The Scroobious Guide to Inner Peace

Today we are abusing the Scroobious Guide format somewhat, but work with me here. We are taking an Inner Journey to Harmony and Happiness.

This is the Way.*

1. Eliminate clutter. (Also known as the famed Chucking Shit Out technique.) Your guide is pleased to report that very recently, with the help of streetcar and directions to the local re-use** and recycling depot, piles of crap were removed from her space. Following on the happy disposal of the infamous pink leather sofas (plus scatter cushions, coffee table and random duvet), this engendered a most pleasing sense of lightness in the Scroobious home.

2. Eliminate chaos. Now that the crap is gone, further feng shui enhancement can be achieved by rearranging your space. That same streetcar experience took us to Ikea, and enabled all kinds of Shelving Wonders to take place.*** More lightness. Suddenly it seems so much more possible to actually get things done.

3. Eliminate commitments. A couple of days ago it dawned on me that I could give myself a truly marvellous gift: an Anti-Social September. Beyond this weekend (when I have two unavoidable prior engagements), I have vowed to ruthlessly turn down all invitations. This way I stand a chance of actually ticking off everything on my list, plus get to spend some quality time with my knitting and my Beloved! You cannot imagine how this pleases me.

So here I am, in a clean (mostly) and uncluttered (relatively) living space, with an (almost completely) clean and uncluttered month stretching out ahead.

Say it with me:

Ahhhhhhhhhhh.

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* It is possible that this particular route only works for fellow Scroobii, whoever they may be. Your mileage may vary.
** I cannot tell you how tickled I am that they only had to change one letter to rename a “refuse depot” something altogether more 21st century. Small things. Small, wordy things.
*** With comic relief provided by Beloved, who responded to my comment that I was (still) running short on space for knitting books with the suggestion that I “sell some”. Oh! The hilarity!

SGScot: Appendix

My first Scroobious Guide* came naturally. Switzerland is a bizarre and beautiful place that I've come to know moderately well (parts of it, anyway), but I still feel alienated enough to poke fun at it. The second was much harder, because I know South Africa too well and love it too much to be funny on the subject. This one was also terribly difficult, for the opposite reason: I hardly know it at all, and I know that many of my readers** do.

So what to put in the Appendix? What cute and mildly crazy thing can I possibly highlight to wind up this patchy little virtual tour? What can I say about an entirely delightful, unpretentious country — of which I have seen only a tiny slice — that justly takes pride in its charming, even award-winning, attractions?



Oh. Yes.

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* Actually, the first one was Hamburg, but that was really short and unstructured. Doesn't count.
** For a given value of "many", considering that I don't have "many" readers.

SGScot: Travel tips

When to go:

Not in August.

I cannot emphasise this enough. By all accounts, September is delightful, and the autumn colours are fabulous later on, and winter is cosy and marvellous - plus there's skiing - and spring is beautiful, and July can be quite lovely. But August sucks. Summer's over (all five weeks of it) and all you have is rain. Torrents of rain. And wind. So stay away in August.

Although even if you do go in August, you're sure to have a lovely time. How could you not? It's a marvellous place. But you will wish you had experienced it under slightly better conditions.

What to bring:

Well, that rather depends on when you go, but I think it's safe to say that at any time of year, a good waterproof jacket and some solid boots will be required. Your little strappy sandals can probably stay at home. If you're travelling in July, and you're lucky, your swimsuit might get an outing; but don't count on it, and don't forget your warm woollens.

Cameras good. Midge repellent very good. Thermal underwear excellent.

Knitting essential.

SGScot: Activities

My idea of a holiday has a strong focus on a horizontal experience (on a beach, under a duvet, I’m not fussy) and food. Beloved’s is rather more energetic. (Practically anything would be.) From what I’ve seen so far, Scotland can happily accommodate both types of visitor; but I wouldn’t count on too much lounging under the sun. And it would be a waste to stay in bed when there’s so much pretty to be enjoyed.

