knitonlybutalso

From cinders we go up

First Friday - I wake up and actually felt even worse than how I felt the day before. I am a complete tool, an utter fecking plonker and the worse sort of pathetic waste of space that ever lived because I realise that when I fled from the tiny meeting room yesterday as the walls were closing in and the air pressure was squeezing us to death, I didn't grab my work-wifey or other-favourite-colleague. Essentially I am an unutterable piece of crapness of the worst possible kind as I ran first and never thought to save either of them, her or him. That is a total sick-making thought. The thought of being unable to do my job as I am useless is a minor thought compared to that.

Essentially now I have no idea what to do with my day - I am off but not on holiday, I am off but not sick, I am off - what do I actually do? 7.30 I begin assembling something in the slow cooker, I have no idea what it is, but gravel-guy is due home tonight and will be even more grumpy and tired than usual, so I figure I can do a practical thing like make us dinner. THEN I am going to get myself pulled together and right back on track - this is nonsense, why am I such an idiot and why the hell am I crying AGAIN? So I play the carrot game (if I do those things I don't want to do, I will reward myself with "this" - normally at work that involves scratching away at newsprint print outs with a special colour of highlighter, lilac is a particular treat for no reason), but as I am at home and not working I will catch the 9.46 bus out of Balfron, that is my carrot. I will make myself go out, I open up the lap top and the email and begin an email to HR and copy in the work-wifey in case she thinks I should have calmed down and be back in the office. I specifically mention I don't want any contact with the rest of the team including the manager. I can't actually bring myself to copy in the line manager - every time I start typing his name I start shaking and crying. Literally I seem unable to cope with the idea of any contact with him and after 10 minutes of shaking and worrying over the wording in case it is somehow wrong, very wrong I send it off and a few minutes later I get a really nice reply from HR guy (who is a really sweet grouch), it is a nice response but that sets off more snivelling, again, for no particular reason as this is quite possibly a generic email sent to anyone but it seems way nicer than I deserve. HR guy wants to also know why I don't want line manager involved at this stage and that seems incredibly hard to explain, but deep breathing and telling myself to get a grip gets me sending a response - I can't face the line manager, I simply can't. End of.

But I really must get a grip - being gripless is not me. I am little Miss Grippity that is who I am. The GP said go out do nice things, take time to just be you. Nonplussed. I decide to tackle this in the third person as if I was coming up about things "Juliet" might consider - what are generic nice things that could be suggested? I/we arrange a hair appointment and a facial for Juliet for next week, exhausted for no reason whatsoever I reward myself with that bus trip, Juliet seems a bit of a problem-child to be honest and a bit of a simpleton who cannot figure out what she might like herself.

The bus trip is good - as I stand at the bus stop, my favourite bus driver appears as it is shift handover. He gives me his big smiley, smile and I ask him how his day panned out yesterday (he was driving our bus into Glasgow which was 40 minutes late as it had broken down) and he laughs and says as I was catching his bus yesterday, that made it bearable and I reply I am his number one bus fan/stalker. Evidently I can still make chitter-chatter and pass as normal in brief spurts between the uncontrollable snivelling. Once I am on the bus however I realise I have a bit of a quandary - I have no clue where I want to go, I have no plan and Juliet has no clue either - I always have some plan, even if I don't follow it, I usually don't follow it. Mulling things over and all things considered I figure I will get off in Milngavie, going all the way into town is probably not the right thing to attempt at this stage and I particularly do not want to go down past our office. Milngavie it is, and a tour of supermarkets (Waitrose and Tesco) are also my plan, now I have a plan I am very relieved. I get off at the station and wander down to Waitrose first, it is full of the well heeled and that time of day, the slow moving. Waitrose posh as it is, is where one can score the best range of hoummous and the widest range of tofu, I refuse to be judged on this. I emerge into the cold sunshine with smoked hoummous, basil tofu and a dog-tooth violet in my shopping bag and head off to Tesco, shopping done, the favourite bus driver collects me on the way back to Balfron.

"You really are my favourite bus driver" I tell him

"I better bloody be" he says - "I see more of you than my other half" he says

"I only have eyes for you and you alone"

"Well I'm probably the only one you've seen lately"

"Just as well you are not my second favourite then"

"I can only fecking hope" he grins at me

Chitter-chatter in small bursts seems to be working OK then but I am utterly knackered by the time I get off the bus and find I have a text from gravel-guy to say his train is cancelled and he will be home midnightish.

