Am feeling so domestic I could spit...

Am just taking a breather from making curtains to have lunch, viz butternut squash soup I made yesterday (I had a joke about squash, but in between thinking "I have a joke about squash I could insert into this post," and writing the post about the squash, I have forgotten it. Mourn with me). Also, we have tea loaf in the oven and rhubarb awaiting compoting (not composting, as my tricksy fingers attempted to make you believe). I am so thrilled at the thought of having curtains finally in my room, I can't even tell you. If they turn out as I imagine, they will be lovely, and I will take a picture in order to show them off.

This is, clearly, going to turn into another post about how much I love life. Work is being quite jolly (to the extent, if you can believe it, that I'm not dreading going in tomorrow morning). I love FT, and my room, and my nascent curtains, and cooking exciting things, and the fact that I made my butternut squash soup with chicken stock that I made out of an actual chicken, and the prospect of playing with pinking shears, and discovering a new romance author whom I actually like (and who, amazingly, is American and yet can write Regency England perfectly well - even setting it in Derbyshire and not losing me anywhere), and watching Skins which I really like, and having inklings of fic ideas, and reading interesting NCIS meta, and my grandmother being insane in the best possible way, and just everything.