A small ditty for the day

" You have odd socks on too,
One is black,
And one is blue! "

I have been enjoying the posts of The Girl Who Ate Everything today in my work breaks. She has somewhat of a sandwhich fetish, and I too being a bread lover got it into my head that I needed some deliciousness. Fortunately, Chris and I had purchased some such delicious ingredients in yesterdays shopping. So lunch today was two slices of wholemeal granary, lightly buttered, (extra special for the loaf being half price), some Branston's pickle, Mature Australian Cheddar cheese sliced thinly, cucumber and tomatoes. Chris sliced in beautifully into triangles so it even felt like we'd bought it from a deli. This was followed by scones I'd made last night at midnight when I'd got fed up with working. A cup of tea completed my lovely lunch.

Baking and cooking has become my touchstone a bit. I use it to relax. Especially kneading dough.

A small ditty for the day

" You have odd socks on too,
One is black,
And one is blue! "

I have been enjoying the posts of The Girl Who Ate Everything today in my work breaks. She has somewhat of a sandwhich fetish, and I too being a bread lover got it into my head that I needed some deliciousness. Fortunately, Chris and I had purchased some such delicious ingredients in yesterdays shopping. So lunch today was two slices of wholemeal granary, lightly buttered, (extra special for the loaf being half price), some Branston's pickle, Mature Australian Cheddar cheese sliced thinly, cucumber and tomatoes. Chris sliced in beautifully into triangles so it even felt like we'd bought it from a deli. This was followed by scones I'd made last night at midnight when I'd got fed up with working. A cup of tea completed my lovely lunch.

Baking and cooking has become my touchstone a bit. I use it to relax. Especially kneading dough.

Bike racing!

So here we have my bike filled Easter Monday. I went to Thruxton with Rob, his mum, and two friends from church. It was a great day, lovely and sunny in the most part, I got me some sunglasses for £5 that make me look uber cool, and I saw some amazing bike racing. We sat overlooking the wiggly chicane (It's a technical term you know - ;-) ) and there was some seriously daredevil over taking!

Great fun, especially the sea of bikes parked up in the fields and riding down in a sea of bikers.

Bike racing!

So here we have my bike filled Easter Monday. I went to Thruxton with Rob, his mum, and two friends from church. It was a great day, lovely and sunny in the most part, I got me some sunglasses for £5 that make me look uber cool, and I saw some amazing bike racing. We sat overlooking the wiggly chicane (It's a technical term you know - ;-) ) and there was some seriously daredevil over taking!

Great fun, especially the sea of bikes parked up in the fields and riding down in a sea of bikers.

Indeed

Knitting and work have rather stalled...

...because of these beauties!

That is Lindor mini eggs, solid milk choc eggs, and what was 21 Cadbury's Cream eggs, though I have eaten one:)

Happy Easter all!

Indeed

Knitting and work have rather stalled...

...because of these beauties!

That is Lindor mini eggs, solid milk choc eggs, and what was 21 Cadbury's Cream eggs, though I have eaten one:)

Happy Easter all!

The Remains of the Day

or the End of the Affair

Like the end of a party, the hollow deflated feeling, like what I imagine post wedding or postpartum blues, the expectation the anticipation and then its gone and it wasn't ever going to be enough. Even though there's the future lovelyness, the immediate is gone.

I need my books, I need to be able to read again for enjoyment and not because I have to, because when I read I'm gone, and the world can come in instead. The remains of the day can comfort me. The remains of the day, I always loved that phrase, how dusk is the sweetest moment, filled with memories of your day's happiness.

I shall knit myself my own stripy jumper and be proud of it and use it like a pillow cover when it wears out, like I've used other jumpers to help lull me to sleep. The stripy one was the best.

You don't know what you've got till it's gone eh? Pity not everyone learns that sooner rather than later. We should be born with such wisdom, the angels should never haven stolen that from us before birth.

I'm worried I'm slipping into some sort of depression, Rob has moaned that I'm never happy any more, and to be fair I don't think I have been for some time. There has been very little that has made me smile and far more to make me cry and for the life of me I cannot think of a good reason. Except for the shoddiest timing ever to befall me.

