Sunday, 31 August 2008

Back Again

So, my incredibly busy weekend is over. All in all, I rather enjoyed it.

On Friday, I managed to get 3 1/2 hours of organ practice done. I also managed to hurt my wrist learning Pachelbel's Canon in D. That piece has some interesting note combinations in the right hand. I also had a lovely conversation with my little brother, who very conveniently interrupted my organ practice for half an hour. It was great to catch up with him - haven't spoken to him for ages.

On Saturday, the wedding went very well except for the second half of every verse of the second hymn. Alas, my decision to add the pedals in was not vindicated.* The bride and groom were signing the register in a different room at that point, so I probably didn't ruin their special day, but it was embarrassing nonetheless. On the plus side, none of the 35 minutes of music I played before the service went horribly wrong, including Pachelbel's Canon, which I only started to learn on Tuesday. This indicates that I may be slowly creeping towards being justified in calling myself an organist. In fact, I am probably as good an organist as this sentence, and the one before it, is, or are, well-constructed! So now you know.

This morning was the vicar's last service. Having stayed overnight with Heather, who lives close to church, we arrived about 20 minutes before my usual arrival time. This meant that there was a lot more time than usual for me to play before the service - I normally play for three to five minutes. Today I played for fifteen, recycling much of my repertoire from the morning before.

Normally when I play before the service, I make sure that it is nice and quiet, so as not to disturb anyone's conversation. This morning, I did not. I wanted to play something wonderful and memorable for the vicar, so I played Barber's Adagio for Strings.** Listening to some of the recordings on YouTube, perhaps I played it a little fast (mine lasted about 5 1/2 minutes), but it seemed to lack something when I played it slowly - either I do not have the musical skill to make it work at this speed, or I need a better organ, with a bit more of a dynamic range. I suspect it is the former, but am happy to hide behind the latter. Certainly, this music would benefit from all of the notes on the organ working, and stuff. Anyway, if you listen to this piece (which I recommend that you do - it really can be beautiful), you will probably observe that it gets loud at the end. I did this, too. This is the first piece I have played on this organ with any actual stop changes - just like a real organist! The climax was comparatively spectacular,*** and made me feel happy.

I also played a pretty little piece after the service, and that also did not fall in a crumpled heap - I played most of the right notes in the right order at the right time. I look forward to a time when that is not blogworthy.

Alas, there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth when the vicar left. He will be missed rather a lot. His choice of hymns wasn't always brilliant, but they were either nice or easy (sometimes both), and I'll take that; much as I love to play beautiful music, I have rather a weakness for the simple stuff. Aside from the vitally important issue of the music, he has also been a great father figure to the children at church, and has made a big difference to the community as a whole.

I don't know what will be happening about a vicar for us now. I'm not sure that anyone does. I daresay we will find out over the next few weeks...

Coming soon (if you're lucky) - an interesting post.****

*Am I using that correctly? Can a decision be vindicated, or would it be the person making the decision who was vindicated?

**This was the recording I found which was the closest to how I played it. I played it slightly faster, and not quite so excessively rubato (this guy is making me giggle a bit). You could also look up this version - it's played by an actual orchestra, an I reckon it sounds better. However, my organist friend, Dave the Organist, plays it beautifully (although it hurts my ears during the loud bits - he has rather a mighty organ ;-) and it is rather wonderful.

***For best effect, compare it with everything else I ever played, rather than with anything good. And, of course, you didn't hear it - you'll just have to imagine it. Imagine it well for me, please. Also, imagine that I got all of the notes right, without a lapse in concentration resulting in me forgetting what I was supposed to be doing. Thank you. That was kind of you.

****Ha! In your dreams...

Friday, 29 August 2008

Busy weekend

This weekend promises to be uncomfortably busy. I no longer have to go climbing this evening, which frees up several hours to practise the organ and bake a cake for the vicar's leaving do on Sunday, but I shall be out of the house between 10.00 tomorrow and about 15.00 on Sunday. I think that I might invite HWSNBN's mother round for dinner on Sunday, too. That will ease the pressure.

In 'Other News', I am struggling with the hymns for tomorrow's wedding. I really hope they become firmly embedded in my psyche this evening. The problem with them is that I have decided to play the bass line with my feet, which I have not quite mastered yet. If I get it right, it will sound much better with feet than without, but if I get it wrong it will be very embarrassing.

Will update on Sunday. If I get sufficient sleep over the weekend, I may even be able to get it together sufficiently to say something interesting...

