Happy New Year!

Hmm, maybe I won't post Long December again this year. Even though it plays in my head. Maybe this year will be better than the last... but still, I'm in a far more level frame of mind than I was then. Yaysies.

I'm staying in tonight. The man is giggin, was gonna go, and bring the kids to stay in the hotel, but it's all booked up, and well... I have the getting-dressed-up-and-going-out fear all of a sudden. So the sofa calls. I've too much work not to stress about that anyway. Hmm, yes, I'd like to go out and kiss all the pretty young folk, but, ah feck it. There's always next year.

So it'll be Jools Holland and a pile of corrections for me, and hopefully no sobbing this year. Hurray!

I have the usual resolutions, which I will post in a week once I've done with my most recent failed resolution of not doing my work in a manic panic rush.

What are my standbys?
 Oh yes. Just do it. And Shut the Fuck Up. I'm still working on those.

I will leave you with this far more eloquent and emotional expression of new year hope. damn, I linked wrong before. Fixed now.

Someone make a wish for me.

New and Beautiful!

Click!

Do it! Fill your heart up :)

important thing

Yes. Overposting due to work avoidance.

But this... we forget. Even those of us who were born in Ireland before the mid eighties... there's great illustrations in the post, familiar books, familiar intro... interesting. Link is below but this is the main point.

I want to express my gratitude that in my world, having sex with someone, lots of times, before you settle down with them for the long haul, is generally considered, not only normal and acceptable, but sensible, obvious, and even self-evident.







I want to express my gratitude that in my world, premarital sex, never-marital sex, multiple sexual relationships, living together before marriage, living together without ever getting married, and so on, are all commonplace and generally accepted in much of the country, and indeed much of the world.






I want to express my gratitude that in my world, masturbation and oral sex are generally considered normal, mainstream, not even all that interesting… and things like anal sex, spanking, and bondage are generally seen as mildly kinky thrills at most, somewhat outre but really not all that wild compared to all the other freaky stuff people are up to.






I want to express my gratitude that in my world, birth control is widely and easily available, and even advertised on national TV. I want to express my gratitude that in my world, sex toys, sexual information, and sexual entertainment are widely and anonymously available, and even joked about in sitcoms.






I want to express my gratitude that in my world, gay sex is no longer a crime anywhere in my country… and gay relationships have a fair amount of social and legal recognition in large parts of the country and the world.






Even divorce. Unhappy as it is, I’m grateful for divorce. I’m grateful that unhappy marriages that don’t work for anybody can be ended, without bringing ruin and disgrace to the couple and their family. I want to express my gratitude that in my world, it was relatively easy, and almost entirely unstigmatized, for me to get out of a marriage to a guy who was decent but a disastrous choice for me… so I could spend some time getting my shit together before I settled down with a partner who it actually made sense for me to settle down with.






It’s easy to take all this for granted. It’s easy to forget how different things were in my parents generation… and how radically different they were in my grandparents’.






It’s not like things are perfect now. Trust me, I get that. We have, among other things, a world with a glut of sexual imagery and a relative dearth of sexual information. We have a world in which there’s a lot of pressure to be an amazing sexual performer… at an increasingly young age. We have a world in which the mere mention of the word “penis” can be effectively used in the movies to generate enormous laffs. We have a world that’s still fairly uncomfortable with sex, and that often doesn’t know how to deal with it.






What’s more, we have a world where even these basic sexual freedoms and privileges are limited to very specific people and regions. Large numbers of people and extensive regions, but still very specific. We have a world where, in large parts of it, gay people are still being put in prison, and women are still being executed for adultery.






And of course, we have a world filled with plenty of people who are working like crazy to turn back the clock to the good old days… the days of sexual ignorance and secrecy and shame.






But things are better now. A lot better. We’re beginning, I think, to see sex as a normal part of a happy life… and to see sexual experimentation, with different partners and different kinds of sex, as a natural and sensible way to figure out who you are and what you like and whether you and your honey are compatible.






And I’m never reminded of that more vividly than when I hear about people who still live, for all intents and purposes, in the old world, the world of my parents and grandparents… and who are being made miserable by it.

Greta Christina’s Blog: True Love Waits… And The Rest Of Us Get On With Our Sex Lives

endless boundless optimism

a) it's all good.

b) I'm making soup.

Olivia will reject it loudly and with scorn and much yukking.

Bodhi will say, oh, that looks yummy! Thanks! Then he'll eat a spoonful and walk away.

