Diary of a Suburban Squeen

I am tired and achey and sadfaces and couldn't make any decisions and Katie made me tuna mayonnaise for tea because SHE JUST KNEW it was what I wanted and we have no food except lentils and tomato ketchup and flour and cheese and I did a whole lolarious post about my hols but left it at work and I am just basically made of EPIC FAIL.

But just to whet your appetites, I present:

Highlights of Joyous Hols in the White Car of Peril

+ Helen taking three hours to put on gladiator sandals
+ Nellie (aka pim2005) doing all the washing up
+ Learning about The Burgess Way
+ Drinking beakers full of the frozen north
+ Drinking wine
+ Drinking gin
+ Dropping mentos into beakers full of the frozen north
+ Helen getting cross because we didn't do things The Burgess Way
+ Katherine and Nellie being adventurous
+ Katherine and Nellie going swimming
+ Katherine and Nellie walking to the river
+ Helen and me eating chocolate
+ Nellie doing more washing up
+ Food
+ Helen cutting my hair \o/
+ Deciding to live at Burrow Mump with an Orphan and a Boy From The Village To Carry Things


In other news, Leverage is back soon (wheeeeeeee!!), and I'm trying to write more Star Trek fic (as well as, natch, The Orphan on the Mump, which will become a seminal piece of children's literature and make me famous, all about Venetia Burgess, who is abandoned by her feckless mother and has to live with her Aunt L on the Mump and have all sorts of country adventures).

1. The porn is coming along well. I know you're all glad to hear it...

2. I entirely missed the opportunity in my earlier post to have a good whinge. So here it is. Stand by...

MY FOOT HURTS. My ankle too. Well, it's sort of where ankle and foot meet. I've been staggering around FT like the veriest Dickensian cripple. Tiny Tim has nothing on me, matey. It HURTS. Ow. Ow ow ow ow. OW. Also, last two fingers on right hand hurt. May be some kind of repetitive strain injury. Again: Ow ow OW. (I just need an oW there to complete the typographical pattern, but sadly it would not be grammatically correct and therefore cannot bring self to do it, but rest assured it completes the pattern IN MY MIND. I typed that as MUND first, but obviously that was foolish. I mean, mund. Tchah! What goes on in my mund is my business and no-one else's...)

Anyway, to sum up: Ow.

Dear Christ and all his goblins, how I despise mornings. Especially wintery mornings, when the idea of leaving one’s cozy little bed is insupportable. Having to drag myself into consciousness at ten to eight every day is a hideous task, for which I do not feel I am justly rewarded. Also, is there anything worse than attempting to have a shower in a freezing cold bathroom with pathetic hot water pressure and occasional icy bursts? I think not, my friends. O, mine is a sorry lot. Also, this morning I was scraping the bottom of the sandwich barrel. I have jam sandwiches which, even as I type, will be turning into pink mush in my bag. I did no baking at the weekend, and as much as I have the urge to break forth my creative kitchen talents when I get home, and produce some chocolate chip cookies and possibly even some species of cake, I know that this is unlikely to happen, on account of my well-documented aversion to Doing Things when it’s dark. Tea for tonight should be shepherd’s pie, but I used both the casserole dishes last night, and I’ll have to wash them first. How do we have about a dozen mixing bowls and only two casserole dishes? How, Englebert?

And the question which I think we must all face at this juncture of the morning is, could I be any more whingily pathetic? I think, on close examination of the facts as presented before the court, the answer is a resounding no.

I am awash with period pains. Woe.

It seems to have been half-past three for about two hours now. I WANT TO GO HOME. (Yep - capslock!squeen. You know her well.)

Oh, I’m tired. No sleep for me last night, apparently. Which is Bad, because our social calendar this week is filled to the brim with Late Night Events, and at some stage I need to tidy my room, because my parents are (finally) coming to visit FT this weekend. But right now: knackered. And shit, I meant to take some chicken out of the freezer so we could have fajitas tonight, but just realised I forgot. Pah. Katie, ma chère, any chance of you being able to pick up some spinach on the way home?