There is nothing wrong with me. How I wish there was in a way, because then there would be a reason for feeling like this. I'm relatively healthy, not overweight by much, pretty enough, intelligent enough, sucessful enough and by all rights I should be beaming.

I can't beam. Without you in my arms
I feel so bad, because I can't give Rob reasons why I'm sad.

The Remains of the Day

or the End of the Affair

Like the end of a party, the hollow deflated feeling, like what I imagine post wedding or postpartum blues, the expectation the anticipation and then its gone and it wasn't ever going to be enough. Even though there's the future lovelyness, the immediate is gone.

I need my books, I need to be able to read again for enjoyment and not because I have to, because when I read I'm gone, and the world can come in instead. The remains of the day can comfort me. The remains of the day, I always loved that phrase, how dusk is the sweetest moment, filled with memories of your day's happiness.

I shall knit myself my own stripy jumper and be proud of it and use it like a pillow cover when it wears out, like I've used other jumpers to help lull me to sleep. The stripy one was the best.

You don't know what you've got till it's gone eh? Pity not everyone learns that sooner rather than later. We should be born with such wisdom, the angels should never haven stolen that from us before birth.

I'm worried I'm slipping into some sort of depression, Rob has moaned that I'm never happy any more, and to be fair I don't think I have been for some time. There has been very little that has made me smile and far more to make me cry and for the life of me I cannot think of a good reason. Except for the shoddiest timing ever to befall me.

There is nothing wrong with me. How I wish there was in a way, because then there would be a reason for feeling like this. I'm relatively healthy, not overweight by much, pretty enough, intelligent enough, sucessful enough and by all rights I should be beaming.

I can't beam. Without you in my arms
I feel so bad, because I can't give Rob reasons why I'm sad.

A task set by Cecil....

A city and why I am there....

Autumn sun streamed down upon my braided hair. I suppose some would have called it an Indian Summer, but that would not have cut it, so to speak, if you had been there too.

If only you had been there. You always did love it when I wore my hair in plaits and tripped about in swirly skirts. Here the canals have not the grace of Amsterdam, the somewhat majestic architectural texture. These are more organic. For all their straight lines, the algae glowed orange and green on brick banks. This place is alive.

I laughed alot then. I rushed to peer into the houses running along side the canals as the Dutch don't 'do' net curtains. Some puritain thing about having nothing to hide. The modern, post - war clever houses snuck in between the older 17th Century ones like sheepish or unforthcoming guests.

Always onward I went. Looking. Searching. This place, this place was magic, like Vermeer paintings or LSD trips. The light caught water, caught white painted window frames and burst into fragments of colour like the pansies in the window boxes.

I was a poppy, swept along by the breeze that day. I ran round bicycles, I ignored ducks, my red skirts trailed as I blazed along my course.

It was there you know.

In the centre of the city, or rather what was. Leiden's Star. A fortress pointing the rose of the compass. You should have been there with me. You should have been. I climbed up stairs that had no railing or bannister. These were hewn from stone brought by boat. A journey embedded in masonary.

If only you had been there.

I stood for a long time. Letting the light seer into my eyeballs. The church roofs glittered, the chimneys of days gone by smoked in turn and I laughed.

I knew I loved you then.

A task set by Cecil....

A city and why I am there....

Autumn sun streamed down upon my braided hair. I suppose some would have called it an Indian Summer, but that would not have cut it, so to speak, if you had been there too.

If only you had been there. You always did love it when I wore my hair in plaits and tripped about in swirly skirts. Here the canals have not the grace of Amsterdam, the somewhat majestic architectural texture. These are more organic. For all their straight lines, the algae glowed orange and green on brick banks. This place is alive.

I laughed alot then. I rushed to peer into the houses running along side the canals as the Dutch don't 'do' net curtains. Some puritain thing about having nothing to hide. The modern, post - war clever houses snuck in between the older 17th Century ones like sheepish or unforthcoming guests.