Thursday, 28 August 2008

My house is small and untidy

It being Thursday, I arrived home from work at 5.30pm. As HWSNBN has buggered off to foreign parts, the house is my own; I have the evening to use as I will. Unfortunately, some of that time will have to be spent tidying up.

HWSNBN does not approve of the level of untidiness to which I readily descend. This means that, when it all gets too much he will either be angry at me until I tidy up (do not like this option), tidy up himself (like this option a lot) or join me in ignoring the mess (meh). When he left to go away he had recently tidied the living room and washed the dishes, but the rest of the house was a pigsty.

On Monday, I tidied the spare bedroom and did plenty of washing, but the living room is rapidly turning into a dumping ground. This is not helped by the addition of the habitual contents of our cars' boots, plus two pads and a bag full of eskrima sticks from Kiaido Ryu, plus my climbing gear, plus a few rucksacks and some random crap. The contents of my boot can be returned to their rightful home now, as my car has been returned from the garage*, but HWSNSN's boot contents cannot be replaced until he returns next Friday, and the martial arts stuff will not be returned until the next session, which is on Tuesday. Everything else just lives in the corner of the living room, as we ran out of space upstairs.

Having painted an incomplete picture of what's going on in my living room, I almost feel inspired to throw things out to free up some space in the spare bedroom. Even that is not an easy task; although the spare bedroom is not really a small bedroom (I grew up in a large Victorian house - from my perspective it's tiny. My parents' bathrooms are bigger), it has the job of being HWSNBN's office, the place where the clothes are dried, the place where the clothes are kept, the place for the upstairs bed settee, the place to do the ironing, the room through which one accesses the heating controls, and a place to store HWSNBN's books and computer bits. Our bedroom is much smaller, as all it has to take is a double bed, two chests of drawers, a shelf, some chili plants and a bin. It would be big enough (assuming one person is happy not being able to get out of his side of the bed) if it wasn't for the bin. Perhaps that's what I need to get rid of - it's all becoming clear! Bin the bin and enjoy a whole new era of spaciousness.

So, having procrastinated for a while (to be fair, I have also been awaiting a Skype call from HWSNBN, but he appears to have given up on me), I suppose I had better tidy up a bit. There is plenty of washing I can be getting on with, plus washing up, plus efficient piling of random crap... I don't even want to think about what else there is to do.**

*They washed it - it was really shiny until it was rained on with dirty rain. What's with that, anyway? I thought rain was supposed to be clean. I have learned from experience that it picks up all sorts of nasty stuff on its travels, but it seems somehow wrong that things should get dirty just from being rained on. This is why I do not wash my car.

**Such as write up a research proposal, removing the drunk bits. Must be accomplished as a) the funding body is not psychic; and b) even if they were, they would not award me any marks for effort this way. Marks for effort are important.

Wednesday, 27 August 2008

A wedding

This Saturday, I shall be playing for my first wedding. Judging by the fact that they are having a CD to enter and leave, and for the signing of the register, they have heard my playing already, and are not taking any chances. The vicar will be leaving on Sunday, too, so I shall have to pull spectacular music from somewhere by then.

I started playing the organ about ten years ago, having started the piano a decade earlier. Alas, my progress has not been consistent. Between the ages of 17 and 18 I practised reasonably regularly, but stopped when I went to University.

When I was 21 I got an organist job at a local church, which lasted two weeks; I wasn't very good. Also, they didn't pay me, so I was acceptable value for money.* As they didn't let me know they didn't want me back, I had no specific opportunity to return the hymn book of theirs which I was using, which is now a really useful staple in my collection (it saves me about once a month, by having some inane kiddy song no other book has). Never trust an organist with your hymn book.**

My current organ job is good in oh so many ways.

It started on the evening of the lunar eclipse, a Saturday in March 2007. HWSNBN, The Guy Who's Not Russian and I had gone to Serena's house to drink moderate amounts of alcohol and to eat her rather tasty food. And to see her, of course.

Halfway through the meal, I got a phone call. Apparently the organist at St Isidore's had left, and they had nobody to play for the service the next morning. Would I play? I said that I would, vowed not to drink too much that evening, and hoped that I had the necessary hymns within my small hymn book collection (one of which was actually bought for me: I say that three of them belong to me).

On returning home, having failed at the not drinking too much task, I had a play through of the hymns on my fake piano,*** and found that I was less bad than I expected. I played the next day, and nobody died.**** They asked me back the next week, and I have been playing there ever since.

