tells The Man to s*d off home and get sorted out. I get a call at this point from The Man saying, 'Sooo, I have a key, and I'm at home.' 'Really?' I say innocently. 'How nice!', wandering towards the Summer Exhibition at the Royal Academy. 'Hmm', says The Man (who hates being kept in the dark). 'Right, I'm getting the train'.

An hour and a bit later and I've seen the Exhibition (the only thing that grabbed me was The Entymology of Love by Sue Whale, a box frame of different types of cut-out hearts pinned to look like butterflies, with labels underneath each group reading 'Margate, March 2005' or 'Mim's birthday, 1998') and had tea and a 'delicate' at Laduree (how tiny is that shop??? Argh! But the pastries are divine, so it was just about worth it.) when I get another phone call.
'I'm at the Ritz. Where are you?'
'In Boots getting some water.'
'Aren't I meeting you here?'
'Nope. You just need to get to the concierge desk and ask for your message.'
'Oh, right.'

Later still (as I was in M&S buying some cheap fizz):
'I've got the next clue.'
'Well done.'
'They chucked me out of the Ritz once because I've got jeans on.'
'What?!'
'It's against the dress code.'
'Oh dear! But you got the clue OK?'
'Yes, cloakroom ticket for the Royal Academy. The concierge made me give him the other half of the postcard.'
'Good for him! Well, I'll let you get on then.'

Which led him to a Fortnum's bag containing my shopping (tea) and the next clue...

And then a text:
'Which hotel?'
'It's written on the back of the room key!'
Honestly, sometimes men are not very bright.

And a knock at the door...

After a few excited whoops and The Man saying I was very naughty and very clever, we sat around for a bit swapping stories of the chase and drinking fizz, then went out to see Jersey Boys, which I can recommend for a great night out and source of several more forgotten singing-in-the-shower ditties, and then on to Chinatown for some late night crispy duck and shredded beef. Mmm.

So, a big thank you to everyone who helped me with this, and for keeping it a secret, and to The Accomplice for being a star and also one of The Man's team for covering the Sunday work, Fenella for 'inviting us for dinner' on Saturday to make sure he kept the evening free and the concierge at the Ritz for being a diamond and fully deserving the golden keys on his lapel. Good grief, you'd think it wouldn't need a whole cast to make something like this happen! Anyway, I think I am forgiven for making him wait for his birthday present. And of course I've upped the ante for my next birthday present too... *:)

Somebody get me out of here...

Over the past two weeks I've had a horrible nasty glimpse at the stress levels a lot of my friends work under all the time and I really don't like it. But at least now I can empathise a little more. There's a Europe-wide network infrastructure project underway, commissioned by head office in France, and we've been trying to do the UK branch of it. Trying being the operative word there. I don't know what school of project management they've been to but now it all becomes clear why France always ended up waving the white flag in the wars. Organisation? Pheh.

It's just been postponed again for another month or so, so at least I get some breathing space for a while.

Meantime, Clare tagged me on a meme a while ago, so until my brain puts itself back together here goes:

1. What were you doing ten years' ago?
In 1998 I was at university, although it would have been the holidays by now, so I'd be at home in the two week recovery period that apparently I always took after the two-month jolly / bender / stress fest that was a university term.

2. What 5 things are on your to-do list today?
Fix DHCP scope on a DC
Conf call with France
Various other phone calls to sort out problems following conf call with France
Confirm all OK for The Man's b'day surprise
Get something for supper

3. What would you do with a billion dollars?
Be very pleased with myself. Invest some, give some to charity, put some into trust funds or other things for deserving relations. Buy a largish house in the country, where there should be: a large garden, a few acres for some horses, a large living room with a baby grand piano, a craft room (with lots of windows), a beautiful kitchen, and a kitchen garden. After I'd got bored of pottering around that I'd do something entrepreneurial, set up some businesses, invest in property. And qualify as a life coach. And get married and have babies. *:)

4. List the places you have lived:
A bungalow near Maidstone, with a few acres which contained sheep, chickens, dogs, puppies and a few racehorses.
A large white Victorian villa house thingy on a hill near Maidstone with ditto accoutrements.
A succession of rented houses while my parents looked to buy a farm, several of which I swear were haunted.
A mobile home, while we built a house.
A farmhouse lovingly built with help from all the family.
In the family house of a now-good friend's family in New Zealand.
A grotty student halls.
A grotty rented student house.
A castle, with a million steps and untold drafts, and water which came out of the taps orange from rusted pipes, but still, my address was 'The Castle, Durham'. It was a great place to live!
A flat in a converted Victorian townhouse in London (top floor - I hate carrying supermarket shopping up stairs).
A maisonette in a 1960s terrace in London.
A beautiful flat in an Edwardian house in T Wells.

5. List the jobs you have held:
IT Architect
Founder of a wool business (Co-Director, but I could call myself anything I like really!)
IT Service Technician
HR Assistant
PA
Waitress
Care worker in a brain injury unit
Bar maid
Grain sampler for farmers' cooperative
Check-out chick
Babysitter
Cherry seller
Veterinary nurse / assistant
Farm worker
Strawberry seller in Fortnum and Mason's (for a day)

6. List the people you'd like to know more about:
Buddha
The Man (he can be very elusive)
My parents and brother (life is often too busy to just sit and chat)

Secrets

There's something rather delicious about walking around London all demure and office-professional knowing that in your bag is a vibrating cock-ring.

It's The Man's birthday this weekend, and because his real surprise will only happen next weekend I needed something to tide him over. Not sure that it's very family-present-opening-safe, but hey, perhaps the Jelly Boobs and the other package marked 'Surprise!' will suffice.

I'm planning on laying a sort of treasure hunt on the day to find the prize, but as I'm also working next weekend it's proving hard to lay the trail. Somehow I've got to get The Man up to Town and then... well, I'll tell you in a couple of weeks!

Mosaic

I keep seeing this meme pop up so I thought I'd give it a go. Rules are, you respond to the questions below and put a search in flickr, then use fd's mosaic maker to create the image. You can only take an image from the first page of flickr images!




1. Katherine, Standing Still, 2. London Pasta Week: Day 1, 3. Cranbrook Academy of Art: Europa and the Bull (B&W Version), 4. mare blu by piotta sea blue, 5. John & Margaret , 6. Bewitched Tea, 7. Cowboy at Sunset, 8. IMG_3898_1_1e, 9. don't worry be happy new year, 10. Lakes 2007_S07497, 11. Mountain Lion Safety, 12. Katie ... sleeping on aunt Marlene's hand ...

The questions are:
1. What is your first name?
2. What is your favourite food?
3. What high school did you go to?
4. What is your favourite colour?
5. Who is your celebrity crush?
6. Favourite drink?
7. Dream vacation?
8. Favourite dessert?
9. What you want to be when you grow up?
10. What do you love most in life?
11. One word to describe you.
12. Your flickr name.

1. Katherine 2. Pasta 3. Cranbrook 4. sea blue 5. Richard Armitage 6. cup of tea 7. cowboy holiday 8. queen of puddings 9. happy 10. countryside 11. capable 12. Katie

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.