How to be a tourist in Scotland (select suggestions):

Take a distillery tour. Most of the whisky distilleries offer free tours and tastings, which depending on your point of view is either a great way to get a free dram, an educational experience that enriches your appreciation of the water of life, or a cunning ploy to convince visitors that your whisky is the very best in all the land and soften them up with a little free alcohol, just before letting them loose in the shop.

Go monster hunting. There are plenty of Loch Ness cruises to choose from; the shorter ones will get you out on the lake, waffle sonorously about “these mysterious depths” and point at the pretty ruined castle.



The longer ones might include a cruise down the Caledonian canal and a tour of the castle, or a trip right down the full length of the lake (it’s definitely on the large side) with optional stops. I liked the idea of going halfway, taking a bike ride** down to the southern tip, and going back up by boat again; but time was not on our side. Anyway, you won’t be able to avoid the squillions of Nessie artefacts around the place, so you might as well go through the motions of looking for her. Plus, it’s a pretty lake, and boats are fun, no?

Visit castles. Mostly that’ll be ruined castles, thanks to those pesky English, but there’s also Balmoral (when Her Britannic Majesty isn’t in residence) and, um, some other places. Whatever. Castles. Meh.

Explore the mountain wilderness. Ah yes, now we come to the primary motivation for our trip, and to the primary problem with same. Learn from our mistake, readers: Bring Waterproofs. And thermal underwear. And midge repellent. (Naturally, since we had that part covered, that was the part we didn’t need so much. On account of the midges all being drowned or blown out to sea, presumably.)

Explore the mountain wilderness on skis. Exciting! Well, so I imagine. Never having been on skis myself, I can’t say how Scottish skiing compares with Gstaad, or Zermatt, or Aspen. But I’m happy to undertake some research. All funding offers for Comparative Skiing Studies will receive serious consideration.

Go wildlife hunting. Not actual hunting, please, that would be mean. Shoot only with the cameras, yes? This can be done from the comfort of your car, or on another little boat trip (for the marine wildlife, that is; not so much the reindeer), and the list of native wildlife includes:

Reindeer
Eagles
Minke whales
Dolphin
Porpoise
Seals
etc etc.

What we actually saw:

One reindeer
Bunch of red deer
One roe deer***
Three seals
Three dolphins
Some of these****



And an awful lot of pheasant and rabbits on the road.

Literally ON the road.

I comforted myself with the inane thought that this vast amount of roadkill clearly indicated the vast amount of wildlife happily roaming through Scotland’s fields and forests, rather than large-scale destruction caused by encroaching civilisation.

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* Not that I’m knocking this. I have long ago made peace with my inner tourist, and am happy to go Tour the Sights on occasion. But generally it’s much more fun to steer clear of anywhere that involves queues, cash registers, and T-shirts with the name of the place you’re at done in the font of a corporate logo, don’t you think?
** No, really. Once you get me out of bed, I’m perfectly happy to do the active stuff. As long as it doesn’t cut into good cake time.
*** Red and roe deer identified purely by what we were told was likely to be spotted in those parts. I don’t know one from another, myself. Pretty. Bambi-like.
**** Not technically wildlife, maybe, but as cows***** go these look pretty damn wild. Dontcha think?
***** Or bulls, even.

SGScot: Culture and cuisine

It’s not all blue Mel Gibson and sword-waving Christopher Lambert, you know. Nor is it all men in skirts. Or a good walk spoiled. Nor it is all about whisky.

Okay, maybe it is quite a lot about whisky.

Once again, though, I’m forced to confess that we weren’t on a cultural trip. We were on an active trip. (Supposedly.) So I can gently suggest that you might want to go to the pub for a bit of jolly dancing, or taste the glories of the Edinburgh Festival, or investigate the country’s Viking history by visiting some of the many museums. Or even help Patroclus with her Pictish project. But I can’t really TELL you about any of those things.

Sorry.

The food, though, the food were lovely. Admittedly, after a series of UK breaks where our enthusiasm for the trip was gradually (or not so gradually) worn down by a series of horrible meals,* my standards weren't that high. Still, I think you'll find Scotland can offer some properly Good Eatin'. Best for carnivores, I reckon. Meal choices tend to run to the dead-flesh-and-two-veg side of things, but it is such tasty dead flesh. Often smothered in whisky cream. Mmmmm.

