All my words are jumbling I’m so tired, but here I am, hammering away at the keyboard again.
It’s too late to be coherent but for some reason I have decided to persevere and do a random round up of the week. I have been to many meetings, written many emails, waved flags for libraries and heart units and the NHS in general. I have ferried children to basketball tournaments and sleep overs. I have rescued Tallulah’s boot from the menders. I have had people round for dinner, to eat real food, which I cooked from scratch. I have also snuck in a takeaway and lunch at Wagamamas.
I have also done these things:
I’m reviewing Flora Shedden’s (one of 2015’s GBBO contestants) recipe book, Gatherings. It’s very beautiful to look at, not all cake driven, and contains recipes for cardamon gin and clotted cream. So far it’s a winner.
Slow on the reading front this week due to falling asleep but A God in Ruins by Kate Atkinson continues to be brilliant.
I am also reading Alys Fowler’s Hidden Nature: A Voyage of Discovery. It’s a review copy but available for pre-order. It’s a kind of memoir/exploration of Birmingham’s canals. It’s rather lovely.
I watched The Great Pottery Throw Down. They made clocks. I hate clocks because they tick, and remind me of my own mortality. I can’t say that any clay renditions of clocks made them any more palatable to me, and Keith didn’t cry this week. He just got furious with a bearded man from Newcastle who basically made a clay box with paint dribbles on. I felt his pain. I may blog more about this later, if I can get over the clock phobia.
I went to a Leicester Comedy Festival event called Dead Leicester. Tilly’s friend is in the theatre company that put it on. We went to show our support and were a bit grumbly because it was icy cold and snowing when we arrived. Then it turned out to be so excellent that we forgot to be grumbly, although we were all pale blue by the time it finished. We thought it was just a ghost walk, but it turned out to be a ghost walk that was a great deal like Horrible Histories crossed with The Mighty Boosh. We all loved it. It’s on for the duration of the festival if you’re in the area.
Today I went to London to see the divine Ruth Wilson, who I have a massive girl crush on, playing Hedda Gabler at The National Theatre. I’d never seen any Ibsen, so had no idea what to expect, but I had high hopes because not only was Ruth in it, but it was an adaptation by Patrick Marber who I really rate. Turns out it surpassed expectation. I loved it. I loved it so much I might try and get tickets to see it as an NTLive production too.
I came home and watched the Terry Pratchett documentary Back in Black. It made me cry. I miss him and I think about him every day. Oscar is reading the Discworld series to me, and we are currently half way through The Last Continent. Every day he reads me ten pages of Pratchett, and I find myself turning my thoughts about them over and over in my head like pebbles in the surf. Sometimes, as I read the day’s news slipping into my Twitter feed I find myself rolling my eyes towards the heavens, only it isn’t the heavens, just Terry. Sharing a cloud with my other muse, Sue Townsend. Squabbling over who has the comfiest cloud hillock no doubt.
That’s as good a place as any to finish.