Baby Face
I am in hiding from the rush hour.
See, I had to meet up with my mother. This had something to do with my beloved shoes (Doc Marten flats - no laces, just your typical pair of office-flats) having been so much loved that I'd worn holes through the soles. Which I discovered earlier in the week when I stepped on someone's still-smouldering cigarette butt. Owowow. Anyway, I now have a pair of clogs, a pair of kind of funky black suede things with wooden platform and heel, a bag full of Lush bath and beauty products and a selection of DVDs (Being Human S1&2 box set, Good Will Hunting, The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas because Mum insisted I had to see this film and my own copies of Dead Poets Society and Blood Diamond, the latter four courtesy of HMV's 2-for-£10 sale). I am apparently to consider this a finder's fee for the various DVDs, the pair of Birkenstocks, the Lush products and the new cocktail bar I helped Mum find, as well as for being the primary plotter of our early summer weekend in Brighton. (Mum likes it when I take her places because I apparently know all the awesome bars/restaurants/shops/hotels/etc, though gods know I have no idea how I know. I tell you, it's radar!) Not complaining.
Certainly not complaining (but laughing a lot) at the fact that I got carded today. They weren't operating Challenge 25 either; they honestly thought I looked under 21. This is really only vaguely annoying because I don't have a lot of ID that proves my age. Thankfully, I carry my expired passport with me everywhere and that at least states my date of birth. The bartender looked surprised as hell when he saw 1977 as my year of birth, and even more so when my mother returned to the table from her trip to the loo while I was being carded. Mostly because she giggled and told him, "She's my daughter, for Christ's sake".
My mother looks maybe 40. This does not really help my case for getting a drink.
In any case, we did get served (Bellinis are awesome) and now I'm sitting in a cybercaff, hiding from the rush hour. It says a lot about me that I'm here and not holed up in a pub someplace. But this is cheaper entertainment, really. I might go dump £1 into the DDR machine in the nearby arcade if I get really bored, and I probably ought to grab dinner at some point.
At least I finished the stupid Dragon Age parody fic last night. (Yes, I set Dragon Age: Origins - or at least the mage origin of same - to the songs of The Wizard of Oz. I blame
mitchy for her obsession with that "Over the Rainbow" talent search competition programme on the BBC. Dear gods - first real introduction to the fandom is a Wizard of Oz parody fic. If I ever write romance/angst/adventure, the fandom might have a collective aneurysm.) Now I can focus on the last couple of chapters of Birth Rites. I've made a good start on Chapter 22, so there's that at least, and I know how it's going to end. Bonus. Then I can stick it in a drawer and forget about it for a couple of weeks.
See, I had to meet up with my mother. This had something to do with my beloved shoes (Doc Marten flats - no laces, just your typical pair of office-flats) having been so much loved that I'd worn holes through the soles. Which I discovered earlier in the week when I stepped on someone's still-smouldering cigarette butt. Owowow. Anyway, I now have a pair of clogs, a pair of kind of funky black suede things with wooden platform and heel, a bag full of Lush bath and beauty products and a selection of DVDs (Being Human S1&2 box set, Good Will Hunting, The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas because Mum insisted I had to see this film and my own copies of Dead Poets Society and Blood Diamond, the latter four courtesy of HMV's 2-for-£10 sale). I am apparently to consider this a finder's fee for the various DVDs, the pair of Birkenstocks, the Lush products and the new cocktail bar I helped Mum find, as well as for being the primary plotter of our early summer weekend in Brighton. (Mum likes it when I take her places because I apparently know all the awesome bars/restaurants/shops/hotels/etc, though gods know I have no idea how I know. I tell you, it's radar!) Not complaining.
Certainly not complaining (but laughing a lot) at the fact that I got carded today. They weren't operating Challenge 25 either; they honestly thought I looked under 21. This is really only vaguely annoying because I don't have a lot of ID that proves my age. Thankfully, I carry my expired passport with me everywhere and that at least states my date of birth. The bartender looked surprised as hell when he saw 1977 as my year of birth, and even more so when my mother returned to the table from her trip to the loo while I was being carded. Mostly because she giggled and told him, "She's my daughter, for Christ's sake".
My mother looks maybe 40. This does not really help my case for getting a drink.
In any case, we did get served (Bellinis are awesome) and now I'm sitting in a cybercaff, hiding from the rush hour. It says a lot about me that I'm here and not holed up in a pub someplace. But this is cheaper entertainment, really. I might go dump £1 into the DDR machine in the nearby arcade if I get really bored, and I probably ought to grab dinner at some point.
At least I finished the stupid Dragon Age parody fic last night. (Yes, I set Dragon Age: Origins - or at least the mage origin of same - to the songs of The Wizard of Oz. I blame
mitchy for her obsession with that "Over the Rainbow" talent search competition programme on the BBC. Dear gods - first real introduction to the fandom is a Wizard of Oz parody fic. If I ever write romance/angst/adventure, the fandom might have a collective aneurysm.) Now I can focus on the last couple of chapters of Birth Rites. I've made a good start on Chapter 22, so there's that at least, and I know how it's going to end. Bonus. Then I can stick it in a drawer and forget about it for a couple of weeks.