St Isidore's is a friendly church, and they do not mind when I mess up an introduction, or the organ stops working again (until they are required to help move the piano, which is heavy). Their service starts a whole hour later than that of their mother church, which I attended previously. This means I both get extra time in bed and make it to the service before it starts.

The organ is rather dodgy, it has to be said. It isn't actually an organ at all; rather it is several organs put together in a way which is acceptable given the circumstances... I'm sure that the, erm, ingenuity with which different elements are combined would fascinate any reputable organ builder. It fascinates me.

The organ benefits from being played regularly, insofar as if it is not played regularly it loses notes. This is inconvenient when it happens in the middle of a hymn, and will probably be rather embarrassing when it happens during this wedding on Saturday. I played it for a few hours today, and the temperamental pipes were enthusiastic, while the pipes with a reputation for working went quiet in alarming places. This does not bode well.

Wish me luck, dear reader.

*Until I didn't return their hymn book.

**I do actually feel rather remorseful about this. Unfortunately, by the time I realised that they were not going to ask me back, I had rather missed the window for returning the hymn book (I can be rather slow sometimes). The more I procrastinated, the harder it got. I will discuss the situation next time I play there.

***Possibly the best investment I ever made.

****Once when I played, somebody nearly died. I don't think it was my fault...

Tuesday, 26 August 2008

Home Again

I wrote a big post about the church weekend, but it turned into rather a large moan-fest. Given that I enjoyed myself a lot (albeit mostly when the children were asleep or I had run away from them), and felt that the weekend was a very positive experience, this feels rather ungrateful. I therefore deleted that post. Nobody likes a complainer.*

I shall instead touch on a few selected highlights.
  • As I mentioned earlier, I was unable to leave work on time to catch the coach, and had to drive myself there. I was delayed further by a phone call asking me to pick up a few things from the shop, and further still by my own ineptitude with the borrowed TomTom. This meant I arrived a long time after dinner was finished. I ate my dinner in the company of a couple of other grown-ups while the children pouted and threw their way round a gentle stroll in the woods.
  • Lots of people brought wine. We had a very enjoyable evening getting to know each other better** while drinking wine and eating biscuits and chocolate brazils. I didn't even have much of a hangover the next morning.
  • I had to share a room with a friend of mine, Heather, and at no point did I have to sleep in it with a child present. One child tried to spend the night there, but her teddy bear got scared way before our bedtime and she took him to sleep elsewhere (she's nothing if not compassionate). I swear I had nothing to do with this.
  • Heather brought Benedictine. Benedictine is made by monks and is thus holy. It has amazing happy-giving properties, and nobody else seems to like it except my parents and The Guy Who's Not Russian, who will drink anything. This means that I do not have to share it.
  • Heather and I escaped for a walk up a hill. From there we had a beautiful view of the countryside. I sat among some logs looking at the pretty weed-flowers. During that time period, only one member of our group was taken to hospital.
  • That evening we had a barbecue. I managed to get three barbecues ready for cooking meat shortly after we finished eating it, having given up a long time ago and put the sausages and burgers under the grill. The important point here is that I was not defeated by the recalcitrant barbecues. Pyromania rules OK.
  • After the children had gone to bed, we were treated to lots of Martini and lemonade. I was inspired, and re-wrote a research proposal (in note form) so that it became a lot smaller and more manageable than the original proposal. Having done this, I may be able to use it to apply for a research grant. I have not yet read it sober; it could be a pile of crap...
  • At lunchtime the next day, there was not enough room for me at the table. Nobody was paying any attention to me,*** and I managed to slip away unnoticed and eat on a picnic bench outside. The weather was lovely, and I finished my lunch before being disturbed by any children waving pointy sticks.
  • I got a lovely hug from a lovely little girl after the service in the afternoon. I am reasonably sure I didn't get head lice from the encounter. She asked if I had written the songs we sang. I assured her that I have no talent in that area. It's quite funny to see little children's faith in the power of adults! And oh so very lovely.
  • At the end of our stay, when I got into my car to leave (not on the coach with everyone else - yay!), I put the air conditioning on. That was nice.
  • When I got home, as time seemed to have passed so slowly (it's amazing how long the days are when you get up in the morning), it felt much later than it was. I therefore had lots more evening left than felt reasonable, but in a good way. I prepared myself a simple meal and extracted some cider from the fridge. Which I then drank.
Thus ended the church weekend. The further away it gets, the more fun I had. I'm remembering it rather fondly now - a stark contrast to how I felt just before the children went to bed on Saturday.

*Which may be why I have no friends.