And Axel will say, yeah, I might have some, then drift past it and make a stack of cheese sandwiches.

But soup springs eternal, eh?

Ahhh....

This is what I dream I will make Christmas into every year. And every year, without fail, there is a lack of hoovering, a flurry of last minute, not quite good enough cleaning, an insufficient ambiance, no glow, no magic throughout the house. A harrassed, unprepared mother. And dinner a little cold on the table... things forgotten.

And please, this is not a whinge. No telling me it's all good. Just look at the beautiful pictures! And pray for me, that maybe one day I'll get there.

lurkers?

I'm a little sad, that so many commenters have fallen by the wayside. I miss that, not to denigrate the sterling efforts of the few.

I know blogs have a shelf life... maybe I've reached my best-before date and will soon be writing into the void again, like I once did at the birth of the blog...

Still - if you're out there and you're not one to comment, leave me a little wave so I know who I'm talking to...

damn straight, it's all happy and Santa

Every year, when we go to get our tree, we get  new decoration. This year we were late, and both were pretty much gone. Agh!

But let me give you a tour, which I wanted to put up days ago, but.. didn't.

This is Olivia's fox. How cool is he?

Mr and Mrs CocaCola Claus. Normally I'd be sickened, but I've had them since before I was born, and I loves 'em. Kitties!

Olivia's Rudolph. Won't sit straight, that maverick.

Um. See the scruffiness! Bodhi has been undecorating at a rate this year. But I made the little Christmas tree, decades ago.

My mother had lots of pretty golden things, trains, planes, a rocking horse. They glow nicely, even though this one got a bit washed out.

And THIS. How wonderfully, beautifully disgusting is this? I remember getting them, when I was about four. Maybe six of them, in a clear plastic rectangular box. The most glitteringly fabulous Santa you will ever see. And now he looks like he has a head wound and a nose bleed. Don't you love it, D? Hahahahaha

Ikea, this year - black and clear!

Olivia's Owl, it's sparkly!

My godmother got me these in NewEngland. Gold, and made from real leaf skeletons. SO beautiful!

Sesame Street... oh yes.

My Aunt Sue's beautiful crocheted Christmas tree. And one of four ugly ass Santas my mother in law gave us to keep forever and ever as heirlooms - !

Well it's over. New Year next, grey and gloom and resolutions. Hah Bumbug...

Christmas photos

There was a ladybird in the Christmas tree. I wonder what that means? ;)

Scallopped potatoes, ohhhhh, fattening...

Christmas morning, cold, clear and sunny, out my window. Photo doesn't show how bright the sky was.

The swans down the harbour used to just hang back in a group. Now they get right in your face, looking menacing. Whether you've bread or not. And the kids can't really get out of the car on their own... it's sad, really! And the seagulls are crazy. When you thow bread up in the air they flap madly en flock right by your head and catch it. That's cool. But hard to photograph. Especially trying to avoid standing in swan shit.

Bray Head. See all the stones? When I was a kid, there was sand, and the beach was about ten feet lower down. They poured them all in.

Dalkey Island and Howth Head in the other direction.

Snowy mountains, just about visible.

damn, yum

This year's Christmas cupcakes come from Love and Olive Oil and are these.

Ohhh.

I need to practice. They're very moist, and though I found fancy beautiful wrappers from Sweden and though they were lovely and stiff they still peeled off the wrappers in the box overnight. But I think that might have had some thing to do with the fact that I undercooked the second batch and put them away still warm. In my defense, it was 3 am.

But, still, my god, the recipe...

The cake is almond and coconut milk and oil. And it's so moist and delicious. I didn't have the time or cherries for the filling, so I just used a nice cherry jam. But MY GOD, they're so good. SO good. First time I've filled a cupcake, and I can attest to the fact that life is not too short... to fill a cupcake. In fact, I may just splurge on a special tip for injecting cupcakes with filling. Sigh. The buttercream, the moist almondy cake, the explosion of wet cool cherry in the middle. Ung! Make them!

I'll come back and put up a photo later, I can find the frigging camera. How many places would I have put it? Seriously!

ghost of Christmas Past

The year after my mother died, when my daughter was a baby, we scattered her ashes. In the interim, my volatile father had got extremely hurt and angry at me because I didn't want to spend the first Christmas after her death in the family home that she'd had to leave, with him and his new fiance. Yes, perhaps I was playing the part of the protective daughter to too great an extent, but it killed me that her worst fears had come true - we'd all be together playing happy families in her home, and she would be eradicated from the picture. I couldn't bear out that nightmare of hers, in good faith. And I was 4 months pregnant, 5 months married and still shell shocked. I just wanted to be in my new home, trying to climb out of the awfulness of it all.