Now here's the thing, I don't fall apart - this is not me. I am the coper, the one that copes - its what I do. If its what I do then presumably that is what I am and right now I cannot cope, it is like I have ceased to be me. If I am not me - then am I someone else or as the phrase goes, maybe an actual waste of space? But yeah, I cope - I cope with crap. I find a way through or around crap, its what I do and it's who I am - there is always a solution, I can generally make a joke or find a way and I can generally gee people up and I am a pretty convincing person at making others believe they can do this, I am quite the office cheerleader if I notice someone wilting. Essentially I am a complete and utter liar and I had no idea.

I unpack the shopping and realise poor little plant has had one of its pretty flowers lopped off whilst in my shopping bag, I can' t even get it home and start plant-parenting before it's hurt. Shit.

Gravel-guy arrives home earlier than expected - 11.30 cue more snottering. The train shot past them in Birmingham - there was just a whizzing of train and people standing inside the train at the doors waiting to get off, I wonder where those Birmingham bound people ended up. Gravel-guy says he is sure it is menopause, he has heard about this he says with great authority - that's one down side of menopause now being talked about, people who know crap all about "this sort of thing" now feel free to express uninformed nonsense and I have been reduced to a faulty baggage of chemicals. I actually haven't got the energy to discuss.

 

WEEKEND

Saturday: Gravel-guy is unnaturally enthusiastic, about everything. We get up, this is met with enthusiasm - he is not naturally excited by mornings, breakfast over he needs a new hand drill - we have umpteen hand drills in the cellar, we cannot get into most of the cellar but we have umpteen in there, we must go out! he declares. So we do. Hand drills are passe - no one stocks hand drills, he flips manically through pages of instore catalogues (use the bloody index), then flips equally manically back. No hand drills. His enthusiasm continues through Stirling's Tesco - what fruit might we want he wonders aloud and dives excitedly at the clementines, we have a fruit bowl of clementines but I am not for arguing I am almost torporific - over snivelled and somewhat dehydrated and plain old deflated so I just shamble after him like an elderly toddler, mute. Back home he pours excitement into making bacon sandwiches "whats brown but isn't heavy?" he demands suddenly "Light brown!" and he cackles delightedly at his dad-joke.

Sunday: he takes his unnatural enthusiasm for a long run, this is a great relief as really three people in our little house feels overwhelming, that is Hughie the spore-child/Nr.1 child who rarely speaks, Gravel-guy and myself. Hughie disappears towards the corner shop and reappears with a large bag of wotsits that are left on the bench. Normally a wotsit will be pounced on, but I can't muster the enthusiasm or appetite so I've hidden them in the cupboard of dusters and kitchen equipment that is never used so he will think they have been eaten, it is a very sweet thought on his part, but that's the best I can quite manage. I spend the afternoon trying to cast on and knit a cardigan - in my head before all this happened I imagined a bright zingy cardigan of teal with a mainly navy and magenta traditional round yoke pattern and it all seemed splendid. Now I think it might be utter pants, but I solder on - very, very slowly until I am too tired to even hold the needles and toddle off for a nana nap.

 

FIRST WEEK

Monday: Gravel-guy leaves with the firm exhortation to be fine, he will come back on Friday and we will head down to his flat - I can do Kew he says and then museums and wander about, that is what I need he says quite firmly. I have the facial appointment in John Lewis. Gravel-guy parks at the botanic so I can walk in from the West End and I'm doing fine as I trot along Great Western road and zig-zag over into Sauchiehall street, I get the jitters crossing West Nile street but I purposely don't look down towards the office and head determinedly to Buchanan Galleries. Once inside and checking the appointment I realise it is for 9.30 and John Lewis opens at 9.30 - so that immediately worries me as turning up late is NOT my thing, more jitters as I contemplate if turning up at 9.31 or even 9.32 counts as being late for the appointment. The therapist guides me into her little room and settles me on the bed and asks about my "concerns" honestly right now everything concerns me so I presume she asks about skin, only I start crying for no reason - not the big snorting/gasping sobs with mucus but the shallow breath oozey/leaking sort of thing. I manage to explain I have had a bit of stress/anxiety and to ignore the oozing/leakage and she is fabulous. I emerge with buttery soft skin, looking great for a ninety year old and ready to head down Buchanan Street to find my replacement for a beloved baggy navy cardigan I nuked on an extra hot wash when I did the bedding last week.