Always onward I went. Looking. Searching. This place, this place was magic, like Vermeer paintings or LSD trips. The light caught water, caught white painted window frames and burst into fragments of colour like the pansies in the window boxes.

I was a poppy, swept along by the breeze that day. I ran round bicycles, I ignored ducks, my red skirts trailed as I blazed along my course.

It was there you know.

In the centre of the city, or rather what was. Leiden's Star. A fortress pointing the rose of the compass. You should have been there with me. You should have been. I climbed up stairs that had no railing or bannister. These were hewn from stone brought by boat. A journey embedded in masonary.

If only you had been there.

I stood for a long time. Letting the light seer into my eyeballs. The church roofs glittered, the chimneys of days gone by smoked in turn and I laughed.

I knew I loved you then.

Last one left...

As I write I can hear Chris locking his room as he leaves for the Easter Holidays.

That makes me the last one left on my floor.
The silence is refreshing. I could wonder around naked is I should so choose to do so.

I can now hear Rob's feet clicking. He's taking me home soon.

And much as I want to go back home to family, and the rolling green of Wiltshire, I am a little sad. As Southampton is a part of me now. There are memories here. Friends are attached to this place.

It's a pleasant bittersweet feeling. To have allegiance somewhere other than where your family resides.

There is much to do this Easter. Three assessd written assignments, one on the disneyization of a local public history site, one on the role of women during the Russian Revolutions and one on a title I have yet to choose, but it must be related to the First Crusade. This work will keep me busy for a long long while.

If I get it done early on there will be time for painting and reading of novels and much much knitting.

I have started knitting a pair of tight fitting jade green gloves, made from the beautiful 100% merino yarn Chris gave me for Christmas. I bought tiny buttons, flowershaped ones that look like they are made from bone, through they are probably plastic to embellish them. I hope they look right against the fine stitch defintition.

Rob is also taking me to a bike race this Easter holiday. I am so very excited.

For once I know who I am and where I am going. This is satifying and exciting and new all at once. I want to cry about it. I don't know why.

Last one left...

As I write I can hear Chris locking his room as he leaves for the Easter Holidays.

That makes me the last one left on my floor.
The silence is refreshing. I could wonder around naked is I should so choose to do so.

I can now hear Rob's feet clicking. He's taking me home soon.

And much as I want to go back home to family, and the rolling green of Wiltshire, I am a little sad. As Southampton is a part of me now. There are memories here. Friends are attached to this place.

It's a pleasant bittersweet feeling. To have allegiance somewhere other than where your family resides.

There is much to do this Easter. Three assessd written assignments, one on the disneyization of a local public history site, one on the role of women during the Russian Revolutions and one on a title I have yet to choose, but it must be related to the First Crusade. This work will keep me busy for a long long while.

If I get it done early on there will be time for painting and reading of novels and much much knitting.

I have started knitting a pair of tight fitting jade green gloves, made from the beautiful 100% merino yarn Chris gave me for Christmas. I bought tiny buttons, flowershaped ones that look like they are made from bone, through they are probably plastic to embellish them. I hope they look right against the fine stitch defintition.

Rob is also taking me to a bike race this Easter holiday. I am so very excited.

For once I know who I am and where I am going. This is satifying and exciting and new all at once. I want to cry about it. I don't know why.

please work

If there could be anything material that I could have it would be thus. (please excuse grammar and spelling. this is cathartic stream of conciousness that i want to shout about, where else but a blog for that)

 

There will be a big farmhouse and the edges of a market town, where they still had a market. it would be red brick and warm and cosy. there'd be a field so rob could play football with the lads and enough land for a couple of sheep and some chickens. i'd have fresh boiled eggs for breakfast with marmite soliders and love. the lounge wouldn't have a telly plugged in to the aerial, only dvds so only good things could be watched, and it's have red velvet sofa and a rug to warm toes in and a pile of books and a pile of yarn.