After a week or so of driving to and from work in floods of hysterical tears everyday, I managed to sort it out. But then, I assumed that given the things he'd said about her, he wouldn't want to participate in the scattering of her ashes the following year. He never mentioned it. And then it transpired that he did, and I copped out and stalled on telling him I didn't want to. I should have just sucked it up and not gone, if I'd felt that way... but at the time I'd turned it in my head into a final goodbye, after which I would make nice with him and his wife, and fake it, and try and just forget about it and get on with life.

Except, he was again very hurt and angry, and stopped talking to me, and cut me out of the money he'd been intending to give me from the sale of her house. His wife apparently told my brother that that wasn't set in stone, and he was waiting to see what I'd do. But I just can't get into that sort of game, I don't have it in me.

I tried to get in touch with him before that Christmas to resolve things, but we missed each other, and alarmingly, Christmas went by without contact. Then I went to talk to him in January and tried to say I was sorry, that I should have bowed out of the ash scattering, as it was my issue, that I was sorry that he was missing out on his granddaughter... his response was that 'given how much of a disappointment you and your brother are to me, and how ripped off I feel by you, grandchildren are an irrelevance'.

Which pretty much told me what I needed to know. I don't feel I can give him the full extent of the relationship he wants with me. While not seeing him over the last years has been uncomfortable, and this unresolved conflict is bad, on the other hand, the decrease in my general anxiety has been worth the wrongness of it. Sometimes we chat politely, when I go to see my granny, or even pop into his house, if there's a particular reason. But he has never extended any invitation or anything beyond that.


A message just rang on my phone. Oo, I thought. Christmas wishes!

'While your self
 righteousness and
ignorance
 is extremely
irritating,
I wish you
and
yours a happy
Christmas,'

Signed by my father.

Yes. Happy Christmas, eh?

The irony is, I've been following his lead. And there's no self righteousness in it. Some self protection, maybe. But what's the point in answering, right? I don't want a horrible text dialogue on Christmas Eve. That one was enough to get my adrenaline pumping and my hands shaking. So I wrote a reply and didn't send it. Because he'd respond the same to anything I said, without hearing a word. Just waiting, to pounce.

I saw a letter my mother wrote him once, a heartfelt, thought out letter, trying to explain things, trying to make things right. And it was covered in his bitchy, insulting, mean, dismissing responses, in red pen, scribbled over her words. That he couldn't understand. It was so sad. I already feel scribbled on enough by his red pen, I don't want any more.

Update: well, my brother came to see me on the way home from my father's and said that he'd confessed to the drunken texting and seemed less than proud of himself. And that his wife had been angry with him for doing it :)

The sad thing is, my brother agreed with me that what he really means is 'love me, I miss you'. But even if he had said that instead... do I want to? It's never going to be easy...

Christmaskisses to you all

You know who you are.

You. And You.

And you...

And You, most of all.

Love from the Cake Fairy...

click.click.click.

AGH. I hate being the one who makes Christmas. I hate everybody.

vasectome, vasectoyou

Before I forget this, I was talking to a friend yesterday, who told me that a friend of hers is a doctor down in the Women's Clinic.

It seems Friday is Vasectomy Day.

She asked her friend was that not sort of awful. And apparently her friend answered vehemently,

'Oh no, It's GREAT! It's a GREAT start to the weekend!'

To which I say, hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaa!*



Disclaimer: I know various people who've had vasectomies and are very happy with them. But I'd never gun for Axel to have one myself. I appreciate the ... emotional value of being completely intact repoductively and would never push for it, if he didn't want it himself... so while I'm laughing long and hard at that, it doesn't necessarily reflect my views on the actual procedure :) So no calling me a man hating death bitch, please.

kindness of strangers

The blogging experience has made me very comfortable talking to strangers. Like doing the mothers' website breastfeeding advice forum made me stop when I heard a pregnant woman in Tesco talking about breastfeeding and thrush, and just have to give her some unsolicited advice. Sometimes I can't stop myself being overly friendly.

