gin-nurtered time waster.
©Elsie Anderton,
The Babylon Lane Tales 2012
The Babylon Tales
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the almost award winning blog from Manchester
The complaints box continues (here).
On Monday we had the following delights:
This morning has started with the saddest news. A client of mine, who retired on Friday, had a heart attack last night and died.
It is all so pointless and unfair. I'm wavering between foot stamping anger and flooring sadness. He was a one-off and was larger than life. An old fashioned gentleman, his heart beat with a rhythm of pure kindness and generosity of spirit. His plans for retirement were epic and borderline mad,
This month I will completely absorbed by the cumulation of nearly eight years work. We are hurtling towards the finish line, which is both depressing and enthralling. The volume of work required of me is ludicrous and because it is something I know as well as my daughter's face, it is more than a little soul sapping in its repetition and lack of excitement. The work is a rehash of work I have done before, but I needs to be at the top of my game. There is no time for error or sloppy half-thoughts.
The upshot is the blog will be quiet and when it's not it may be distracted, despairing and even distressed.
I am going to leave you with some Dr Seuss, because we've been reading it and it brings a nostalgic smile to my face.
So, the general consensus is that New Year's resolutions are just a pointless exercise in self-flagellation. Well. Quite. Still you can count me in, I like to be included and love nothing better than donning a hair shirt and mentally beating myself with a great big stick once I inevitably fail. It's also a bloody good excuse to make another list.
It's been a truly wonderful Christmas, with all the vital ingredients: child manically bouncing with excitement, bestfriends and family, good food, too much sherry and lots and lots of sparkles.
As most of you know we also had a surprise gift on Christmas Eve Eve. Yes, this year we got Christmas Nits. NITS. Santa came a little early and obviously decided to give us a Pan European Child Whipper type warning. We eliminated the nits and I stopped referring to Nigella as the Twatful Witch That Stole My Soul & Christmas. The change to Nigellawitch removes the ungodly undertones, but still allows me to spit on the floor at every mention. Warning successfully heeded, the gifts exponentianally improved on Christmas morning. And oh my they were remarkably good: piles of Ephron, V&A Pattern book, mustard patent go-go boots, jelly moulds, Festival of Britain cushion, 6 year old sewn bookmarks and handmade biscuits in a glorious vintage tin.
Typically yesterday should've been a down day. It's that time of month and year when the taxman beckons; VAT and corporation tax have had to be paid. Astonishingly two small highs overshadowed the taxman lows. These things actually gave me a cliched warm, fuzzy feeling.
Some days just start badly. You get up late, knowing that you have heaps to do and it gets worse and worse. You struggle to write the report you have to finish by the end of the day. You keep losing said report, because stupid Windows keep crashing. Yet you don't learn to autosave, autosave, autosave. Or even back-up. You have to keep re-writing the report, until you feel like throwing your laptop across the room and doing a midnight flit from your business. Then you snap at your daughter. You squabble with your business partner (see report-crashing hysteria). Oh, and then you forget to ring your Gran on her birthday. Then you open a bottle of wine. Seems like a good idea. Not really though, as it only fuels the get-up-late-heaps-to-do-not-enough-time cycle.
It's been one of those days.
On the upside, I haven't had chance to think about my hair. It is now (if you're interested) a faded burgundy cortina red at the front and God knows what at the back, I've stopped looking.
It's been a traumatic week. A week of me making something that is usually short and normally quite mundane, into a drama the height of Amy Winehouse's beehive. I should really kick myself, it's not as if I live in the Congo or I'm trapped down a Chilean mine, for goodness' sake. A little perspective is needed, but instead I am now bringing my drama here. This is largely because everyone who knows and loves me is frankly more than a little bored. My hair drama (yes, hair!) has become all consuming. Let me explain.
gin-nurtered time waster.
©Elsie Anderton,
The Babylon Lane Tales 2012
The Babylon Tales
Promote your Page too
gin-nurtered time waster.
©Elsie Anderton,
The Babylon Lane Tales 2012
The Babylon Tales
Promote your Page too
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