Gallivanting with the ever lovely Rain...
I think today was rather like a second nameday - only far crispier than the first one.
I did my chores, showered and got into Town at the right time and without mishap - and I got to trudge across Ladywell Fields in the snow. (There was a minor point of hallucinating a soldier getting their brains blown out but I think I'll put that down to a Birdsong flashback and ignore it.)
Over coffee and lunch I am told about the sagas of life in Sursia, the fun of translating 'comrade' (companion partner special friend learned colleague) how asking for negative feedback gets you cake and other such idiosyncrasies of work and life in that far away and snowy place. I am also gifted vodka (Rain is planning on getting me to try them all. This might take some time...) a black ribbed jumper, some gloriously sanguine nail varnish, and what can best be described as a shambly-killing device. It's a nicely turned and intricately carved mace. It's inlaid with small glass beads so is obviously decorative, and is made of wood so technically doesn't count as an offensive weapon. I have no idea what it actually is. Possibly a very ornate potato masher. Or possibly it actually is a wooden mace - are there a lot of these things in Russia?
We perused Liberty's and my neurons are now the proud owner of lipstick which looks bright turquoise, but is actually just a faint glimmering shimmer. Tradition dictated we head to the beadshop, but it had disappeared and was no longer a Carnaby St fixture. *sadlyfoxears*
We rallied when I mentioned going to Fox&Lewis on St James St for pipe tobacco and Rain suddenly thought snuff would be a marvelous thing to have. So we did, and we do. Thence to Higgins for coffee and tea purchased in neat packages for both us and parents various whilst I bemoaned my lack of 18th C corsetry and bemused random city gents.
Then onwards to the acquisition of strange nougat sweets and the collecting of the all important Magical Pieces of Very Important Paper (otherwise known as visas and such) that allow Rain to return to the far-away land of ice. Celebratory G&T and tarot readings in the pub.
Finally, because I looked so delighted and neuronic at the news that Rain's mother had cooked supper over the fire, I was invited back to Balcombe Street to join in. (We're talking about a log/coal fire with real flames, a grate and a chimney in case anyone is confused at this point.) I was given a large dressing gown and a glass of sloe gin for warmth and instructed to tend the fire and the frying pan whilst Rain cut pork, onion, mushrooms, cabbage and leek into the pan. The mix was then fried/smoked/flambe'd right on top of the logs. It was very tasty and I must now resist the urge to a) make supper on the fire at the Oast and b) knock the chimney breast open in the flat and rig up some sort of open fire / grate thing.
So that was my day, filled with coffee and gallivanting, laughing and exclaiming over the strangeness of Russia and being thoroughly spoilt. I'm now back in Shamblyland, tired, full, smelling faintly of woodsmoke and thoroughly satisfied with what has to have been the most interesting and meekle Monday in years =)
I did my chores, showered and got into Town at the right time and without mishap - and I got to trudge across Ladywell Fields in the snow. (There was a minor point of hallucinating a soldier getting their brains blown out but I think I'll put that down to a Birdsong flashback and ignore it.)
Over coffee and lunch I am told about the sagas of life in Sursia, the fun of translating 'comrade' (companion partner special friend learned colleague) how asking for negative feedback gets you cake and other such idiosyncrasies of work and life in that far away and snowy place. I am also gifted vodka (Rain is planning on getting me to try them all. This might take some time...) a black ribbed jumper, some gloriously sanguine nail varnish, and what can best be described as a shambly-killing device. It's a nicely turned and intricately carved mace. It's inlaid with small glass beads so is obviously decorative, and is made of wood so technically doesn't count as an offensive weapon. I have no idea what it actually is. Possibly a very ornate potato masher. Or possibly it actually is a wooden mace - are there a lot of these things in Russia?
We perused Liberty's and my neurons are now the proud owner of lipstick which looks bright turquoise, but is actually just a faint glimmering shimmer. Tradition dictated we head to the beadshop, but it had disappeared and was no longer a Carnaby St fixture. *sadlyfoxears*
We rallied when I mentioned going to Fox&Lewis on St James St for pipe tobacco and Rain suddenly thought snuff would be a marvelous thing to have. So we did, and we do. Thence to Higgins for coffee and tea purchased in neat packages for both us and parents various whilst I bemoaned my lack of 18th C corsetry and bemused random city gents.
Then onwards to the acquisition of strange nougat sweets and the collecting of the all important Magical Pieces of Very Important Paper (otherwise known as visas and such) that allow Rain to return to the far-away land of ice. Celebratory G&T and tarot readings in the pub.
Finally, because I looked so delighted and neuronic at the news that Rain's mother had cooked supper over the fire, I was invited back to Balcombe Street to join in. (We're talking about a log/coal fire with real flames, a grate and a chimney in case anyone is confused at this point.) I was given a large dressing gown and a glass of sloe gin for warmth and instructed to tend the fire and the frying pan whilst Rain cut pork, onion, mushrooms, cabbage and leek into the pan. The mix was then fried/smoked/flambe'd right on top of the logs. It was very tasty and I must now resist the urge to a) make supper on the fire at the Oast and b) knock the chimney breast open in the flat and rig up some sort of open fire / grate thing.
So that was my day, filled with coffee and gallivanting, laughing and exclaiming over the strangeness of Russia and being thoroughly spoilt. I'm now back in Shamblyland, tired, full, smelling faintly of woodsmoke and thoroughly satisfied with what has to have been the most interesting and meekle Monday in years =)