Argh, can't talk about Raglan, busy workin'
Very Very short version:
Splendid event.
Lots of weather.
Felt truly pleasant.
Met and visited with fine folks.
Ate better than most people do in fine restaurants.
The Grace hound is the most popular dog I've ever met.
We're buying a futon for camping.
I'm desperate to write up the good stuff from Raglan, because it was one of the best I remember, tail-end-of-Hurricane Bertha notwithstanding. (Over the week, two nights and one day of periodic downpours, thunder and lightning right overhead, lots and lots and lots of water underfoot.)
It was one of the most relaxed for me, because I'd decided to organise less, leaving me free to take part and help out in more.
I still pitched in: one day stewarding, one class, some marshalling for fencing and archery. Some court business, including Maistre Pol's vigil and elevation.
But I fenced and shot more than last year, or possibly even the year before. I was still crap, because of lack of practice, but I still savoured the occasional hit on someone (w/ rapier, *not* shooting anyone).
And I felt better and enjoyed it more. I felt freer to just hang with people rather than chase a schedule and that was a great feeling, something I'd missed.
But: I'm flat out again at work.
The Great Britsh Holiday(tm) is underway and half the office is disappearing for the next two weeks, leaving an even more skeletal staff than usual, with a mad schedule.
So when I get home I turn into a cat sofa, stretched out on top of the existing sofa.
(Haggis prefers to sit on a thing, on top of a thing. So given the whole floor to sit on, she'll sit on the fabric you're cutting; given the whole tabletop, she'll sit on the paper you're reading. Same applies to sofas.)
Haggis appears intent on catching up on lost loves from last week, so it's hard to move out from under a determined loves-seeking feline lump. Especially if you don't want to move that much.
Hope to remedy this soon.
Splendid event.
Lots of weather.
Felt truly pleasant.
Met and visited with fine folks.
Ate better than most people do in fine restaurants.
The Grace hound is the most popular dog I've ever met.
We're buying a futon for camping.
I'm desperate to write up the good stuff from Raglan, because it was one of the best I remember, tail-end-of-Hurricane Bertha notwithstanding. (Over the week, two nights and one day of periodic downpours, thunder and lightning right overhead, lots and lots and lots of water underfoot.)
It was one of the most relaxed for me, because I'd decided to organise less, leaving me free to take part and help out in more.
I still pitched in: one day stewarding, one class, some marshalling for fencing and archery. Some court business, including Maistre Pol's vigil and elevation.
But I fenced and shot more than last year, or possibly even the year before. I was still crap, because of lack of practice, but I still savoured the occasional hit on someone (w/ rapier, *not* shooting anyone).
And I felt better and enjoyed it more. I felt freer to just hang with people rather than chase a schedule and that was a great feeling, something I'd missed.
But: I'm flat out again at work.
The Great Britsh Holiday(tm) is underway and half the office is disappearing for the next two weeks, leaving an even more skeletal staff than usual, with a mad schedule.
So when I get home I turn into a cat sofa, stretched out on top of the existing sofa.
(Haggis prefers to sit on a thing, on top of a thing. So given the whole floor to sit on, she'll sit on the fabric you're cutting; given the whole tabletop, she'll sit on the paper you're reading. Same applies to sofas.)
Haggis appears intent on catching up on lost loves from last week, so it's hard to move out from under a determined loves-seeking feline lump. Especially if you don't want to move that much.
Hope to remedy this soon.