 

There'd be four happy children and a big kitchen table and light hearted teasing and huge bowls of soup for the world and his mate. and a big range cooker not an aga but a gas one so i could teach the kids about melting marshmellows on rainy days and teach them to spin and make wool and knit teddy sized jumpers.there would be big dinner parties where friends from all over come down and make witty speeches about unidays and football triumphs and drink red wine and eat good cheese. where i'd cook all day and grin when the food disappears in 20 mins and the kids hide under the table cloth to steal brownies and snatches and snippets of jokes and bygone years.

 

There's be a multitude of topsy turvey rooms upstairs and a rowdy teenage music and "where are my socks mum" and laughter they learn to play guitar from their dad.  The master bedroom would have a huge sleigh bed for sex and tears and long summer nights and where small children would creep in when they had a nightmare and for opening presents on at christmas or birthdays. and mothersday breakfast in bed.

 

and we'd bury hamsters in the garden next to begraggled sunflowers and nastursiums

There'd be a recording studio in the barn for rob to work on his producing and where local bands could come rehearse. 

 

My hair would grey and i would wear it in a fat plait encicling my head, and i;d look like mrs christmas and make a red dress like hers to wear in winter to sell baked goods at the WI christmas fair. My face would be creased by a thousand memories happy and sad and they wouls show when i smiled as the ghosts of good laughs. i would be old but cheerfully reckless and wear purples as the poem goes and smile as they brought the grandchildren over for a weekend rolling in the mud and finger painting and making fairy houses in the woods.

 

and i would be happy surrounded by this and never as alone as i feel now

 

 

please work

If there could be anything material that I could have it would be thus. (please excuse grammar and spelling. this is cathartic stream of conciousness that i want to shout about, where else but a blog for that)

 

There will be a big farmhouse and the edges of a market town, where they still had a market. it would be red brick and warm and cosy. there'd be a field so rob could play football with the lads and enough land for a couple of sheep and some chickens. i'd have fresh boiled eggs for breakfast with marmite soliders and love. the lounge wouldn't have a telly plugged in to the aerial, only dvds so only good things could be watched, and it's have red velvet sofa and a rug to warm toes in and a pile of books and a pile of yarn.

 

There'd be four happy children and a big kitchen table and light hearted teasing and huge bowls of soup for the world and his mate. and a big range cooker not an aga but a gas one so i could teach the kids about melting marshmellows on rainy days and teach them to spin and make wool and knit teddy sized jumpers.there would be big dinner parties where friends from all over come down and make witty speeches about unidays and football triumphs and drink red wine and eat good cheese. where i'd cook all day and grin when the food disappears in 20 mins and the kids hide under the table cloth to steal brownies and snatches and snippets of jokes and bygone years.

 

There's be a multitude of topsy turvey rooms upstairs and a rowdy teenage music and "where are my socks mum" and laughter they learn to play guitar from their dad.  The master bedroom would have a huge sleigh bed for sex and tears and long summer nights and where small children would creep in when they had a nightmare and for opening presents on at christmas or birthdays. and mothersday breakfast in bed.

 

and we'd bury hamsters in the garden next to begraggled sunflowers and nastursiums

There'd be a recording studio in the barn for rob to work on his producing and where local bands could come rehearse. 

 

My hair would grey and i would wear it in a fat plait encicling my head, and i;d look like mrs christmas and make a red dress like hers to wear in winter to sell baked goods at the WI christmas fair. My face would be creased by a thousand memories happy and sad and they wouls show when i smiled as the ghosts of good laughs. i would be old but cheerfully reckless and wear purples as the poem goes and smile as they brought the grandchildren over for a weekend rolling in the mud and finger painting and making fairy houses in the woods.

 

and i would be happy surrounded by this and never as alone as i feel now

 

 

why i am the way i am

why i am the way i am

Update and Task set by Lizzy

Inbetween world I drift and smile to myself at the knowledge all is well in me.

My cooking triumph for Rob's rents' 25th Wedding Anniversary left me glowing at praise that included:

"You will make an excellent wife"

The look on their face when they walked into a room full of old friends, balloons and a three course meal was priceless and a memory I'll treasure. rob and I did good. As they say.