But the lady in the Healthfood shop today was the best. I know her from there and seeing her cycling round the town, but no more than to say hello to. I was asking for alternatives to agnus castus (hormone regulator) that I could take while breastfeeding. And of course she said 'Udo's Oil', which I knew about but I was hoping for a different answer. Because it's so hard to take, it's so oily. So I asked her for the capusles and she totally gave out to me like an amused and exasperated mammy and told me to go get the bottle and not be such a baby. And gave me short shrift when I said I'd bought it so many times and used it three times and let it go off in the fridge, at €15 a go...

So I was sent away with a bottle of oil and a flea in my ear. So I'm off to get a carton of pineapple juice... which we all know makes unpalatable things taste less unpalatable...

But that's not the point. The point is the joy there is to be found in laughing and being familiar with strangers in shops, especially at Christmas time.

so mannered

I'm randomly twisting on my twisty thing in the sitting room with Bhodi and watching I Carly, which is surprisingly entertaining. But then, I love Drake and Josh as well. I'm a tweenie at heart.

He pushes gently by and says something I don't hear,

-'Sorry, what was that?'
'Good job excercisin', Mama!'
-'Thank you.'
'I'm welcome!'
-' You're very motivational.'
'Oh, Thanks!'.

It's nice to have a son.

dream fight!

Oh dear. I think I had a dream fight with Axel and might have called him a Very Bad Word, and then backtracked frantically.

I think I must have Christmas Anger.

I woke up and remembered, and for a second I thought it was real. I hate that!

spinning

I'm wrapped up in it, delight and conflict, distracted, I'm spinning dizzily, warmly, laughing into the sky.

It's rich, this tightrope walking feeling, expansive, even while it's lead booted to the ground.

My prayer is for safety, for a safety net and heartease. For organic healthy growth and headsense and something only good and certain, that is rooted in the ground.

I-mam

Bodhi drapes the fuzzy yellow blanket he's taken a fondness to over his head and wails 'Yaaaaa-yaaaaa--aaaaa!!!' in high pitched, throaty tones. you know the kind that could  turn to hysterical laughter in an instant?

'You're not scary', pronounces Olivia, in Hermione Granger type officious and petulant tones, complete with the English accent she's borrowed off her best friend.

'I'mam scary!' Bodhi asserts, feistily.


I love I'mam.

 Bodhi, where are you?  - Here I'mam!

snow snow

I was walking towards the toyshop this morning, slightly surprised by the bitterness of the cold, and wishing I'd brought my scarf and worn more under me cota, when out of the tiny teeny little dots of ice floating down here and there, what looked like a perfectly formed snowflake flew right at me, for a second I thought I could see its intricacy, and landed on my mouth, a tiny frosted melting kiss.

I love the snow. But there's apparently going to be blizzards this weekend. Which will severely cramp my stressed out last minute Christmas prep if it hits. Thankfully I now have a bootful of toys that promise enough of a Christmas if all else fails. Phew!

housekeeping

Sorry, this is boring... for some reason, I'm not getting email notification for most of my comments, and the comments aren't always being listed. Tis weird.

Xbox's and Mick's come through, others are hit and miss. I have no idea why. And bloger help is a pain in the ass.

So if anyone's commenting on older posts, chances are I won't see. It makes me very sad!

Any help?

Yikes!

I was walking out of the school just now, I made it into the parking lot before I realised, something was missing.

I'd left Bhodi behind!!

First time I've actually done that!

I  blame Christmas ... among other things.

Chinese Spam

Is a bit redundant, really...

music church

I could listen to this song a hundred times in a row. I just might. Join me?

I do love that wall of sound that draws you into the womb of it thing. I was always one for a bit of a transcendent live experience me...

I want to write about BellX1 on Sunday but I just don't know if I can do it justice. It's frustrating. Have you ever wanted to play something for someone through your mind, so they can see it as you do?

Bad Mood Tuesday

Agh. Woke up gnarly. Surly. To dog pee. A list that is too long. Olivia ramping up the same grumpiness the minute her foot hit the third last step. Bodhi offering a ceaseless whining whinge that spirals endlessly in a high pitched, thin voweled complaint, snagging and cutting through me like barbed wire.

Tuesday morning, I do not like thee.

oh noes!

There's stars in the butter...

sweet morning

Today we got ready and Olivia put on her socks and shoes without a whisper and we went to school.

Last night my husband showed me that he was exactly the incredible, deep man that I fell in love with, and made my heart sing.

