(no subject)
I've had a cold since I got back home at the beginning of last week, and it meant that I missed out on
grannybum's party and my monthly outing to the Beautiful and the Dammed. I hate it when being ill stops me from going out and seeing my friends, I get all lonesome if I stay in too much.
But the weekend wasn't a complete write off. Housemate Laura and I tackled the much put off job of turfing out the compost bin, and found inside a number of mutant slugs, an ant's nest and a crop of potatoes, but as yet not quite ready to use compost. I'm only just realising that making compost is a delicate art form. If you just shove all the kitchen waste in there as we were doing for some time, you don't get compost, you just get slime. Which is why we had to turf everything out and mix in layers of scrunched up newspaper in order to balance things out. More compost updates in the future, or maybe I should just start its own blog, seeing as its practically a living organism anyway.
On a slightly more interesting note, on sunday my sister was in town with her boyfriend who was here to run the marathon. Rhiannon and I decided to provide all the support and encouragement that we could to Pete by going off to the East End and going shopping in Spitalfield's Market. I bought a nice slightly 40s style dress for a tenner and bought a photographic print of a flapper girl superimposed onto a picture of an old postcard (hard to describe but it will look good on the lounge wall when I get a frame for it). Then we went and found the marathon runner, who had heroically completed the course despite the heat and his knee which gave out after the 16th mile, meaning that he had to limp the remaining ten. Courageous or plain stupid I can't really decide, but he did it all in aid of Oxfam, so I can only congratulate my brother in un law for getting to the end in one piece. After retreiving him from Trafalger Square we went and had pizza and watched Pete drink his first alcoholic drink in five months. When I asked him which marathon he was going to run next, he said never again.
grannybum's party and my monthly outing to the Beautiful and the Dammed. I hate it when being ill stops me from going out and seeing my friends, I get all lonesome if I stay in too much.
But the weekend wasn't a complete write off. Housemate Laura and I tackled the much put off job of turfing out the compost bin, and found inside a number of mutant slugs, an ant's nest and a crop of potatoes, but as yet not quite ready to use compost. I'm only just realising that making compost is a delicate art form. If you just shove all the kitchen waste in there as we were doing for some time, you don't get compost, you just get slime. Which is why we had to turf everything out and mix in layers of scrunched up newspaper in order to balance things out. More compost updates in the future, or maybe I should just start its own blog, seeing as its practically a living organism anyway.
On a slightly more interesting note, on sunday my sister was in town with her boyfriend who was here to run the marathon. Rhiannon and I decided to provide all the support and encouragement that we could to Pete by going off to the East End and going shopping in Spitalfield's Market. I bought a nice slightly 40s style dress for a tenner and bought a photographic print of a flapper girl superimposed onto a picture of an old postcard (hard to describe but it will look good on the lounge wall when I get a frame for it). Then we went and found the marathon runner, who had heroically completed the course despite the heat and his knee which gave out after the 16th mile, meaning that he had to limp the remaining ten. Courageous or plain stupid I can't really decide, but he did it all in aid of Oxfam, so I can only congratulate my brother in un law for getting to the end in one piece. After retreiving him from Trafalger Square we went and had pizza and watched Pete drink his first alcoholic drink in five months. When I asked him which marathon he was going to run next, he said never again.