Death From Above

Never has the excuse "because everyone else was doing it" been more idiotically used. I sweated so much my de-humidifer turned itself on the minute I walked into it's vicinity. My hair is dripping.

I am going to ache like a beast tomorrow. But it was AWESOME. There was hitting of things. And hitting of other things. Basically lots of hitting^[1].

^[1]The friend holding the pads for me was chanting "Nematodes, Nematodes, Nematodes" as I punched them into oblivion. Little wiggly gits.

1. First, spend the previous two days writing a frankly hideous amount of smut to create a foundation of sheer awesomeness.

2. Put on the sexy trousers of swish (slit up to mid-calf) and the shoes of striding out.

3. Strut. (as far as the delicious coffee shop and imbibe some delicious caffeine and a croissant).

4. Strut some more (whilst finishing the delicious caffeine).

5. Follow recommendations to the delightful wee shop of perfect colours and amazing textures of clothing. Discover they have a sale on and most everything is only 10 of your delicious Euros.

6. Try EVERYTHING on.

7. Strut a little, wiggle and boogie in your changing room, accessing that foundation of sheer awesomeness brought about by (1).

8. Enjoy. Especially the textures. These materials are expensive, wallow in it.

9. Buy the best of the stuff.

10. Repeat in all the shops that have the nice colours (this turned out to be 3 out of the whole town, but ce la vie, I knew that going in).

11. Strut some more. Swing those bags of accomplishment.

12. Come home with 2 wedding top options and some more delicious clothes to wear to work.

13. Attempt to strut up two flights of stairs to your flat. Avoid stumbling on your face by mere fortuitous coincidence.

14. End. A Winnar is you.

Yesterday it was this Pic:



Which set off an enquiry into what would happen if Mal had sired a child that night with Saffron/Yolanda (SPECIAL hell) and if she had been dumped back into his life at the age of 12. So that was an episode sketched out for sweetsyren and an entire afternoon gone.

..."Is anyone going to tell me why my second in command seems to think it perfectly OK to lock my daughter in the airlock without consulting me first?"

~X~

Today I woke up and thought "well, at least I've got that out of my system now."

But no. It's never that easy.

So today was "Donna and Cas and WerewolfDean in NY".

... yeah, I got nothing.

Woah. Tour-group of tourists with cameras on the Quay outside my window. Feel that perhaps I should have brushed my hair this morning.

3 mins later:
Woman leading tour-goup is gesticulating in my direction and giving a history schpeil. I AM NOT HISTORY. G'WAI!

5 mins later:
Tour-group still there. Cameras are focussing. MOVE ALONG!!!

All was quiet in the flat but for the tappity tappity of keys. Ficcage was occurring. Ideas were flowing, dialogue was being polished, scenarios were being described and all was well. Until a great wail went up from our beloved author.

"How Do Two People Of The Same Height Hug?!!!"

Oh, there was a wailing and gnashing of teeth. The internet was consulted (did you know there's a WikiHow on How to Hug? No, me neither). And lo, was the beta bombarded with questions. But bless her heart she didn't stumble, she didn't quail. No. She jumped to her feet.

"Person in this house who loves me" she summoned! "Come hither, for a person on the internet that you vaguely know needs us to model some positions." And he did come hither and with the aid of a stool they did model my sketchily described positions until they found one that worked.

And this is why my beta is better than yours. Thanks darlin' And to himself. You guys ROCK.

*cough cough, wheeze wheeze, snuffle snuffle etc*

The cold is kicking my arse rather than vice versa. Great fever dreams last night, all Dollhouse infused and weird. But so far it's not affecting my travel too much (I got the 10 past train instead of the quarter past. ah well, still gonna arrive in Crewe on time).

Yesterday I coughed and snuffled my way through the Con and was rewarded by meeting the delightfully courteous Mr Kranz in the hotel bar in the early evening. We kindly offered to show him the way to the pub where he was meeting his mates because he didn't know where it was. Politeness and etiquette and all that, you can't deny a chap access to a pub when he's desirous of a beverage can you? :D

Nice pub as well. Was even showing the Arsenal match.

I get to sleep in my own bed tonight which will be nice! sweetsyren's sofa is comfy but I'm feeling the need for my own precious duvit.

I've had such a lovely day at the sea-side.

*sigh of happiness*

Scarborough was sunny! SUNNY! It was so sunny that the Australian's posh glasses that automatically tint in bright light cleverly automatically tinted. (I had to squint cos I'm just common)

There was fish and chips on the harbour wall, gentle strolling and admiring the blue of the sea against the red roofs of the town. Apparently Yorkshire seagulls are enormous and EVIL.

I dragged them up the hill to the castle because it had to be done and as a reward for the ascent there was teaching of how to make a blade of grass squeal between the thumbs. The castle was full of history, as you do, but the Australians discovered some random hobbit mounds that were then lain on for the catching of rays. I'm definitely solar powered. The view was amazing from up there, I forget how far you can see! The sea stretched out forever.

Then there was ice-cream and paddling (by me, I didn't force them to experience the power of the North Sea) and then we had to come home. I can report that BOTH were falling asleep on the train on the way home so I count that as a successful day.

And it's STILL light!

Thanks to Film4 I have spent the afternoon wallowing with Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr in An Affair To Remember.

Now I want to lie on a chaise lounge with a blanket on my lap while the man I love terribly and desperately stalks around the room sniping at me and generally being all hurt and misunderstood.

Ah yes, the old ones are definitely the best.

I never got round to finishing my Hogswatch Fluff - mainly due to days being filled with the need to "CLEAN ALL THE THINGS!!!" and "GO CHRISTMAS SHOPPING LIKE A M__ F__ ADULT!!!"

(I'll get it done by New Year I promise)

Anyway. In place of that delightful little gem I bring you this: A collaborative effort from the whole family, our Christmas insanity. With influence from Josephine and Christine-Pullen-Thompson, Georgette Heyer, Jane Austen, P.G. Wodehouse and many, many others. Oh and the Ballet of Cinderella we were watching last night.

Some background: BigSis demanded I entertained her with a story as she prepared the puddin' part of dinner (lunch for you soft southern pansies). I began it in all innocence, but it became corrupted rather quickly. This is the written down version, edited as we went along. Oh, and it's completely un-beta-ed.

( For Want Of A Horsebox... )

Wow.

That is really all I can say about that. Though if pressed I could go a little further I suppose. If pressed.

Monday: It has snowed! TH and the students respond in time honoured manner by:
a) Doing little/no work
b) Going for a walk to look at the pretty (including standing on lake until it cracked and marvelling at the 2cm thick ice.
c) Building a 6ft tall phallus complete with testicles.

Tuesday: It has snowed again! TH and the students respond in time honoured manner by:
a) Doing little/no work
b) Complaining about the cold.
c) Building a "Mr T" snowman, complete with mohawk, biceps and medalion. (the snow was wetter and more sculptable).

Students were requested to remove items from the phallus so that it looked a little less realistic. They did so. Snow sculpture was still pretty obviously what it was.

( Anyone still reading? )

Oh, and the snow/perfect peace on Sunday meant I finally got the chapter of fic finished that I've been battering at for almost 3 years now. There are no words for the glee. No words.

And now I have wine. And Wifi. A great combination.