*munches sweeties*
There is nothing more lovely than being woken up by the postlady delivering you Christmas gifts. Mmmmmmmm. *glows* A very big thank-you to erykah101 for being so thoughtful, precious - I am exercing a modicum of self-control and have not yet opened my gift, but rest assured that there shall be major squeeing come Xmas time. *smooches you*
I also want to thank wee guinea-pig K, who likewise sent me pretty things, *smooches you*, and weaselator, who turned up with gifts and hot Thai soup and made me not so lurgy-d.
*loves my friends*
In fandom news, can I say that my BSG ship has much to squee over? Go over here for a spoilery picture from 'Resurrection Ship Part 2'. Put any spin on it you like, I'm squeeing!
I'm also researching my spy_santa fic like a .. researching thing. I sort-of kind-of maybe know what I want to do with it, but I want to get it clear in my head first before committing anything to paper. In the process of researching, however, I came across this fantastic poem that completely encapsulated Irina's attitude to Sydney for me.
For a Five-Year-Old
A snail is climbing up the window-sill
into your room, after a night of rain.
You call me in to see, and I explain
that it would be unkind to leave it there:
it might crawl to the floor; we must take care
that no one squashes it. You understand,
and carry it outside, with careful hand,
to eat a daffodil.
I see, then, that a kind of faith prevails:
your gentleness is moulded still by words
from me, who have trapped mice and shot wild birds,
from me, who drowned your kittens, who betrayed
your closest relatives, and who purveyed
the harshest kind of truth to many another.
But that is how things are: I am your mother,
And we are kind to snails.
Fleur Adcock
On that note, ladies and gents, I'm off to hang out the washing. Having turned up at work yesterday and been summarily dismissed by a senior partner for sounding like death, I am sat on my tod all day today, tidying the house and easting all the perishables I can manage. Tomorrow, I am off to be pampered at my parents' house.
I also want to thank wee guinea-pig K, who likewise sent me pretty things, *smooches you*, and weaselator, who turned up with gifts and hot Thai soup and made me not so lurgy-d.
*loves my friends*
In fandom news, can I say that my BSG ship has much to squee over? Go over here for a spoilery picture from 'Resurrection Ship Part 2'. Put any spin on it you like, I'm squeeing!
I'm also researching my spy_santa fic like a .. researching thing. I sort-of kind-of maybe know what I want to do with it, but I want to get it clear in my head first before committing anything to paper. In the process of researching, however, I came across this fantastic poem that completely encapsulated Irina's attitude to Sydney for me.
For a Five-Year-Old
A snail is climbing up the window-sill
into your room, after a night of rain.
You call me in to see, and I explain
that it would be unkind to leave it there:
it might crawl to the floor; we must take care
that no one squashes it. You understand,
and carry it outside, with careful hand,
to eat a daffodil.
I see, then, that a kind of faith prevails:
your gentleness is moulded still by words
from me, who have trapped mice and shot wild birds,
from me, who drowned your kittens, who betrayed
your closest relatives, and who purveyed
the harshest kind of truth to many another.
But that is how things are: I am your mother,
And we are kind to snails.
Fleur Adcock
On that note, ladies and gents, I'm off to hang out the washing. Having turned up at work yesterday and been summarily dismissed by a senior partner for sounding like death, I am sat on my tod all day today, tidying the house and easting all the perishables I can manage. Tomorrow, I am off to be pampered at my parents' house.