Things that I have been doing, which include the kitchen and not having a heart attack
After 3 weeks of hard graft, 3 nights cleaning until 3am, countless swear words, and a bone-deep weariness which has slowly turned into a cautious sense of glee, the kitchen is finally done.
Behold!
It looks smaller now that we've put the table back in, but at least now there will be enough space for second child to have her own chair rather than sit in my lap. Also being in the kitchen no longer fills me with palpable rage, anxiety and despair, so all is good on that front.
The builders have been in all week, repairing the flood damage they caused. This has had its share of good things - the hallway has been painted a lovely shade of brown and looks so beautiful that I want to live there - but it has also brought its share of alarming events. Namely, when I went to open the airing cupboard and came face to face with a tattood Polish dude with a paintbrush who had been crouching there. If I didn't have a heart attack then, I never will.
In an attempt to break our routine of staying up until the wee hours cleaning and polishing and lifting heavy things, Z and I went out last night. We had a Groupon to Proud Cabaret, and it was very very good indeed. The aerial acts were jaw-droppingly astonishing, and I scored a facefull of glitter and a lick from Banbury Cross both of which gave me a frisson of delight.
Other time well-spent has included a visit to The Grasshopper Inn for some R&R that included lying in the utterly sumptuous soft-yet-firm bed and watching bonkers 80s music videos (Bonnie Tyler! Celine Dion!) and walking around the beaches of Folkestone, which led Z and me to develop a (likely not hilarious to anybody but us) Little Britain style routine that mainly of trilling" Are you a British subject? I am a British subject. Look at me, doing British things, in a British way."
We gave up on Folkestone Triennial after the first few pieces, on account of negotiating all the walking, staircases and sullen youth that seemed to be involved in travelling from one place to the other.
But I found a heart on the beach
and the moody sky and rocks and waves were their own kind of poetry.
The full set of pictures is here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/rainsinger/sets/72157627622497162/
Behold!
It looks smaller now that we've put the table back in, but at least now there will be enough space for second child to have her own chair rather than sit in my lap. Also being in the kitchen no longer fills me with palpable rage, anxiety and despair, so all is good on that front.
The builders have been in all week, repairing the flood damage they caused. This has had its share of good things - the hallway has been painted a lovely shade of brown and looks so beautiful that I want to live there - but it has also brought its share of alarming events. Namely, when I went to open the airing cupboard and came face to face with a tattood Polish dude with a paintbrush who had been crouching there. If I didn't have a heart attack then, I never will.
In an attempt to break our routine of staying up until the wee hours cleaning and polishing and lifting heavy things, Z and I went out last night. We had a Groupon to Proud Cabaret, and it was very very good indeed. The aerial acts were jaw-droppingly astonishing, and I scored a facefull of glitter and a lick from Banbury Cross both of which gave me a frisson of delight.
Other time well-spent has included a visit to The Grasshopper Inn for some R&R that included lying in the utterly sumptuous soft-yet-firm bed and watching bonkers 80s music videos (Bonnie Tyler! Celine Dion!) and walking around the beaches of Folkestone, which led Z and me to develop a (likely not hilarious to anybody but us) Little Britain style routine that mainly of trilling" Are you a British subject? I am a British subject. Look at me, doing British things, in a British way."
We gave up on Folkestone Triennial after the first few pieces, on account of negotiating all the walking, staircases and sullen youth that seemed to be involved in travelling from one place to the other.
But I found a heart on the beach
and the moody sky and rocks and waves were their own kind of poetry.
The full set of pictures is here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/rainsinger/sets/72157627622497162/