Anyway, the weekend:

My clothes had fortuitously dried by the time I went home. Not that I went home, of course. The Brownies were having a BBQ-esque shindig to which I had been invited, so I bopped off to that, and briefly helped do things in the kitchen, with the assistance of D’s mother, who is really, really nice and sadly moving to Ireland. The actual barbecuing had been left (rather foolishly, I can’t help but feel) in the hands of Rosie and Pim. A strategic error, I believe, though apparently the tomato ketchup was enough to drown out any lingering petrol fumes… Anyway, it was all very pleasant, and Rosie and I managed to avoid doing any clearing up whatsoever were extremely helpful in getting rid of lots of food. And there was more chocolate giftiness than there were proper Brownie Guiders, and so I got a share – mwahahaha!! (Plus, of course, two onions and eight bread rolls. FT did well out of the Brownie BBQ.)

Katie and I came home, pobbled about for a bit, and then headed out again for to buy Harry P, which was an entertaining outing (I told my grandmother about it subsequently – her chief response was “£8.99? Rosie got in Tesco for £5!”), and though a couple of would-be-spoilers were shouted out from the front of the queue, I determinedly ignored them (and was proved right to do so). When we got home, we pottered for a bit (ha), and I set myself up with hot chocolate and some grated cheese (it was after one o’clock in the morning; let’s not delve too deeply into what my brain was doing), and snuggled up in bed for a bit of actual Pottering. My thoughts on the subject have been recorded elsewhere, so I shall not repeat them here, though I would like to reiterate that I thought it was an excellent book, and may well re-read it before too long. I finished it erelong, and deposited it in the agreed no-contact zone (the stool in the hall) for Katie to read when she got up. Then I went to bed, and slept like, as the saying goes, the seven sleepers of Ephesus rolled into one (it might not be Ephesus; I think I made that up).

I arose later in the day, had a shower, got dressed, all that jazz. Went into town and bought a bit more material and some proper dress-making scissors and a yellow-striped t-shirt (vee nice). Can’t really remember what I did for the rest of the day, to be honest. We may have watched a bit of TV in the evening. Then again, we might not. Can’t remember what… oh, no, I can. Savoury pancakes. So that was what I did in the evening, then. Good to know.

Moving on to Sunday, now. Had to get up absurdly early. Pah. Dressed myself in aforementioned yellow-striped t-shirt, jeans, yellow-striped socks (it was like a theme), hiking boots, and shoved cag and hoodie into bag (the better to be prepared for any and all weathersome eventualities), and followed Katie to Regent’s Park where she and Jess and Jess’s friend Ruth were running the 5K Race for Life. I was there to hold Katie’s bag and Be Supportive (which I entirely failed to do, on account of having a Non-Human day and being unable to display any emotion, much less cheer. Even applause was asking a bit much). I did manage to hold her bag, though, and even carry it for a while. Oh yes. Anyway, it was all quite fun (for me, obviously, not doing Anything At All), and they all did jolly well. Bopped back onto the tube with Katie and Ruth, discussing Harry P, hopefully not spoiling anyone around us (though that, I think, is a doomed hope). Had a quick detour to Sainsbury’s to get lunch and tea (bread and brie; pizza and garlic bread) and then home.

The afternoon was a languid one. Read a bit. Did a bit of patchwork curtain preparation. Had a little nap. Woke up at eight o’clock thinking, “fuck, late for work again!” until I realised it was still Sunday evening, not Monday morning. We had our tea, watched an episode and a half of NCIS and then Dexter (still great). All hail FX, frankly. And they’re showing The Wire from the start as of this evening, and I really want to see that, though am also a bit keen on the concept of an early night. It’s a tricky one. Might actually have to video it. Anyway, that’s it I think. I shall leap off now.

Have just got up. Need to sort myself out and collect parcel from Richmond post office, because otherwise they'll send it back to Amazon. And then I need to get to Mortlake for 3, in time to meet the Guides for the Big Gig. Meh. Don't want to go out. Want to sit on sofa and watch TV. Am so very, shockingly lazy.

Can't breathe.

Mreugh.

Sore throat.

Mreugh.