And this morning as I walked back to the car I held Bodhi's soft, warm little hand in mine, as he sang a little wordless song, and the moment was so indescribably sweet, even in the realisation of how fleeting it all is, his smallness, his little-boy-ness. Or because of it, I suppose.

Sometimes it's not possible to grab those moments, and feel them fully. Too much intrudes that you just can't defeat. So, it's just a pleasure to catch one.

Happy Birthday Tinman!!

Yes!! Result! I found one!

Happy birthday, lovely Tinman. Here's to pints and not setting your head on fire when you blow out all the candles.

there are days...

In response to Ms Moon's comment: Ha. Well. There are days... `


I don't mean to post this as any sort of disrespect to or rejection of my amazing children, who are gifts to me.

But when you're mired down in cleaning poo and wee up, and throwing away the food that's been bought, cooked and rejected, and you're separating screaming siblings half the day, and getting verballly abused... well, the reality of parenting can seem so divorced from the starry eyed ideals of the broody teen I once was :)

And it's hard to see the bigger picture of the work that we do from the view down the small end of the telescope into the minutae of everyday home life with young children.

Yes.

I was talking to my 92 year old granny about it the other day, about how nice a lie in or a weekend away would be, and she just shook her head and laughed, and said, 'and we feel so sorry for people who don't have children. So sorry!'

In the meadow we can build a snowman...

I was at the check out in Tesco, eyeing the tattooes on the Polish guy, feeling slightly embarrassed about the pre-Famine amount of potatoes I was buying  (big ones for baking, a bag for... well, everyday potatoes and little new potatoes) but I was thinking, well, no doubt the Poles can sympathise, and then I realised he was going to be looking at the snowman knickers I was buying, and suddenly the potato embarrassment didn't seem so bad.

one of the best songs

I finally made it to Ikea, that finally made it here this summer. Finally!

But they have no feather pillows, and I went for the pillows... what is up with that?

Anyway: Ikea highlight: I was living the interior dream in theliving room section, fondling rugs and throws, when Birdhouse In Your Soul came on.


I never hear this anymore. It's up there with the songs I Love Most Of All. Please turn it up and bounce around, and channel Alan Crotty in the Rugby Club Disco circa 1990, dancing around like Joyous Abandon personified.

Sigh, I miss him, my friend who slipped away from me. That sounds like he died but he's fine, he just wasn't bothered to keep in touch :(

Meh, anyway, still a happy association. Please turn it up and revel in the lyrics and dance around and sing?




PS - yeah,  I tried the Daim cake. Nggngngn.

hahahahahahaha

Bless!

A couple years ago I sent my cousin an I Rub My Duckie for Christmas.

Next year, or so, I sent her little boy a box of wooden beads to string, all organic and eco, from the Eco Shop, called a Beadler. And she said she opened it and said to her husband, 'Oh! Jo sent us anal beads!'

I mean, come on! I may be bad, but I'm not that bad!

Also, on looking at the picture again, *ow, lumpy*

a tale

I am the slowest worker. I've been slowly slowly doing nothing all day. Not quite nothing, but I should have done it all and I've done a third of it.

I'm going to get some ginko.

I'm waiting for Bodhi to go to sleep, so I thought I'd share with you this tale.

My mother in law who is mouse phobic (we once had mice and decided not to tell her. We came home from a night out to find her sitting on the sofa with her trousers tucked into her socks, freaked because one particularly brazen specimen had come out and wandered about in front of her and convinced it was going to run up her leg and get in her knickers), was babysitting for my brother in law. The other grandchild. His wife came running down from upstairs, panicked about a mouse, and dispatched my burly, strong and silent, bottle it all up, Metallica loving brother in law up to deal with it.

I don't fancy any one's odds of catching a mouse single handedly, but he went up and was heard moving furniture. They went up to check on him, and found him with everything moved out from the wall, standing on the bed with his trousers tucked into his boots.

I went to sleep after 2.30 last night after talking an Austrian fanfic writer off a fanfic ledge, then Olivia woke up at 5.45 with an earache, and woke Bodhi who was slow to go back to sleep. Then I slept in til 8.30 because Axel's alarm didn't go off. I've a mountain of work to plough through, I'm still phlegmtastic... and yet...

I looked in the mirror to notice I'd woken up cute. Almost college ID card photo cute. Sparkly eyes that looked made up, face looking all defined and sweet, shoulder appearing creamy from beneath ripped nightgown.

Even Axel agreed.

