I’m beginning to lose my grip on time.  I keep thinking that I’m one weekend closer to getting married than I actually am (and thus that I really should get a grip on writing the place cards, sorting out the table plan, and, really, why won’t people flipping well reply in order to make these tasks easier?!).  Fortunately, Mum has pointed out that this weekend is not 16th July, and thus I have a WHOLE WEEKEND before the last dress fitting (I hope they sort out the issue I have with the bodice) and my hair-dyeing appointment (for it is vital to cover up the grey and get everything else more-or-less the same shade along the entire length of the shaft).  Perhaps I just want to be married sooner?

Weekends do have a habit of getting lost. The hen party lost me a whole weekend, as I drank far too much gin in the process of having fun with friends in the sunshine (it’s a wonder I didn’t go pink in the process), and, thus, felt just a weeny bit delicate on Sunday. This weekend we started off In the Countryside, so N could do the garden, but it rained, and the planned bike ride he went on over-ran owing to a puncture, so it didn’t really happen. I got 5 miles off-road running in, and finished the pink spinning I was doing. I’m now plying it to the navy single. This is a. boring and fiddly and b. looks awful. I have standards that are too high, and I can’t expect to be perfect the very first time I try something, however much I want to. However, I’m determined to have enough yarn to knit, so I am perservering. Besides. I have some gorgeous alpaca-mix to play with soon, so I shall Get Better at it, as I wish to do the stuff justice. Plus, I think I want a spinning wheel.  Sunday was mostly taken up with a race (diabolical performances on both our parts, and I lost my chip tag so didn’t get an official time), and then meeting the photographer for the wedding. Must not forget sonic screwdrivers.

We need a new house before I can get a spinning wheel – I simply do not have the space. Which means selling N’s place first. Which will happen. What with him being so ill (three weeks with campylobacter, all told – a week off in the middle for good behaviour), and then his Dad dying, we are slightly behind with that one. On the plus side, his place is nearly ready to sell now, and that is marvellous. And scary.  So, we sell, we find, we buy and in about two years time, after the decoration’s done, I have a place for a spinning wheel. You have to think in the long term!

I’ve done a lot of reading. I’ve got over my awe of A.S. Byatt this year (thank you Alan Bennett for an entirely unhelpful predjudice), and I’m storming through the Frederica Quartet. I’m thoroughly enjoying seeing how her writing style changes over the years – compared to John Updike, whose Rabbit books remain comfortingly similar thoroughout, she really experiments with form. I’m enjoying “Nightingale Wood” by Stella Gibbons, which is not as fun as “Cold Comfort Farm” (Seth is not lounging about undoing buttons, but the chaffeur is terribly, terribly nice) but nicely acerbic and funny. I’m filling in the gaps on The List of 1001 Books (am now over 1/4 of the way through all 4 volumes, but I keep getting distracted by books not on the list after reading something by the same author that is on the list).

Tonight, I am in a dither. We are promming (Mahler 9). There is a “late” Prom, finishing at 10:30pm. With the lovely Sam West reading. But I have a chiropractic appointment at 7.40 tomorrow morning. Decisions. Decisions.  We have our 5 proms in hand, and are waiting for the next batch of tickets for the Last Night to be released. If I’m not in that hall when Lizzie is singing, I will be very sad indeed (if I am in that hall when she’s singing, I shall be crying my eyes out with happiness).





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