And of course there's the infamous Chieftain o' the Pudding Race: haggis. No. No, I didn't. No, I don't plan to. Just as I see no reason to ever try mopane worms. Some things are just wrong. When it comes to traditional Scottish foodstuffs, I'll stick to shortcake, thank you. Lots of shortcake. Piles of it. Mmmmmm.

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* Worst offender: Wales. Don't believe anything they tell you about marvellous fresh Welsh produce, lovely farm cooking, etc. It were nasty. Very nasty.

SGScot: Art and architecture

I have no idea. We studiously avoided anything like a museum in favour of the Great Outdoors. Which, thanks to the climate, turned into more of the Great Indoors – of the car; the B&B’s lovely hot bath; the tea rooms…

As for architecture: meh. Some houses. Some ruins. Some peculiar looking castles. Next.

SGScot: Geography and climate

Scotland is divided into the Highlands, Lowlands, Speyside and Islay.

No, wait, that’s just the whisky.

Okay, try this: Scotland is divided into Highlands (north), Lowlands (south), west and east coast (you can probably interpret that yourself), and a bunch of islands. Not so much divided, really, but those are the regions people tend to refer to. We toured much of the Highlands, sticking to the east coast and a bit of the north. The main cities are Edinburgh (south; kultcha!), Glasgow (west coast; shopping!), Aberdeen and Inverness (east coast; um… Scottish!). By all accounts Edinburgh is terribly pretty and Glasgow a bit rough. But I’m sure that’s just nasty talk.

As for climate, I was warned darkly “you’re on the same latitude as Alaska”. So: brrrr! Summer, apparently, lasts from the beginning to the end of July. Although it won’t necessarily be anything South Africans might recognise as summer. Then the rains come. And believe me, they come. More things I should have found out before I chose to visit in August: September and October are actually better weather, in the sense that they are drier. And you get lovely autumn foliage later on. Winter is of course proper winter, with snow and stuff. Again: brrrr!

But before you complain about the cold, consider: without this urgent imperative to warm up, would we have Scotch whisky?

SGScot: Language*

Many street signs in Scottish cities are delightfully Tolkein-esque, with the English name followed by Gaelic – in lovely Celtic font. But if you can’t understand a word your waitress is saying, don’t ask her to speak English. She already is.

Cultural note:

Remember that the Scots – while British, and speaking mostly English - are not English. It’s all very complicated. Look, the United Kingdom (sometimes called “Britain) includes England, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland. Great Britain is just the island containing the first three. Wales is sometimes called “the principality” and Northern Ireland “the province”, but I’ve no idea what Scotland might be called.

It’s definitely not part of England though. They have their own parliament and everything. And they haven’t really forgiven the English for beating them up all those centuries, and blowing up all their castles. (I believe there are no intact castles in Scotland dating back more than a couple of hundred years, and that’s why.) So consider yourself in a foreign country, of sorts, and be grateful that they’re talking a language you can understand.

Yes, you really can understand. Try a little harder.

(I would like to state for the record that I had no problem with the Scottish accent. No, really. Beloved, on the other hand…)

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* No, I hadn't forgotten. Honest. Just a little distracted. Back now.

Consumer advice

Hitherto unsuspected drawback of orange juice with bits:

When you spill, those bits are really hard to get out of the carpet.

Useful, this blog, don't you think?

Lies, all lies

Interesting, isn't it. After five years of the "war on terror", the net result seems to be that the average citizen* is more jaded, more cynical, than we were before. We know that we are under serious threat from aggressive, fanatical, homicidal maniacs who are out to destroy democracy... and the suicide bombers aren't very nice either.

Ahaha. Couldn't resist. Sorry.

Anyway, as I was saying. We know that there is a real threat. We also know that our Inglorious Leaders' response to said threat has been... questionable. They have systematically lied to and manipulated us and ignored the public will — and done so in a way that's sure to increase the ire of the extremists, while not really making us any safer. In fact I don't think they can make us safer, other than perhaps by making the societies we live and participate in so very objectionable. We're moving in the wrong direction then, aren't we?