**Actually, they probably already know each other rather well. I got to know them better, though, and they got to know me better. I therefore conclude that my original sentence is fit for purpose. And undermine this declaration by the over-generous use of asterisks.****

***This is an observation, not a complaint.

****Should I be using fewer asterisks? They are rather annoying, especially when there are four****** of them, and I appear to be using them as a poor substitute for both humour and proper, clear sentence structure. However, having surveyed all of this blog's readers,***** I have decided to worry about this later. Or maybe not at all. Sorry, as yet unanticipated reader; I do hope you didn't come to this blog with high expectations.


******On re-reading this, I realised that there were five asterisks. There are, of course, now six of them.

Monday, 25 August 2008

He Who Shall Not Be Named

I showed the blog to He Who Shall Not Be Named, to see whether or not he was happy with my portrayal of him. I came to the following conclusions:

  • HWSNBN does not like blogs.
  • He does not see that my blog is in any way the exception to this rule; in fact, it exemplifies many of the ways in which blogs are not worthwhile (i.e. it is boring).
  • He does not think that HWSNBN is a very good name for him. In fact, it is rather stupid and is another example of why blogs are not worthwhile.
  • It is rather cringeworthy sitting and watching someone read my blog. I do not intend to do it again, and shall endeavour to refrain from mentioning it to people who I actually know in real life.

Thursday, 21 August 2008

Church weekend

Tomorrow, I shall encounter that fresh new hell which is a church weekend.

I have been on one before. When I was fifteen, I went as part of the somewhat depleted child/teenager component. We behaved well and were no trouble. I even played the piano. When I returned I had a new sister (but that is not really relevant here).

This weekend will be from the Other Side. I shall be going as one of the responsible adults, and there will be many children. The eldest will probably be eleven, and the youngest still a baby (this depends on who actually turns up - I have not seen the list). I will not be surprised if we are outnumbered. Furthermore, these children are a little more high-maintenance than average.*

I am a little worried about how this is going to go.

Admittedly I got lucky with the coach. As it leaves 2 1/2 hours before I am permitted to leave work, I have to get to our exciting venue in my car. I cannot tell you the number of ways this makes me happy, but arriving there at least 2 1/2 hours into the proceedings is one benefit. Also that I could, technically, leave whenever I want.

I have just remembered that my welly socks, a required component for this trip, are covered in soil and will need to be washed, dried and packed tonight. I dread to think what else lurks unrecorded in the laundry basket.

He Who Shall Not Be Named is also going away, for two weeks. As I understand it, he has to go far away to do a thing with computers which has to do with setting up and may involve some cables. And, of course, lots of manly tools. It is very important, obviously. That goes without saying.

I shall miss him. Not only will he be gone when I return from my weekend of joy, leaving the house empty and requiring me to cook food for one person.** I will also be required to make my own tea in the mornings, although I am thinking of making a big batch and freezing it in cup-sized portions, so all I have to do is microwave them.

As a result of this upheaval, I may not update for a few days. No doubt anyone reading my archives will be disturbed to see a gap of a few days between updates, and for that I apologise. Personally, I have mixed feelings about gaps in archives. On the one hand, fewer posts means less reading to do before I reach the present day; on the other hand, it suggests a blogger with a propensity to update infrequently, which will not make me love them more.

So there we go. See you on the other side of this trip...

*I do not presently have much knowledge about how high-maintenance the average child is, and I would like to keep it that way for a few more years. However, this means that my perception, in this instance, may be inaccurate.

**This is a bit of a waste of time, in my opinion. I could cook for two and save the rest of the food for later, but somehow I always don't.

Wednesday, 20 August 2008


Aggressively self-conscious, my words sit uncomfortably on the page as if wrestled there, shouting "Listen to us! We evoke!"

Aggresively self-conscious, I cringe at my clumsy attempts to write; at my pleading apologies.

I cannot tell a story. I can give you the bare bones of a story, but I cannot make it real, worth experiencing. I cannot make the words dance. You can come along for the ride, but the words will not carry you: you must work, too.

Pleadingly self-conscious as this is, I do not mind that people will see this writing. I mind that you will think that this is the best that I can do, or that I am invested in these words. I mind that you may see my self-criticism as a transparent device to gain praise*; or that you will see this displeasure as despair, not as a holding pattern, waiting for better things.

I am detached.

I intend to look back at this with relief, knowing that I no longer roughly shove words into place; able to set them down gently; content.

Do I even want to aspire to a style such as this? Does my interpretation of it have any merit? Yes, I want to fit words neatly and efficiently into order, to amuse and to evoke, but do I want my words to dance like this**?

