Tuesday: Oh, what a day, what a week! Up at 4.30 am, had done the washing, ironing, caught up on last week's telly plus audio cd, had the tree guys round to lop back my beloved pepper tree (the evil neighbours complained, now they can park in my space without the horror of the odd leaf landing on their car), salvaged what I could from the dud usb drive and sorted stuff, all before lunch. Phew! There was more to do but by the time 8pm rolled around I was on my chin strap, as were. At least I was rewarded with a cracking Maverick (the RLS one), which I had on during tea. Yes, yes, calling it tea, watching telly during, all very white trash, guilty as charged.
Wednesday: Today I had to race around with expensive errands, none the least buying a new camera because I'd forgotten the Fuji had expired on the Seine and the wee Samsung has proven itself, after Saturday's dismal efforts, not up to the challenge of taking useable photos, quite frankly. It'll do for quick snaps, though, which was the point (well, that and it was bought in a hurry down in Canberra that time I forgot to pack the late and lamented Fuji). Here's hoping, eh? And yeah, I know a poor workman blames his tools, but sometimes, sometimes, the tools aren't quite the business. This isn't near as good as the Fuji, but as always, budget and timeframe became variables surmounting image quality. Sigh.
And now work has suddenly woken up and decided to hammer me with stuff. Well, I wanted to be busy, perhaps not this busy though. And my horoscope said this was going to be a great week for me? What on earth do they call a dire week? Well, I suppose I've been able to get stuff sorted to the best of my limited ability, but, still, it's pretty full on and exhausting.
Friday: Printing out my fic, as it's not a sure fire way to keep the bastard, but I'm told it helps, and I'm feverishly checking to see that my precious, precious fic is...really badly written and full of typos. Oh dear. Oh well. And what was with that coffee shop scene that I thought was so cool that just trips and tramples over all the big plot points I'd been thinking off. It reads like the show has been cancelled and they're striking the set already. Sheesh. Oh well, it must have been a rushed lunch break - they so often are.
Meanwhile, you really, really know you're old, really old, like one of those old and eccentric travelling spinsters out of an Agatha Christie novel, when you chuck the pretty shoes out of your bag to make way for a wee kettle. I thought I could go without my morning cuppa but then I thought better of it. I remember the gasping horror that greeted me in Budapest when I discovered the hotel room was sans kettle (and I was a touch hormonal and tired). So it's either byo or never travelling to places so uncivilised as to not provide proper tea making facilities (and yes, I'm looking at you, Los Angeles).
Mind you, this trip has gone completely to fuck buggery and I haven't even finished packing yet. I made the fatal mistake of letting slip to people, and this is why I never do, it's a guaranteed jinx, complete nightmare from start, to, well, start. And considering my last visit was an actual bona fide certified Irwin Allen disaster, the aftershocks (literal and emotional) I've still not fully processed yet, I'm wondering if this was wise.
And the stuff that's been arriving in the post? I wasn't even aware I was doing it but it seems I've shopped where my heart is: The British Museum, the National Gallery, the Scottish National Gallery, the V&A. I figured familiarity may breed contempt, but I'm getting old enough now I guess to like knowing that when I get there I can pick up my tea and books and magazines just round the corner, and the newsagent will say hi. And I had so much fun last time, running about on an ecclectic programme of family history, actual history, as well as tv, book and film evocations.
This time it seems too way much in too little time. Oh well. Just get Picture X decently viewed and I can go home again, right? Dammit, I'm not even an art historian, or art anything, but weirdly it sort of becomes like bird watching, tracking down works by favourite artists. Stupid, expensive, indulgent, but oddly fun. At least, that was the start of it, somewhat disappointed by the Canberra exhibition as I was. Meeting up with folks is an absolute bonus, if I can manage it.
But oh, I'm getting to old for this, trying to line up stuff, schedule stuff, pack, get all my papers in order, deal with everything that's been thrown at me this week, because to be honest, data loss, trouble with the neighbours, council and at work would be enough to be going on with, let alone with pressing social engagements that are fun, but on top of everything else, perhaps more than mandible action can account for. And it's so much harder than Blighty. I had to buy a new bag, new camera, new coat and all sorts. Sigh.
Don't mind me, I'm just tired.
Okay, that was weird. I did a quick google for "Gary Sweet in The Sullivans" and all it came up with was Neal Caffrey. Clearly Google has decided that's all I ever look for and has now set it as my default search. Sorry, was up the other night backing up and catching up on the Pacific. Ack Ack! Hillbilly! poor wee Sledge. Leckie! And poor Gunny (second time around for Mr Sweet).
Meanwhile, the week went from worse to worse. Hammered, just hammered with several month's worth of work in a day. Seriously, completely restructured the site, threw in image maps and uploaded over 100 docs plus like a thousand edits. Then I was supposed to be going out to dinner with folks who had seriously left it to the last minute so I get this call while on the bus that their car has broken down and that's it. Bad luck and all for them but at the time I was like, really? So turned myself around and Himself as well (who was also in transit on another bus). We already had beans on toast lined up as Plan B but bugger that after everything that's been thrown at me this week, so I stopped off at the local curry house on the way home. Butter chicken, beer and Bonekickers. It'll do.
Right. Time for another cup of tea. I'm so over this. Right now, two weeks in bed is looking real good.
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