So this — lies, misinformation, abuse of trust — is now what we expect. So there's a new scare... so an increasingly large chunk of the population thinks, Hm. Is this just another big lie?

I was on holiday when I heard about the Big Airport Meltdown. I didn't have an emotional reaction to it at all (beyond "hey, good thing we travelled by train"). I didn't think, "Ooh, how lucky they caught the plot before it happened." I also didn't think, "It's all a big lie, evil bastard politicians." I pretty much marked it with a question mark and stuck it into a folder in my mind labelled "undecided". And I'm still undecided, because I haven't really bothered to follow the story. I am pretty sceptical about "intelligence", under the best of circumstances, and this was clearly very far from the best circumstances. Apparently I missed the small detail that said "Pakistani intelligence" came from an interrogation.

Oh. Yes. Somehow that adds to my scepticism quite a lot.

Thanks to strawberryfrog for a predictably cynical take on the matter. I don't necessarily trust Craig Murray either (no offence Craig, I just don't know you), but it's an interesting read.

Anyway, one good thing may yet come out of all this (considering that global warming could pose a far greater threat to our civilisation than any political or religious extremism). Fear of terrorism, or even just of hassles with security, might succeed where eco-campaigners have failed in discouraging unnecessary air travel. Score one for the planet.

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* This may be a complete untruth. I'm not even sure it's true of the "average netizen", which is already a very different thing. It's just a broad impression I have.

Scroobious Guide to Scotland: Introduction

Not just the place we have to thank for Sean Connery, Scotland is a country with a proud heritage. The landscape is full of reminders of past cultures, from mysterious Picts to pillaging Vikings; the visitor can partake in rich traditions such as watching beefy men in skirts chuck trees around, listening to beefy men in skirts blow into goatskins, or seeing haggis fired at monsters.* Local crafters produce pottery, jewellery, glass and a peculiar beverage brewed from rotted barley. Urban centres ferment with theatre, fine dining and luxury shopping, while the craggy mountains and heather-strewn hills invite days of happy exploration.

I wouldn’t know about that. It was pissing down and we stayed in our car for four days solid.



Still, complete ignorance has never stopped me before, so this week I bring you the Scroobious Guide to Scotland. We will be taking questions from the audience after each session. I thank you.
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* I can’t find any online references to this, so let me explain: there is a trebuchet** in the grounds of Urquhart Castle that is still fired once a day – loaded with haggis, to tempt Nessie out of the depths. So I’m told. I leave it to you to decide whether they’re baiting the tourists or baiting the monster.

Schizophrenic

Links for the day:

"When people here are confronted with any task, the stock phrase is, 'Make a plan,' and invariably people do."

The Guardian's Joburg correspondent tells us why he doesn't love SA, despite recognising how all-round fabulous it is. Perhaps perversely, this story rouses my (steadily mounting) homesickness in full force, while also rousing the heartsickness that comes from acknowledging how deeply screwed up the place is.

It's still an amazing place, though. And bless Rory Carroll for his honesty. It is wonderful - definitely perversely so - to have a foreigner engage with SA's contradictions and challenges in exactly the same way as many of us do. Okay, so he doesn't quite love it. It's not his home. But at least he can see what there is to love - as well as why many white (liberal) South Africans don't behave the way liberal outsiders think we should.

And we will make a plan. And it will all come together in the end. But the end is still a long, long way away. I hope to be there again one day, to be part of that plan coming together.

So much for words. Look at some pictures. Pretty! Totally not political!

And finally for something completely frivolous: let me share with you the tri-partite Scroobious Rule of Shopping.

a) Don't look at the price. Seriously.
b) If you don't love it, don't buy it.
c) Conversely, if you really do love it, take it home.

