sheldrake

... under the cut I begin to dissolve, my elbows are turning to foam...

RAMBLE BEGIN

Tonight I watched a programme called Grumpy Old Women, which is basically famous-ish women who have reached the fuzzily-defined period of life what is called middle-age, sitting on sofas and going "Ooh, we're getting old now, aren't we? Look at all these old people things we're doing. Collecting string, muttering, I don't know..." I hadn't seen this programme before. From it I gleaned that Sheila Hancock is ace. And that I still really can't stand Janet Street-Porter.

It also occurred to me that I actually do all the things they mentioned, and I'm only 33. (The only difference being that they were all horrified at the idea of knitting, whereas I am currently making good progress on Mrs Darcy). But the thing is... I have been doing these things for years. I was, in fact, born a grumpy old woman.

And what is wrong with saving carrier bags, anyway? It's sensible! It's sensible to recycle yoghurt pots. It's sensible not to waste food.

On the other hand! I did spend part of Saturday night dancing slowly around the room while wearing a preposterous number of hats, as a small crowd cheered me on. So that's something, I suppose. (It really was an excellent party. I'm glad I wasn't in one of my self-loathing hermit moods, because I would have missed curiousworld putting a colander on his head, strapping a camping stove to it, strapping a saucepan on top of that, and using his head to make popcorn. And that would have been a crime!)

ps. galactic_jack, has the permanent market come off yet? Mine has faded to barely-there several-weeks-old bruise strength. What did I write on you, anyway?

***

I am trying to be more positive. You know, because I don't want to wake up one day and find that "NO GO TO WORK I DUN LIEK IT!!" is the only thing I can remember how to say. SO:

There are some bits of some days when I don't hate work that much.
My friends are most excellent. It's like, do you ever get stuck talking to a dull or obnoxious person at a party or something, and you can't get away, and you just want to gnaw your own legs off, and that's when you realise: MY FRIENDS ARE AWESOME. THAT IS WHY THEY ARE MY FRIENDS! (Just a general observation, this -- there were of course no dull or obnoxious people at curiousworld's party.)
A week off in two weeks!
I have accidentally started a small knitting club. The folk of Ipswich are flocking to join. There may be as many as five of us soon!
The choir I wanted to join finally got back to me after all these months, so hopefully I'll be able to join in September.
I bought an external hard drive. :) But I have to walk to the post office to get it :( -- NO! POSITIVE!
I am reading Gaudy Night. Amongst other things.
I had one of the good types of hangover on Sunday. The type which is mainly characterised by bizarre sentimentality. I watched a programme in which David Dimbleby drives around Britain in a 4x4 looking at daffodils in the Lake District and explaining that Wordsworth was quite fond of them. I teared up at the sight of Flatford Mill. I sobbed at the Brontes' Yorkshire moors. Even the bloody Fens gave me a lump in my throat, and I can't even remember what they had to do with anything! Anyway, it was a fun way to spend Sunday morning, and then I watched the tennis.

RAMBLE END

ps. can somebody buy me a lolcat?