In which not much happens.
Valentine's Day was nice. Chris and I went to Blackfriars in town and had an extremely decadent lunch. Mmm. Mushroom risotto. Mmm chocolate torte.
I'm sort of allergic to spending money on myself, but I caved and bought a voucher for an Indian head massage, eyebrow wax and eyelash tint (?!) for Friday. The first two sound A-OK to me, but the eyelash tint seems like a slightly odd concept. Dye your eyelashes? But why? Oh, why not! I may even go for a French manicure! Lord, I don't even recognize myself.
My week off isn't quite going to plan. A lot of the historic properties we want to see aren't open until next month, and the weather is so changeable that we're never sure if it will be walking weather . (April is the cruelest month? Surely it's February!) And Chris got another brief from the music synch agency today, so he's got a last minute project due at....6 pm. Today. We're definitely going here tomorrow, so I'm looking forward to that.
As it is, I am willing in spring with the kind of stubborn optimism normally reserved for Mary Pickford characters. Wearing a scarf indoors has never been my scene.
Now excuse me, I'm going to crawl back under my Slanket and hibernate.
I'm sort of allergic to spending money on myself, but I caved and bought a voucher for an Indian head massage, eyebrow wax and eyelash tint (?!) for Friday. The first two sound A-OK to me, but the eyelash tint seems like a slightly odd concept. Dye your eyelashes? But why? Oh, why not! I may even go for a French manicure! Lord, I don't even recognize myself.
My week off isn't quite going to plan. A lot of the historic properties we want to see aren't open until next month, and the weather is so changeable that we're never sure if it will be walking weather . (April is the cruelest month? Surely it's February!) And Chris got another brief from the music synch agency today, so he's got a last minute project due at....6 pm. Today. We're definitely going here tomorrow, so I'm looking forward to that.
As it is, I am willing in spring with the kind of stubborn optimism normally reserved for Mary Pickford characters. Wearing a scarf indoors has never been my scene.
Now excuse me, I'm going to crawl back under my Slanket and hibernate.