The answer to these questions will come in time***.

So I play. I think that one day I will tell a story to draw you**** in, to make you want to hear more. Meanwhile, I take baby steps.

* It's actually a poor substitute for content worth reading - I ran out of things to say.

**"like this" refers to how they would dance had I actually managed to make this writing work; an improved version of this, i.e. the style for which I appear to be aiming in this post. Obviously I do not want to make them dance like they do in this passage. That would be stupid.

*** I rather suspect that it will be "No."

**** Assuming, of course, that you come back.

Tuesday, 19 August 2008


Yesterday evening it rained. Then it rained some more. Streams formed in the streets and gardens, and a fountain sprang from the drain at the bottom of the hill. Boys danced in the streams wearing only their underpants. The cat stayed indoors.

We sat inside, sipping wine left over from our hosts' wedding, listening to the rain. One by one, more of us arrived until there were no spare seats. Some of us sat on the floor.

With the window open wide behind me, I breathed cool evening air. As the rain grew heavier, I pulled the window to to keep the splashes out; as it slowed down, I opened it wide to let the cat out.

We talked until late, of making wine, of holidays past and holidays to come, of Monday evenings with friends.


I talk of trying something new; of being afraid of failing, but putting myself forward anyway; of how life is for living, and how we should not stagnate; of following dreams. I dive headfirst into new projects knowing that I will not succeed; I know that if I do not try, I will never succeed. I pick myself up and try again. I aim to be relentless, and sometimes I am just that.

I do not mind the failing, really. Everything is as it is. It will be as it will be. It is all right in the scheme of things; it will all come right in the end.

This blog is an experiment - I want to see if I can write. It is also a tool - I know bad writing when I see it, and shall learn from these early posts.

Be patient, my non-existent readers: the standard of writing here has to improve. There is no other way for it to go.

Also, please stop laughing. I appear to have got my head stuck up my bottom, but snickering is not going to help me to get it out.

Monday, 18 August 2008

This morning

Getting up in the morning is rarely easy for me. The combination of my increasingly late bedtimes, my need for at least eight hours of sleep and my job which requires daily attendance starting before nine-thirty means that I never seem to achieve a decent night’s sleep during the week. This morning was no exception; having got to bed after midnight, and to sleep after one, I failed to emerge from bed before eight-thirty, having spent an hour pressing the snooze button. Incidentally, I am rather fond of the alarm on this particular phone – its snooze button gives (allows?) an extra ten minutes of sleep, as opposed to the six minutes given by my first phone. To my mind, this is a much more reasonable amount of time for snoozing. It also prevents the need to do complex maths when deciding what time I need to set my alarm to make sure I wake up at the appropriate time. Adding sixes is much harder than adding tens.

To compound my early-morning bad mood, the milk had gone off, meaning that He Who Shall Not Be Named did not leave me his customary cup of tea. I never have enough time to make one myself, so this goes a long way towards preparing me for the day ahead.

The leaving of the cups of tea is one of the things I love most about HWSNBN. It makes me feel both happy and less thirsty. Rather like a well-timed gin and tonic, but more appropriate for both my liver and my driving licence. HWSNBN will be bringing milk home with him this evening, in order to avoid a repeat performance (or lack thereof, anyway) tomorrow. This morning I left the house feeling very thirsty, which was probably not helped by the three glasses of wine I had yesterday evening, nor by the pint of water I failed to drink. Newsflash: you have to drink it for it to do you any good; simply filling the glass and bringing it upstairs will not suffice.

It now appears that the slightly irritated eye I went to bed with last night is infected. Yummy. There is nothing like an irritated, itchy eye to make me look and feel at my best. Also, there is nothing like over-sharing to win friends and admirers. This evening, I shall try to banish this infection by washing my eyes with coconut oil. It makes my vision go blurry for a bit, but seems to do the trick. Additionally, coconut oil is great for making soap (it makes it harder and more capable of producing lather) and moisturising both hair and skin. It does not rinse out of hair easily the day you apply it, though – something to bear in mind when deep-conditioning before going to a big party, or spending Christmas day with the family.

So, to conclude, I’m still not quite into the swing of this blogging thing. I am unable to form a narrative which is both cohesive and interesting (it is a bit interesting, isn’t it?), and am liable to jump between topics using only tenuous links. I am also unable to conclude this entry without explicitly stating that it is a conclusion; there is no natural ending within the text above.

