Armistice Day

I didn't get to observe the silence at 11 o'clock because of damn bloody clients. I think I will wander up to the attic and have a moment on my own before I go to bed.

When I was fifteen or sixteen, I got horribly upset by the war poetry we studied at school. (I was going to say overwrought, but I'm not sure you can be over-anything about war. I was pretty damn wrought, though.) I think I was just getting my head round some of the abominable shit that people really will do. Also, Siegfried Sassoon appealed to my teenage self in his totally unsubtle, blistering rage (with extra cool points for being queer). I didn't really get Owen so much until later.

We had a family holiday in the north of France around that time, and I bawled and snottered my way around the war cemeteries. I was a real joy to be around when I was fifteen, did I mention?

Meh. I know I have more to say, but it ain't coming. What do you say about something like this? I've never been within sniffing distance of a war, and I pray I never will. I haven't got the balls to pretend I know what I'm talking about here.

High Barnet

I have a very clear picture of this in my head, and I really want to do something better with it. The title of this post was a total afterthought, I swear.

Drorin

Documenting the phenomenon of the MySpace Angle. On the internet, everyone has amazing cheekbones. Please disregard the hot mess I made of her mouth.

Several days in the life

Hell, I didn't realise I hadn't written since the 26th. Time flies and so on. Yay Obama. Fuck Prop 8. And all that.

I've had two Cardigan Therapist visits since my last entry, making four total. She continues to wear a different cardigan each time. Last session she told me to get out more. With this in mind, I might go to the Boogaloo Blues Festival in town on Sunday. We'll see.

We're now into the second series of Babylon 5. This episode has Howlin' Mad Murdoch! Playing...a crazy guy. How I love me some Murdoch. Oh oh oh! And Garibaldi is not only cute, but damaged goods AND still a really nice guy. Plus, he can cook. Sigh.


In other news, I spent the weekend in Manchester, which is where I went to university (Salford, actually, but you know what I mean). Unfortunately, my dear favourite pub sacked my dear favourite DJ while I wasn't looking. Garrumph. Fuckers. However, the rest of it was smashing. I wore a dress on Saturday night and felt a bit foxy - one or two boys even looked at me! That never usually happens. I wasted lots of money on beer and in jukeboxes. And when I came home, the Owl brought me roses. I was deeply impressed.

All in all, this week beats the last few by miles. Now, if only I can draw something that's not utter shite, I'll be made.

Munny and how to spend it

Apparently people who buy Lady Saw on Amazon also buy...Celine Dion? Righty ho then.

Anyway, in the end, I bought a scanner from Argos and spent the Amazon vouchers on music instead. SCAN SCAN SCAN MAHAHAHA

The table shakes and all the lights turn blue

Today's a melancholy day.

I went to a colleague's leaving do last night. To put things in context, I work for a tiny company. There are less than ten of us including the cleaner and the dog. We're all pretty close, and losing one person means a significant increase in everyone else's (already hefty) workload. So it's sad times all round. Also, I had to be in some of the photos. I really fucking hate that.

So I came home in a shite mood, went to bed and dreamed about my biological father, who is not the dad I grew up with. Long story. Actually it's not, I just don't want to tell it. The dream was fabulously intricate. It ended happily, because he had cunningly turned himself into more invisible peas than anyone realised. The knights destroyed the first three, but there were others hidden somewhere outside the castle and he came back to life. We had a celebratory feast and I gave him a big hug. Then I woke up and was terribly happy until I remembered that I've never even met the guy. Blah.

I wrote him a long email today. I hope he writes back. I didn't mention the invisible peas.

Now I'm sitting up at two in the morning, listening to the wind blustering in the chimney and the Owl snoring gently from upstairs. I keep singing the same song under my breath. It's a sweet sad little tune and it's making me awful weepy. Graw. To bed!

Evenings chez nous

My dear fiance is playing online bingo for profit and, apparently, fun. He has spreadsheets and everything so he can figure out how to maximise his takings. I am afraid I fail to be particularly supportive or encouraging.

He has also introduced me to Babylon Five. 5. Something. We're watching the...fourth?...episode. Evil has been brought to the ship by a guy in a brown shirt that seems to have built-in manboobs. Someone has turned into a rampaging robot zombie and they are hunting him in the basement. But at least that ambassador with the sideways mohican and dodgy accent isn't making much of an appearance in this one. Also, Garibaldi is awful cute.

In other news, I have some Amazon vouchers to spend and I can't bring myself to do it. This is not because I'm indifferent to the delights that Amazon has to offer. I've just been hanging on to these things for so sodding long, thinking I'll buy myself a treat when I really need it, that now I am terrified of wasting them. I must spend them on the thing that I want most. More than anything else on Amazon. I am paralysed with indecision, not least because I need to find this item for £15 or less.

What should I buy?

At least I don't call her my analyst

Three posts in. Is it entirely too soon to mention therapy? Well, what the hey. I'm going to make a twat of myself here at some point, I may as well stop worrying.

I have taken to seeing a therapist. Counsellor. What have you. Monday was my second session. For the purposes of this blog, she is Cardigan Therapist. She heals through the power of soothing knitwear. This may only be partly true.

Cardigan Therapist is nice but ballsy. She makes suggestions about why I might feel a certain way, then calls me on it if she thinks I'm agreeing out of wimpitude. She gives me plenty to think about. This week's cardigan had nice buttons.

She also assures me that she won't ever take me out into the street and make me do extroverted things. I am pleased about this.

I'm going to be screwed if she turns up next week and isn't wearing a cardigan.

Bride bridally bride

So the Owl and I went and had a look at a potential wedding venue. Finchampstead Memorial Hall, to be precise. It's a moderately unlovely building, but quite a good size for what we're planning, with heaps of parking, a bar, an outside bit, a disabled loo and a useful corner for roasting hogs in.

Then we came home and I had a panic about how much it was all going to COST DEAR GOD. I'd got as far as threatening to slash the guest list in half before the Owl made me stop. It's going to cost money no matter what, says he. But we could buy lots of pork pies from the supermarket and avoid having a caterer, says me. Yes, but that would be shit, says he. We only get to do this once, says he. Boo hoo, says me. But we got it sorted.

You see, I am simultaneously quite good and very bad with money. I don't do big purchases. Big purchases terrify me. All that money! My bum clenches at the very thought. And yet, I fritter. I piss money away without noticing. I spend a fucking fortune on coffee and sandwiches. I get pleasure from it, don't misunderstand me. I love having other people make my coffee and sandwiches. I never manage to make myself such exciting sandwiches, no matter how hard I try. But, stony broke at the end of the month (why hello thar, and it's only the 20th), it's hard to feel like it's been worthwhile.

I'm going to get married and we're going to throw a bloody good party. Better than gingerbread lattes, even!

Inaugural Wotsit

When I Googled "inaugural", to make sure it meant broadly what I thought it meant, my browser suggested that by "in" I probably meant "in your service lord". Did I ever search that? I don't remember searching that.

Right, yes. Hello.

This blog will contain a bit of art (especially if I get round to buying a scanner), quite a lot of musing and hopefully not too much wank. I'd like to keep it a bit more...polished than my offline diaries tend to get. Here's to beginnings!