The train ride home that day left me glowing as well. Sat ensconced at a tble with two old gents, one considerablely older than the other, I though this would lead to a journey of boredem. I was pleasantly surprised. The older gent had just returned to Southampton from South America by boat by the way of the West Indies, and was full of stories of Mayan textiles and strange voyages. The other man whom I tried to help with his cross word was a music journalist and debated the merits of the new wave of real music that has been sweeping Britain. Guitar driven music that is about sound not face.

And all because I was knitting on the train. I doubt I would have captured their interest enough to merit a smile without my glorious knitting.

Of which there has been much.

I have completed baby clothes for my friend Fran who is expecting twins, I have nearly finished a sleeve for my Arisaig and being a project whore, started a scarf that is for someone's birthday today, so when I get in there will be serious kniting upon that. Pictures if I can find a working camera.

And now for Lizzy's Task:-

Describe the next person you see.

Bounding across the room he came. Like a gamboling puppy or a mischevious sprite. There was always something of Puck in him and his lolling gait, an untouchable grace that didn't fit with the rest of him. The lock of hair that falls in his eyes was impossible to reconcile with such feline elegance, nor the stripy arthouse jumper or the skateboarding shoes.

He was unassuming, unoticable for so long. The quietness made him seem alone in a crowd. But it is written the truth will set you free, and with him it did. Underneath what is given first was a seam of rich humour and wit like finding coal to warm the world in your back garden. A clever, well read mind burnt energy furiously and created a silliness that broke the awkwardness of before.

It was the generosity that struck me the most. The willingness to give what little or much he had. Time, money or a shoulder were always readily available. And are always greatly appreciated. Greatly appreciated.

Update and Task set by Lizzy

Inbetween world I drift and smile to myself at the knowledge all is well in me.

My cooking triumph for Rob's rents' 25th Wedding Anniversary left me glowing at praise that included:

"You will make an excellent wife"

The look on their face when they walked into a room full of old friends, balloons and a three course meal was priceless and a memory I'll treasure. rob and I did good. As they say.

The train ride home that day left me glowing as well. Sat ensconced at a tble with two old gents, one considerablely older than the other, I though this would lead to a journey of boredem. I was pleasantly surprised. The older gent had just returned to Southampton from South America by boat by the way of the West Indies, and was full of stories of Mayan textiles and strange voyages. The other man whom I tried to help with his cross word was a music journalist and debated the merits of the new wave of real music that has been sweeping Britain. Guitar driven music that is about sound not face.

And all because I was knitting on the train. I doubt I would have captured their interest enough to merit a smile without my glorious knitting.

Of which there has been much.

I have completed baby clothes for my friend Fran who is expecting twins, I have nearly finished a sleeve for my Arisaig and being a project whore, started a scarf that is for someone's birthday today, so when I get in there will be serious kniting upon that. Pictures if I can find a working camera.

And now for Lizzy's Task:-

Describe the next person you see.

Bounding across the room he came. Like a gamboling puppy or a mischevious sprite. There was always something of Puck in him and his lolling gait, an untouchable grace that didn't fit with the rest of him. The lock of hair that falls in his eyes was impossible to reconcile with such feline elegance, nor the stripy arthouse jumper or the skateboarding shoes.

He was unassuming, unoticable for so long. The quietness made him seem alone in a crowd. But it is written the truth will set you free, and with him it did. Underneath what is given first was a seam of rich humour and wit like finding coal to warm the world in your back garden. A clever, well read mind burnt energy furiously and created a silliness that broke the awkwardness of before.

It was the generosity that struck me the most. The willingness to give what little or much he had. Time, money or a shoulder were always readily available. And are always greatly appreciated. Greatly appreciated.

Another Winters Day

Michael Bublé is in my head at the moment. Another winters day...has come and gone away...I feel so alone...I want to go home. The phrasing in this song means the words from different verses and choruses can be interchanged so easily. I muddle them up all the time but it is such the favourite song for me.