Sunday, 17 August 2008

More shopping and a small reunion

I managed to forget one of my hymn books this morning - I ended up having to play 'Be Thou my Vision' in the wrong key (i.e. not the one I learned yesterday). That was rather annoying. The organ also decided to lose some notes during the communion music. Fortunately I was prepared, and simply switched to the other manual.

This afternoon we went shopping in Liverpool, and bought more clothes for He Who Shall Not Be Named. It was much more productive than yesterday - he tried clothes on without complaint, and emerged with a whole new wardrobe of summer-type clothes. I bought a pair of socks. It's amazing how much self-control I can display when there is no time for me to look at clothes (being a shopping companion does not allow for this, apparently. My opinion is required). I also bought a cotton bag from the new Debenham's, insofar as I passed it to HWSNBN with a hopeful expression on my face and he paid for it.

After this, we went round to the house of a school friend and her husband for tea; we were meeting another school friend there. As two of us live in different counties and the other lives in a different country, we don't get the chance to meet up very often. We actually managed to arrive 50 minutes early, which is unusual for me to say the least. We admired the jungle they keep in their back yard, and picked the pods of their sweet peas to try to convince them to flower once more.

Dinner was a variety of Indian dishes, followed by home-made blackberry ice cream. Very yummy! I must get my ice cream maker working again and make some myself. I love that it is so cheap - the blackberries themselves are free.

We returned home at 11.00, and are now preparing for yet another week of work. At least next Monday will be a Bank Holiday...

Saturday, 16 August 2008

Next post

As I am running short of interesting things to say, I shall proceed to post rubbish until some inspiration hits me. This, therefore, is the bit where I say that my writing and choice of subject matter are no good, so that if anyone criticises either of them I can say that I already noticed, and thus not accept any of the blame. See how cunning and anticipatory I am.

Today has been rather a lazy day. In an ideal world, I would always sleep for the first half of Saturday, and today I was very nearly able to do that, only being woken shortly before 11. I then proceeded to take until 3.45 to get up, have a shower, read the really important blogs, make lunch and get out of the house to go shopping.

Shopping was not as good as I had hoped. He Who Shall Not Be Named (yes, my boyfriend is he) decided that, although we were going clothes shopping for him, he would not deign to try on any t-shirts. I am of the opinion that this is a fundamental part of clothes shopping, and concluded from this that our trip was not likely to be successful. He is of the opinion that, apart from that unfortunate incident with the too-tight designer t-shirt (which was my fault, because I pointed it out), all shirts nominally in the appropriate size fit him, so trying them on is not necessary. Also, that his girlfriend should stop being so grumpy.

Toiletry shopping was conducted amidst many frowns. Three shops later normal clothes shopping behaviour was resumed, with HWSNBN trying on two t-shirts, one of which was very nice. Alas, neither was deemed suitable. However, we returned to the first shop and four tops were tried on. Three of them did not fit, and he bought the other one. I felt vindicated.

We then returned home with triumph in our hearts. I proceeded to decide that we did not have anything suitable for me to eat, while he suggested all sorts of carbohydrates. Eventually, I threw together some 'soup' (puree?) made from roasted sweet potatoes, onions, garlic, curry paste, coconut and chick peas. HWSNBN appeared to appreciate this, and finished it off with crisps. Success! Given that he's a crazy, vegetable-liking person, I am trying not to read too much into this. I would have preferred it too runny to hold the spoon upright.

Alas, due to the rain we were unable to go to The Field to cut grass (him), plant quinoa (yes, it's far too late for that. I am bad) and mint, and pick copious amounts of peas. Now I must learn the hymns for tomorrow morning. Apparently, that can be a good tactic.

Friday, 15 August 2008

The Beginning

Thus it begins. I suspect that this blog will consist of poorly-written, uninteresting passages of nothingness, updated infrequently. Sounds fun, doesn't it?

I am a procrastinator (hence the likelihood of infrequent updates) living in the North-West of England. I like climbing, playing the organ, sleeping, growing vegetables, making soap and martial arts. I dislike writing things by hand, being told what to do by people who know less than I do, and spending money on clothes. And people who punctuate poorly. I suspect that this will come back to bite me. In fact, I suspect I have already been bitten by the poor sentence construction gnome.

I live in a tiny little house in suburbia, with one boyfriend and no pets (he's allergic). We have been living there for nearly four years, and I am desperate to escape! Alas, on our salaries we cannot afford to buy anything at the moment, and so must sit tight waiting for the housing market to crash and the recession to start. Woo hoo.

Will I ever produce anything worth reading? We shall see...