Properly executed, this strategy will be good for both your wardrobe and your budget. I mean that. You will never again fall into the trap of buying something you don't ever wear because it was "good value". But "properly executed" means, of course, that a degree of discretion must be applied in two key areas: Exposure and Application. The first dictates that the shopper Must Not go into shops that she can't afford (or must not go into any shops at all if the budget is under particular strain). Not that hard for me, I hate shopping. The second applies to what the "it" may be, viz: don't go buying ballgowns if you're a Chinese takeaway kinda girl; don't shop for stilettos when what you really need is trainers.

Why am I sharing this with you at this juncture? Well, for the good of humanity, of course. But also, in my great humility, to invite you to laugh at me and the little flaw in my Brilliant Strategem.

It's the Exposure angle.

Monsoon has gone and opened a store on Waterloo station. Double negative result: I can overspend and miss my train at the same time.

To compound the problem, they don't have a fitting room.

Don't make me take them back.

(in my defence there were oh so many dresses I loved but DIDN'T buy and they're not actually both red the one on the left is black and a girl can never have enough dresses and dammit they're pretty)

August lament

So I left London a week ago. In summer. I went to Scotland, where summer was clearly over.*



Now I'm back and... hang on, summer's over in this city, too? Really? [looks at calendar] Are you serious? Isn't it traditional to give us until the bank holiday?

I mean, I like autumn and all. In its proper place. Its proper place not being about two scant months after spring. I feel I have done some time travelling and have accidentally misplaced the summer. Most distressing.

PS For the record, I have decided not to take the promotion. This feels inexpressibly weird, but I'm pretty sure it's the right choice.

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* Note for Scots: it's not very comforting to tourists to hear "Oh, you should have been here last week, it was lovely. Only started raining this morning." Over and over.

The Parcelforce files: volume whatever

I've been trying to spare you the nasty little details of my ongoing travails with Parcelforce, because it really doesn't make for very edifying blogging. Besides, it's been a while since I had a really explosive run-in with them. They hardly ever deliver on time, they never reply to letters, they are impossible to reach on the phone, but that's all just what we expect, isn't it? I can't resist, though, sharing this latest little nugget.

They have a new policy. If you're not in when they try to deliver, instead of getting you to phone them to request a redelivery, or trying again the next day — either of which have worked fine in the past* — they will now take your package to a "local" post office for you to collect.

Sounds reasonable? Well, that all depends on your definition of "local", and whether you have a car. In my case, collecting the package means lugging this big, heavy box over two bus rides and 15 minutes of walking.

"Many of our customers find this more convenient," I'm told. Do they bollocks. I'm sure Parcelforce finds it more convenient, but I bet they never asked any customers. And no, they won't redeliver, under any circumstances.

*sigh* If only I could afford private couriers. If only.

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* Assuming that wasting hours on the phone and having the parcel delivered a day late after all falls within the definition of "fine", anyway.

Caution: timewaster ahead

Meez is a very bad place. Don't go there. Not unless you have too much time on your hands, anyway.



Now why is it, do you suppose, that given all the vast possibilities of an online avatar, I pay careful attention to trying to replicate (to some extent) what I actually look like? To the extent of fretting that I can't have both freckles and lipstick?

I never wear jeans, though. That is a truly radical departure. Also, Jemima* would never stand for being held that way.

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* Conveniently, the ginger cat also happened to be the chubby one. "Fluffy had a big lunch," indeed.

Feeling inadequate

I recently met someone who, while utterly lovely, is utterly unforgiveable for the following reasons. She:

publishes a monthly online magazine*;
sells, both online and in meatspace, hand-dyed yarn — much of which she dyes herself;
is launching a sewing shop;
is launching a quarterly magazine;
is writing/editing a pattern book;
has two small children (and a third on the way);
OH YES AND SHE HAS A FULL-TIME JOB.

I haven't quite recovered from this meeting.

I am also increasingly aware that as a knitter, frankly, I suck. I think I actually suck more with the passing of time. Each project seems to take twice as long as the previous one, and require more frogging.** And while I'm trying to learn things like planning, and structure, and technique, really I am, when I consider the incredible proficiency of someone like Eunny, who is a whole 23 YEARS OLD, I want to poke my pointy sticks into my eyes and be done with it.

