Home again, home again, jiggety-jig
Firstly, thanks to everyone who wished me happy birthday on Thursday. I wasn't being rude and ignoring you; I just wasn't here.
We went up to my parents' on Wednesday evening, a little later than hoped, due to Pellinor getting delayed at work. We were there all day Thursday, and for most of Friday. My dad was ill in bed, though slowly improving, so we just stayed in all the time, rather than tramping around the Cotswolds.
I read a lot. It felt antisocial to grab an actual book, in case I got immersed, so I read my way through every magazine on the coffee table - National Trust, RSPB, the Cheltenham U3A prospectus, the local papers, Saga holiday brochues, the parish magazine etc. I then read all the junk mail, the little instruction leaflet that had come with a German hot water bottle, the sidesman rota for the local church, a record of the rainfall in my parents' garden in June 2001, and a complete list of surnames Gloucestershire genealogical researchers are interested in.
It was at this point that I stopped and tried to add up how many hours I'd just spent reading totally ridiculous things, and wondered how many socially useful things I could have done in that time. Wondering this occupied me for at least 30 seconds, before the guarantee for some walking shoes demanded my attention.
My Mum dropped some heavy hints about my old books being still in the house, so I have come back with several boxes of old children's books, nineteenth century historical novels and modern history books. This is going to demand a complete reorganisations of our book cases, which will tax my poor little librarian's mind, but for now I am content to pretend that the boxes aren't there.
I also found all my old junior school exercise books, which contain some wonderful gems. There's a "day in the life of me" piece, written when I was 9, that consists of about 15 very detailed pages, including a very long and colourful account of a choir practice, during which I frequently hissed at my friend, "Don't glower at the psalms. We get paid today." The best is a long "Myself" project, written during a whole term when I was 9, in which I innocently made my parents come across really badly. "When Auntie June comes to visit, Mummy and Daddy rush round cleaning the house, so she won't know that it's normally messy", or "I think my Daddy was a ruffian at school because he kept knocking girls off their bikes."
My birthday was on Thursday, when I found myself cakeless. My Mum said that she'd made a chocolate cake last Christmas and no-one had eaten it, so she assumed that I didn't eat cake any more. I pointed out that, last Christmas, the cake was just one of about five thousand other sweet things on offer, and of course I needed a cake on my birthday, or how else would I blow out the candles? She ended up putting a candle into a pile of stuffing. It promptly melted, so I ended up consuming quite a lot of red wax along with my dinner. It doesn't seem to be fatal.
Anyway... On Friday evening we headed up to Birmingham. I'd forgotten to print out a map of where the hotel was, and my Dad was in bed, so I couldn't ask him to let me onto the well-guarded internet on his computer. I did, however, find an 1833 street map of Birmingham, so was able to locate the street. Amazingly, this didn't help us find our way around Birmingham city centre by car. The two hours after we arrived at Birmingham were stressed and fraught and will have a veil drawn over there.
At 9, we met up with kargicq, chainmailmaiden and Bacchus. We headed out to find an eating place, but found only scary-looking pubs and a fish and chip shop. After fish and chips, we headed back to the hotel bar, which was full of wedding, including some woman who appeared to be naked from the waist up. Bacchus proved that he may be good at wine, but he is hopeless at espionage and sneaking. His attempts to furtively smuggle alcohol into the bar were stunningly and hilarious unfurtive. They worked, though, and we "enjoyed" Armenian brandy. At least, it might have been Armenian brandy, but none of us could read Armenian. It might have been rocket fuel.
Yesterday, we had breakfast surrounded by the crashed-out wedding party, still in their formal wear, then headed to the Good Food Show, where we met up occasionally with various other people, whose code-names I can't remember. After a day of pushing through crowds and getting sore feet, Pellinor and I came out with no more loot than a bottle of ginger wine, and some chutneys from... wait for it... The Isle of Wight. The whole thing was interesting. I'm not sure I'd want to do it again, but it was interesting to see it, and I sampled some nice cream liqueurs and spicy sauces, and learnt that I still don't like beer, even though I now know a bit more about it.
After the Good Food Show, some of us followed our noble native guides, sigisgrim and amalion, through a German market to a board game shop. Later in the evening, we went to dinner at a very nice French restaurant, where we drank lots of wine, and had a nice waiter, who shed blood in our service. I'd say more about it, except that I'm tired. I always find typing very hard after a few days away. It was a very pleasant meal, though, in good company.
After dinner, the hotel contingent gathered in our hotel room, which felt very studenty. We played along for a while, and discussed A-levels, but by 12.30 we were flagging, and talking about tax. Sic transit gloria mundi.
Then a troubled night's sleep. I think each side of the hotel opened onto a different dimension, since Kargicq got the screeching police cars and sirens outside his room, we got the helicopter, and Chainmailmaiden and Bacchus got nothing at all. We were also woken at 3.30 by some very noisy people who ran along the corridor knocking on everyone's doors. How droll and clever.
This morning, we left after breakfast, and got home in time to go out again and do the week's food shop. And then it's work tomorrow. *sigh* One day I'll finish a holiday feeling rested and refreshed, but today is not that day.