Strange... random cuteness? Who knows why?

men who love ferrets

Last night Danielle told me the tragic tale of the ferret who died for love of him. He looked after her for a friend who lived two doors down, and tamed her, and then brought her back when the friend got home from holidays. That night she escaped and tried to make her way back to him, but got run over and killed... all for love. Sob!

We just walked past a new pet shop in the Arcade in Bray, in the window there's all sort of wonder, an iguana, a snake and a beautiful albino peach ferret.

Inside the shop is run, as is proper, by two endearingly long haired, bearded, freshfaced rockers. We wandered around, the kids and Axel went upstairs to look at the giant rabbit etc and I stayed to coo at the ferret. The incredibly friendly (excuse me, dirty thirties alert) incredibly attractive, fresh faced shop owner who has wonderful thick long prematurely grey hair and an absolutely magic long wizardly white chinny beard and the nicest voice and face and manner,and mesmerising piercings - seriously, I suggest you all cultivate an interest in exotic pets and go check him out asap, I could hardly have been more attracted to the little sweetheart had he taken off his shirt and shown me his tattoos - told me in gooey tones that ferrets were wonderful and he has five at home. I bit back the joke about trousers *that jumped to mind and told him Danielle's tragic tale, which made him awfully sad, and he took out the ferret and cuddled him, and let me cuddle him (his ferret, not him) and warned me about how they like to nibble on your ear or neck, in tones that told me exactly how sweet he found it :)

* scroll down the page, you'll see it

So now I'm in love with a ferret, they're like little sweetie mini bears. And also the ferret owner.

God. I wish I could reproduce myself into a hot single twenty five year old and go out and make mayhem while 33 year old me stayed home and did sensible stuff.

tumblrs just rock

lovely photos

pictures of dogs and kittens and Paris and kissing and words and people and milk and cookies and humanity. I could look and look!

twenty minutes

twenty minutes upstairs
hiding from my life

pretty pictures, stories
and the endless entertainment 
of my own head

bought with chocolate ricecakes
and a firmly locked  bedroom door

warm duvet,
stripey knee socks
little moments for me.

Homepages

Last year there was much blog talk about Homepages, the blogging Charity book full of Irish bloggers' stories about Home sold in aid of the Simon Community.

I'm in it (and I feature in K8's piece, yes, that is my messy house she's being kind about!) but I  nevergot round to actually buying it, because, well, sometimes it takes me a year to do stuff, y'know.

Then Andrew sweetly gave me a spare copy and I finally got  reading it, and it's great. I bought one for my mother in law and granny and godmother, nice Christmas presents!

See the green book in the picture over in my sidebar? Consider clicking, better than a dodgy  Christmas  autobiography pressie.

For Mick and his wife and Zosia

Update: Mick just mailed me, his wife is off the drip and the disease is receding. So hopefully she gets better from here.

http://wannabefather.blogspot.com/

Why does this sound appealing?

Dyson Flexi Crevice Tool

Snerk.

groo

Oh dear. I have a little list of posts to write, stories to tell... but I've been working so hard, and I've had a cold so unpleasant and debilitating, I'd almost go so far as to say that it might be a ... mancold.

So I feel mired down in phlegm and throatiness and the spectacular tantrums and fighting of my two children. I brought them to McDOnalds last night, god forgive me. Bodhi says like Eddie Murphy did in his 80's stand up sketch, which is both amusing and terrifying. I really don't want my son to be part of the toddler statistic that recognises the golden arches from afar.

I need to get my Christmas shopping finished. I need to get my workload clear so I can get ready and make reality my wish for a clean and decorated welcoming Christmas house this year.

And bake cookies and wrap them nicely and send parcels on time, and get the Christmas cards done sooner rather than later, except I have to get the printer fixed and I don't know where to go, urg.

I want to sit in bed and read the True Blood novels I haven't had time to touch in a fortnight - ! And write my fanfic stuff that's buzzing around in my head (despite the fact that I missed the competition deadline, dammit dammit!) and have someone else look after and sort out my children.

Ah well, it's ten past eight, I have to get going or it will be another late day. And I'd better go visit my granny. And get ingredients for baking for the school Christmas fair.

Bed... wanna go back to bed...

heyday

Ok, so I posted this before, and I gushed all about Mic Christopher then, so I won't again.

But I walked into Centra this evening, and Heyday came on. It's hard to know, being torn between dancing round the shop and having a cry.

Official one:



Huh, I screwed that up before...