More seriously, there is the question of What Am I Doing With My Life? I have a part-time job that pays the bills and is really rather dull. I work with lovely people, which is a great plus, but it is terribly dull, and I can't envision it getting any more interesting if I climb the ladder.*** I have occasional freelancing, some of which is more interesting than the job, some not. I have a little baby business venture that I am carefully nurturing, a venture that is thoroughly unproven and may yet turn out to be founded on a deeply flawed business model****, and of course it's just me running it — me with a profoundly Non-Business mind.***** And I have vague, half-formed ambitions in the designing and writing areas. The design ambitions are of course looking increasingly risible.

This little business thing, though, it is something that makes me deeply happy. So far it is making me deeply broke and causing stress and anxiety aplenty, but it is by far the most exciting thing I have ever done. And the most fun. I even enjoy the spreadsheets. (Okay, not that surprising. I always did like spreadsheets.) It's the only "job" I've ever had that I can happily imagine doing for the rest of my life. It is, in other words, For Me. This is what I really want to spend my time on.

On the other hand, I am hopelessly undisciplined and disorganised. I have four non-office days a week; yet I get very little done. I am seriously lousy at imposing my own structure. If I had any time management skills, my little venture should be running very smoothly, with all kinds of long-range ideas already implemented; plus I should be working on some of those design ambitions, and have a social life too. It's really not unreasonable to expect that. After all, look at the Nameless Wonder above!

Which is why I'm seriously torn about this promotion I've been unofficially offered.****** A promotion that would require just one more day in the office.

One hand: If I can't make the best use of my time on my own, a little more enforced productivity may be no bad thing.

Other hand: What kind of logic is that? I'll still be the same person, with the same lousy discipline, and even less time to work on the things I really care about.

Hand 1: But in practice, the website can be managed with less time than I have now, right? And I'll always find the time for freelancing somehow.

Hand 2: Bollocks it can. When everything's running smoothly yes, but when there's a problem, it's bad enough that I only have two weekdays to chase suppliers and sort things out. It needs and deserves more of my time, not less.

Hand 1: Well, it's my job to make sure it runs smoothly, then.

Hand 2: Which will be even harder to do when I have less time. And the chances I'll manage to work on designs etc will shrink to near zero. And by the way... four days in the office will be SO DAMN BORING.

Hand 1: But what if the business doesn't succeed, and I'm basically cutting off my career development at the pass?

Hand 2: Oh that's good. Let's make a decision based on fear, and on protecting the more boring career possibilities at the expense of the exciting ones.

Hand 1: Piffle. Let's make a grown-up decision based on pragmatism and the understanding that with just a little discipline, the exciting possibilities don't have to be jeopardised at all. Remember the Nameless Wonder!

*sigh*

Conundrum.

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* Knitting. This is all about knitting. Move along now if you're going to laugh, please.
** Knitting slang: because frogs go "rip it, rip it". Oh yes, knitters have slang. I don't know if this is a new development, born of the Glorious Interweb, or if it has been ever thus.
*** Unless I made the great leap into Consumer Press, which is glamorous and exciting, but (a) really hard to do, (b) filled with nasty people I hear (on the magazines at least, not the newspapers), and (c) probably not fun enough to keep me interested for long anyway.
**** There are at least three possible Killer Flaws. No way to know yet whether they really are killer flaws, or are rather Excitingly New and Different Thinking.
***** Bizarrely enough I have a Bachelor in Business Administration. I don't think this imparted anything in the way of actual knowledge, but I did enjoy the economics.
****** In the unlikely event any of my colleages are reading this: sshhh...

Still here

I am alive. Really.

I am even doing things. Occasionally I think these things would make good blog content. But then I get so busy doing other things that I never get around to the blogging. And then it’s all too old and there is too much and it has lost its flavour.

To assure you that there is life, however – that I am not just sitting in a darkened room working all day, although there is a fair amount of that – let’s have a quick run-down of the past couple of weeks.

