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...

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