Sorry I’m late

I’m here, I’m here. Sorry I’m late.

Insane few days. Very little writing has been done, which is somewhat infuriating. Instead I have been doing other things. These other things are largely good things but also some necessary things and quite a lot of mum’s taxi things. I have been coming home weary, weary, weary with no ability to string sentences together whatsoever.

I have been reduced to shouting incoherently like a Pratchettian tramp: ‘Buggrit, buggrit, wossname. Millennium Hand and Shrimp. Gah!’ and miming things in the manner of an inept Marcel Marceau. None of these things are easy to blog. Hence the silence.

I am off in a minute for a morning of exciting chores that involve post offices and dentistry and which are making me rather depressed. This is not helped by the fact that it is raining. The sky is full of that fine rain that wets you through, and my hair has responded accordingly by frizzing out into the shape of a giant, peroxide puffball.

I shall style it out.

I have had my car MOT’d. This was about as thrilling as it sounds. It took all day due to the fact that it failed on several small points and had to spend the rest of the day in the garage being nursed back to health.

I have bought myself a new butter dish. My love affair with Emma Bridgewater is well and truly over I am afraid. I still love the older pieces, but the new stuff does not float my boat at all, and I have defected to pastures new, due to not wanting to pay vintage prices for something I’m going to use every day. I have been searching for a new butter dish for six months, which just shows you how fussy I can be about the utterly unimportant trivia of life. I ended up buying a Beswick, vintage dish from the Fifties with circus performers on it. I rather love it. It was a highlight of my week.

I know. I am sad. It is very true.

Let me reflect on some of the nicer aspects of the last few days:

I went to see Daniel Kitson on Sunday night. Long term readers will know of my undying love, nay awe for Kitson. He was on top form with Stories for the Starlit Sky, which was actually three stories in one evening. We did not get home until 12.30, and I had to drive back through terrifyingly thick fog. Nevertheless, it was worth it. I cannot recommend him enough. If you haven’t seen Daniel Kitson perform you are missing out. Seriously and truly. Beg, borrow, steal tickets. Just go.

I have done Christmas shopping. I won £250 of shopping vouchers in a  competition (go me!) the other week. They came at the weekend and I was very tempted to spend them all in Schuh (they are those universal vouchers you can spend in tonnes of places). I knew that if I had them in my purse for any length of time, I would indeed come home with several pairs of nice shoes. This meant I had to go and do Christmas shopping as soon as possible. I spent about three hours of my life in TK Maxx and bought so much stuff I think I partially dislocated my shoulder carrying the bags back to the car. I feel virtuous, and a bit sad about the shoes.

I have been to that there London.  I met my lovely friend Gina, and we lunched at Hawksmoor, which was most satisfactory. Then we pottered off round the corner to the RA where we saw the Ai Wei Wei retrospective, which was excellent and very thought provoking, although because his installations are so huge there weren’t that many actual ‘things’ to see, and we were done much earlier than we anticipated. This is not a criticism, merely an observation.

We spent the rest of the afternoon in Liberty. I finally got to check out the vintage clothing department, which was rather lovely, but the prices. Dear God the prices. It has made me look at my wardrobe in a whole new light, frankly. We spent a long time choosing chocolate for various people (sadly not me). Then we propped up the cafe for a couple of hours, setting the world to rights over a pot of tea and rhubarb mille feuilles. It was about as decadent as you would expect.

I shall live on the memory of those cakes as I sit in the dentist’s chair praying for mercy.

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