Beloved had a birthday. We celebrated. We had a Very London Weekend – that was supposed to be a good thing, but turned out more mixed, as is itself a Very London Thing. Exciting events and entertainments got scuppered or spoiled by transport troubles, or turned out to not be quite as exciting as hoped. Viz:

Went to see Fuerzabruta*. Very fun. Planned night of dancing afterwards but everyone ended up doing the last train home thing instead. Plus, tube left us stranded three stops from home, grrrr.

Tried to go to the Electric Cinema. Foiled by slow bus. Tried to go to a West End cinema instead; foiled by unexpected show times (demonstrating the truism that one should never, never try to wing it in London; that way lies extreme frustration). Tried to have dinner by the river, but you already know how that turned out.

Tried to catch a ferry to an exciting outdoor film festival. Missed the ferry by minutes. Eventually got to the festival, to find it added up to rather less than the sum of its parts. (Or maybe the parts just weren’t that great to start with.) Still, watching Ferris Bueller’s Day Off in a big damn field on a warm and lovely summer evening was enjoyable. Two hours to get home. Less enjoyable.

Since then, I have been mostly fighting with my phone company, although that seems to be resolved now. And there is a happy outcome, which I will share with you tomorrow. Probably. Meanwhile, I would like to let the internet know that there is a very, very nice man in a call centre in Scotland who is going to a happy place when he dies. I hope he will go to some happy places before then too. Mwah!

I have also been booking a little mini holiday-ette for next week. Hooray for hiking in the Highlands! We hear there may be some midges, but we’re hard. We can handle it.

Oh, and I also attended strawberryfrog’s wedding reception, where I got to stand around in cute shoes on a waterfront balcony**, drink champagne, eat insanely delicious cake, be served by quite the most miraculously attentive catering staff I have ever encountered anywhere, discuss religion and cute shoes with the self-proclaimed Jewish Contingent of e2 (who were very lovely), and get a cab home because I complained loudly enough about the pain of the cute shoes and the great distance of the night bus stop. Hooray for being grown-up and having a (sort of) high earning husband!***

There was also a company away day in there somewhere. This involved fish and chips on Brighton pier (cue my usual plaintive cry: Why am I not living in Brighton? Whywhywhy?), not nearly enough funfair rides (damn wussy colleagues), and careful explanation to confused Polish bar wenches of how to make a rock shandy.****

Just one more news item: the pink leather sofas are a thing of the past. We convinced the landlady to get rid of them, because I need more space for knitting stuff. Heh. Who needs furniture when you can have knitting stuff, eh? (Not to worry, we still have something to sit on. Though Beloved complains that the futon isn’t nearly as comfy. Honestly, some people, never satisfied… first he hated the pink leather, now he misses it. Tut tut.)

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* With apologies to The Magnetic Fields, we bring you a peek inside the mind of Fuerzabruta’s creator/s:
“A pretty girl in her underwear
A pretty girl in her underwear
If there’s anything better in this world
Who cares…

"Ooooh! A pretty WET girl in her underwear! No – FOUR! Four pretty girls in wet underwear! Four pretty girls in underwear getting wet! In – in – in the sky! In mid-air! Four pretty girls in wet underwear splooshing around with each other in mid-air! COMING DOWN ON THE AUDIENCE! Four pretty wet girls in underwear in a big wet thing of water being lowered slowly onto the audience’s SEA OF GRABBING HANDS!

"I am a theatrical GEEENYUSS!”

Not to disparage the show, though. It is undoubtedly the most inventive performance I’ve ever seen. I love that they take the conceptual leap from theatre in the round to theatre EVERYWHERE – on a moving stage, on the walls, on the ceiling! So it’s a bunch of fun. But I would have preferred there to be something more behind the energy and adventurousness of the staging.

** It was quite like the old days, when we lived on the river, but with better shoes.

*** Who has just gotten a rather nice raise for being extremely cool and clever. Hooray Beloved!

**** Pint glass with half soda water, half lemonade, lots of ice and Angostura bitters. Quite the best alcohol substitute on a hot day. It’s a South African standard, but mysteriously no one in the UK has ever heard of it. Ditto Dom Pedros. This really needs to be fixed.