Specifically, I’m reading “Rabbit at Rest”, “The Virgin in the Garden”, and what appears to be Frankie Howerd’s copy of “Professor Branestawm’s Perilous Pudding”. No. Really. It’s got a dedication in the front, and reads “To Frankie Howerd, with best wishes for a speedy recovery, Norman Hunter”. I’ve a second signed Professor Branestawm book (yes, I have two – I was trying to verify the signature, and it was cheap), so I know the Norman Hunter bit really is the real deal. However, I have no idea what the connection between the two gentlemen was. Other than that both made people laugh. Titter ye not.
The Branestawm book, incidentally, is the only book that has literally made me laugh out loud this year. Happiness is silliness.
I was going to write a Saturday List yesterday, which is now somewhat uncharacteristic of me. Instead I merely got on with it all. Casualties of the dyeing-the-old-guide-skirt process (skirt came out very well, as did the pyjamas) were the white sheets that were on the bed. These are now splattered with dye dustings, and a bit polka dot. Very fashionable. However, since one generally has one’s eyes shut in bed, or it’s dim light time, or first thing in the morning and a tearing hurry to get out of the bed and get to work, I’ve concluded that I don’t need to worry too much. I’ll be buying some more dye and turning the sheets a shade of blue at some point. This will be very weird. I haven’t had coloured sheets on my bed since I moved out of P. Street.
Otherwise, the last of the wedding invitations are going out this week. N is finally on anti-biotics for what has to be the longest bout of gastroenteritis (caused by campylobacter – a sample was dropped off, and it took about a week to get the result) ever, and looks much perkier but has next to no physical energy.
I did a half marathon last week, in my slowest time ever, but, in my defence, stopped to deal with a collapsed fellow runner en route at 12.88 miles. I didn’t do much dealing. Got him down flat, and then into the recovery position, and left him with the paramedics. I gather he was probably OK after it all – much anxious scanning of the news pages suggests that no-one died as a result of running the Hackney Half! It was extremely warm. My aim was to get round without stopping, without walking, and without having an asthma attack. I more-or-less (apart from the collapsed runner) did that, so I was fairly pleased with myself. There was no point in flogging myself. I felt pretty dire for the rest of the day anyhow, with the traditional post-half-marathon-headache. It was also the very first race where I’ve not had someone to come and watch, or run with me, ever, and the one race where I could really have done with more than text message support (N was superb at that). I found out after that Long Tall Chris that I shared a flat with was also running the race – had I known, I’d have arranged to meet up, and that would have helped with the adrenaline from the stopping to help the runner. As it was, I had solo tea, a lovely conversation with a lass in the Macmillan Tent (they are always lovely in the Macmillan Tent), who supplied me with water and a Mars Bar, and a trip home on the slightly overly air-conditioned overground. I feel I really deserved this particular medal.
I’ve finished a pair of socks for me, and started some for Eff. I’ve also got some for L on my list, but cannot for the life of me remember the shade of wool she’d like, so need to ask again. I also need to sort out some Pay It Forward packages. I now have books for the recipients, but I feel the need to put something hand made in. Or maybe just chocolate to enjoy with the books (is it every “just” chocolate?!). However, more pondering is required, I think.
I do like that WordPress auto-saves drafts. I accidentally closed the window on this thing part way through the longest paragraph. And I only lost hlaf a sentence.
Here. Have a photo of an alpaca with a rad haircut, and the latest socks: