parthenia: (Default)
I am rubbish at LJ. I will reply to those diety comments, I promise.


1. I just tried to blow off a potential client with several huge reasons why I couldn't do their project. They do not care. They wish me to quote anyway. They have lots of other people lined up to quote too (I am not so sure about this). They may of course change their minds when they see my quote. MOOAHAHAHAHAHA.

2. Spent the weekend in Scotland with [ profile] unblinkered and [ profile] f4f3 which was incredibly pleasant...

3. Watched [ profile] unblinkered buy a mountain bike from a seriously impressive bike shop. While she was talking Shimano, I wandered around and eventually tried on some cycling shorts which came with a padded gusset insert. Not pretty. This - well, let's say that 'camel toe' doesn't even begin to cover the effect of this fine garment. 'Lycra labia' perhaps gets you closer. Sorry. SORRY. I can't believe I just typed that.

4. On Saturday we trekked up to Knapdale Forest in mid-Argyll and went on a beaver hunt, aka a beautiful walk around a lochan. Naturally, [ profile] f4f3 Twittered about this, the mad fool, and suddenly got lots of porn laydeez attempting to follow him. I was almost more amused by the signs saying 'Scottish Beaver Trials.' Have we learned nothing from Salem?

5. Lowlight was coming back from the Beaver Hunt and finding a tick on my wrist. Those wee buggers are murder to drag off yourself. It is still as itchy as anything although the Lyme Disease rash has not yet materialised. /optimism.

6. Highlight of the walk, apart from the walk (think lochan with submerged crannog, dappled sunshine on water, trees and heather and rock and midges) was the abandoned village with the lovely holy well on the edge. Just a spring in the middle of nowhere, with slabs around and a carved standing stone to mark the place. I think that was my Solstice Moment.

7. Ate fine Scottish food. You've heard of the French Paradox? (red wine and saturated fat contributing to health). Now meet the Scottish Non Paradox (whisky, black pudding and tablet leading straight to an early grave).

8. Shot the breeze. I'd forgotten how funny the Scots are. Trying to come up with an example from the weekend, but the kind of thing I'm thinking of is like [ profile] f4f3's anecdote about the Partick Thistle (Scottish football team) coach. They're one man down. One of his players is lying on the floor, concussed. Player comes round dizzily and says, 'Who am I?' Coach: 'You're Pele, son, now get back on the pitch.'

9. Home again. I missed everyone. Little E. superglued to my side. Young P. off sick again. House is bombsite.

10. LJ - is it just me or is it a bit bizarre nowadays? Sometimes it's like visiting a tiny landlocked principality full of mad people arguing, and you think my God, I used to live here.

ETA Weird anons are weird. 0.0 You see? This is exactly the trouble [ profile] f4f3 got into.
parthenia: (Default)
1. I wrote and complained to the Observer about their bloody Dummy Mummy piece. Disgusted Yet Fertile of Tonbridge Wells, LOL. This is of course exactly what they want and they will jump up and down at the waves that Observer Woman continues to make. Meh.

2. In contrast, the Grauniad has a thought-provoking piece called The Chore Wars, on the differences in attitudes to household jobs between mothers and fathers. Interesting how often the word 'anger' is used in this case.

I speak as someone who has had several flaming rows this week with B. who is currently working all the hours God gives and is constitutionally *expletive deleted* incapable of actually wiping down a worksurface or putting the *expletive deleted* milk back in the fridge. Ironing a small girl's crumpled dress? Feh.

Anyway, this combined with some interesting PMT to create weeping shouty me, shouting incoherent stuff about not having intended to become a 1950s domestic goddess.

Little E. was so shocked (upstaged?) at the parental shouting that after he dropped her at school, she sent B. back home to kiss me and say sorry.

3. If I never put together another sodding Ikea flatpack it will be too soon. *sweats*

4. While sweating over flatpacks, I've been listening to the House of Commons Treasury Select Committee on BBC live questioning a wunch of bankers. Absolute gold.

ETA I realise I wrote this entirely to rant. I've just re-read the Grauniad article and some of the depressingly hostile comments to it from men and women who Have Got It All Sorted, and now I'm grumpier than ever. I... well, I am not in the right mental place to respond to constructive suggestions. Think I'll go and drink wine.


parthenia: (Default)
At Home I'm A Tourist

February 2014

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