It's snowing intermittantly today, hence the song reference I think. I was queued at the bus stop alongside visiting A level students here for the open day. They use the car park at my halls as a visitors car park you see. It's funny to think I was one of those last year. Though I did not do the 'come with you parents' thing. I went on my own on the train to Southampton and had a violent gut reaction to it. Much the opposite to the one I had to Bristol. Very positive. So I end up stood there, feeling smug at thought that I'm already here and let the huge fat flakes of snow fall into my hair, giving me twinkles and sparkles like an ice princess. Not for me the huddling with strangers under a bus shelter. Snow always makes me feel serene and I can just stand there in the cold for hours. Though snow here is rare as I was telling the bus queue. Something to do with the being by the sea they say.

I'm sat in the library at the moment people watching and chatting to Rob via email. I love to people watchhere, and perhaps when I have retrieved the books I need for this weekend I will go and do a bit of life drawing. A guy across the way from me is furively drinking his milkshake hoping none of the librarians will walk by. He is dressed as what is known in common British parlance as a 'chav' with baseball cap, pink polo shirt, jewllery in both ears and a cheap white jumper other the top. He would make a good sketch. All the creases in the clothing and the twinkle of the metal. The interesting people always sit in the special collections section.

Last night I slept on my furry blanket, under my duvet on my bed room floor. A hard core knitter, I was blocking a shawl, and it wasn't quite dry when I wanted to go to bed so I slept on the floor. Said shawl is happily ensconced around my shoulders, and was complemented by my seminar tutor for Historiography who happens to be a knitter. I feel all cobwebby and happy in it and may just have to knit another! Though sadly I have lost a stone from my favourite brooch and shall have to hunt around in my room. I think I know where it is though. Incidently, why is brooch spelt as such and not as broach? Sometimes English makes no sense. Hence why I never bothered to learn grammar. Hehe

I am going home tomorrow morning :-) Cheers all round please. Well I'm going to Rob's at least, which is practically home. Wunderbar says I.

Now to work and knitting and a nap I think.

Another Winters Day

Michael Bublé is in my head at the moment. Another winters day...has come and gone away...I feel so alone...I want to go home. The phrasing in this song means the words from different verses and choruses can be interchanged so easily. I muddle them up all the time but it is such the favourite song for me.

It's snowing intermittantly today, hence the song reference I think. I was queued at the bus stop alongside visiting A level students here for the open day. They use the car park at my halls as a visitors car park you see. It's funny to think I was one of those last year. Though I did not do the 'come with you parents' thing. I went on my own on the train to Southampton and had a violent gut reaction to it. Much the opposite to the one I had to Bristol. Very positive. So I end up stood there, feeling smug at thought that I'm already here and let the huge fat flakes of snow fall into my hair, giving me twinkles and sparkles like an ice princess. Not for me the huddling with strangers under a bus shelter. Snow always makes me feel serene and I can just stand there in the cold for hours. Though snow here is rare as I was telling the bus queue. Something to do with the being by the sea they say.

I'm sat in the library at the moment people watching and chatting to Rob via email. I love to people watchhere, and perhaps when I have retrieved the books I need for this weekend I will go and do a bit of life drawing. A guy across the way from me is furively drinking his milkshake hoping none of the librarians will walk by. He is dressed as what is known in common British parlance as a 'chav' with baseball cap, pink polo shirt, jewllery in both ears and a cheap white jumper other the top. He would make a good sketch. All the creases in the clothing and the twinkle of the metal. The interesting people always sit in the special collections section.

Last night I slept on my furry blanket, under my duvet on my bed room floor. A hard core knitter, I was blocking a shawl, and it wasn't quite dry when I wanted to go to bed so I slept on the floor. Said shawl is happily ensconced around my shoulders, and was complemented by my seminar tutor for Historiography who happens to be a knitter. I feel all cobwebby and happy in it and may just have to knit another! Though sadly I have lost a stone from my favourite brooch and shall have to hunt around in my room. I think I know where it is though. Incidently, why is brooch spelt as such and not as broach? Sometimes English makes no sense. Hence why I never bothered to learn grammar. Hehe

I am going home tomorrow morning :-) Cheers all round please. Well I'm going to Rob's at least, which is practically home. Wunderbar says I.

Now to work and knitting and a nap I think.