We went up to my parents' on Wednesday evening, a little later than hoped, due to Pellinor getting delayed at work. We were there all day Thursday, and for most of Friday. My dad was ill in bed, though slowly improving, so we just stayed in all the time, rather than tramping around the Cotswolds.
I read a lot. It felt antisocial to grab an actual book, in case I got immersed, so I read my way through every magazine on the coffee table - National Trust, RSPB, the Cheltenham U3A prospectus, the local papers, Saga holiday brochues, the parish magazine etc. I then read all the junk mail, the little instruction leaflet that had come with a German hot water bottle, the sidesman rota for the local church, a record of the rainfall in my parents' garden in June 2001, and a complete list of surnames Gloucestershire genealogical researchers are interested in.
It was at this point that I stopped and tried to add up how many hours I'd just spent reading totally ridiculous things, and wondered how many socially useful things I could have done in that time. Wondering this occupied me for at least 30 seconds, before the guarantee for some walking shoes demanded my attention.
My Mum dropped some heavy hints about my old books being still in the house, so I have come back with several boxes of old children's books, nineteenth century historical novels and modern history books. This is going to demand a complete reorganisations of our book cases, which will tax my poor little librarian's mind, but for now I am content to pretend that the boxes aren't there.
I also found all my old junior school exercise books, which contain some wonderful gems. There's a "day in the life of me" piece, written when I was 9, that consists of about 15 very detailed pages, including a very long and colourful account of a choir practice, during which I frequently hissed at my friend, "Don't glower at the psalms. We get paid today." The best is a long "Myself" project, written during a whole term when I was 9, in which I innocently made my parents come across really badly. "When Auntie June comes to visit, Mummy and Daddy rush round cleaning the house, so she won't know that it's normally messy", or "I think my Daddy was a ruffian at school because he kept knocking girls off their bikes."
My birthday was on Thursday, when I found myself cakeless. My Mum said that she'd made a chocolate cake last Christmas and no-one had eaten it, so she assumed that I didn't eat cake any more. I pointed out that, last Christmas, the cake was just one of about five thousand other sweet things on offer, and of course I needed a cake on my birthday, or how else would I blow out the candles? She ended up putting a candle into a pile of stuffing. It promptly melted, so I ended up consuming quite a lot of red wax along with my dinner. It doesn't seem to be fatal.
Anyway... On Friday evening we headed up to Birmingham. I'd forgotten to print out a map of where the hotel was, and my Dad was in bed, so I couldn't ask him to let me onto the well-guarded internet on his computer. I did, however, find an 1833 street map of Birmingham, so was able to locate the street. Amazingly, this didn't help us find our way around Birmingham city centre by car. The two hours after we arrived at Birmingham were stressed and fraught and will have a veil drawn over there.
At 9, we met up with kargicq, chainmailmaiden and Bacchus. We headed out to find an eating place, but found only scary-looking pubs and a fish and chip shop. After fish and chips, we headed back to the hotel bar, which was full of wedding, including some woman who appeared to be naked from the waist up. Bacchus proved that he may be good at wine, but he is hopeless at espionage and sneaking. His attempts to furtively smuggle alcohol into the bar were stunningly and hilarious unfurtive. They worked, though, and we "enjoyed" Armenian brandy. At least, it might have been Armenian brandy, but none of us could read Armenian. It might have been rocket fuel.
Yesterday, we had breakfast surrounded by the crashed-out wedding party, still in their formal wear, then headed to the Good Food Show, where we met up occasionally with various other people, whose code-names I can't remember. After a day of pushing through crowds and getting sore feet, Pellinor and I came out with no more loot than a bottle of ginger wine, and some chutneys from... wait for it... The Isle of Wight. The whole thing was interesting. I'm not sure I'd want to do it again, but it was interesting to see it, and I sampled some nice cream liqueurs and spicy sauces, and learnt that I still don't like beer, even though I now know a bit more about it.
After the Good Food Show, some of us followed our noble native guides, sigisgrim and amalion, through a German market to a board game shop. Later in the evening, we went to dinner at a very nice French restaurant, where we drank lots of wine, and had a nice waiter, who shed blood in our service. I'd say more about it, except that I'm tired. I always find typing very hard after a few days away. It was a very pleasant meal, though, in good company.
After dinner, the hotel contingent gathered in our hotel room, which felt very studenty. We played along for a while, and discussed A-levels, but by 12.30 we were flagging, and talking about tax. Sic transit gloria mundi.
Then a troubled night's sleep. I think each side of the hotel opened onto a different dimension, since Kargicq got the screeching police cars and sirens outside his room, we got the helicopter, and Chainmailmaiden and Bacchus got nothing at all. We were also woken at 3.30 by some very noisy people who ran along the corridor knocking on everyone's doors. How droll and clever.
This morning, we left after breakfast, and got home in time to go out again and do the week's food shop. And then it's work tomorrow. *sigh* One day I'll finish a holiday feeling rested and refreshed, but today is not that day.