Buchanan street entails a quick 5 minute walk down to Cos where I know the new cardigan waits, however first I have to post the sickness form - the post office is in West Nile street, shit. West Nile street but nowhere near work, so it will be fine - I manage as far as the Post Office and post the letter but have the shakes coming out and scuttle back to the relative safety of Buchanan street and start my walk down. Somewhere I hear fire engines, it is only when I get to crossing at Nelson Mandala place I realise our office building is having a fire alarm and they are all steadily congregating in Nelson Mandala place, shit oh utter shit and shit again and maybe even shit on a stick, this is just horrific and I am not even sure why. Is there such a thing as colleague phobia? I wonder what it is even called if it exists but this is not good. I want to run but my legs kind of want to tangle up underneath me, I make it to Cos but I am so shaken that I enter 5 digits twice when I try to pay - numpkin, it's four digits. Heading back up to the bus stop I take the next street over again and walk up Queen street. By the time I am on the 12.10 bus I have probably said less than 50 words all morning and I am totally done.

In Maryhill a wee local ned gets on and seems rather taken with a very elegant black woman sitting near the front.

"I know your sister", he says "but you are younger and prettier." an unusual chat-up line but you never know your luck

"Hmmmm...." she replies uncertainly, "I have a brother..."

"Well there you are - you are definitely more girly."

She gets off at the next stop and stands looking rather uncertain as to where she is while the bus pulls away.

Tuesday: I get the haircut and then I sleep, the whole day disappears. Wednesday I arrange to meet a friend ironically also off work for a walk around the local reservoir, of course I'll be there she says but she's even later than the X10 bus, a little while later she sends a message to say she has parked and she will catch me up and then a little later another message to say she has had a moment and left. I think I am better on my own at the reservoir anyway as I don't have to make conversation and or peopling. I am feeling decidedly over-peopled and slightly pissed-off-but-not-surprised that she bailed. Unless you lay a trail of M&Ms in front of this particular friend then she doesn't necessarily appear, she will send endless text messages offering to be there no matter what if you need to talk but I don't like phones/text messages/phone calls etc etc so really endless texts are not helpful. I am much better wandering about by myself. Selfishly I don't want to be propping her up.

Wednesday I wake about 7.00 and walk to Killearn the next village and back - about and hour and a half then sit the rest of the day looking at my knitting of cardigan, what should have been bright and zingy is quite eye-bleedingly awful but I manage to knit 3 more rows and then I sleep.

Thursday, more sleep - even the knitting doesn't happen.

Friday I go back to the GP for my follow up, I am flat but also somewhat shaky and snivelly all together. It is a different GP from any of the ones I have ever encountered and she realizes I am very anxious about that as well as anything and everything, she firmly prints off a sickline for 2 more weeks and then gently persuades me to accept a prescription for 6 diazepam - 6 wont be addictive she says, but they are there if it is overwhelming. I am exhausted and go home to sit and look at my knitting.

Gravel-guy appears at the unnaturally early hour of 7.00pm and is even more enthusiastic than he was last weekend - is that last weekend it feels like this weekend but also at the same time forever ago. He makes my childhood favourite dinner of scrambled egg and tomato. We are heading off down to London tomorrow and I can stay for the two weeks I am signed off, I think he has decided to keep an eye on me. Number 1 child (the spore creature) has promised to stay in touch every day and he will water the plants and take delivery of a new plant child arriving imminently. Gravel-guy is delighted that is all quite sorted.

Crash and burn

Things are not currently going well and I have been signed off work...

A bit of backstory, I have been working on a longish running project - it is at the hard grind stage, the very hard and mind-numbing miserable hard grind stage. This particular stage of these projects used to be done by a group, the group couldn't/wouldn't do the work, so as a temporary backstop until we could figured out a different plan - our team picked it up, we picked it up on the promise we could have designated time for that work alone and other tasks would be lifted, they have never been lifted. One person now did the hard grind a team of 12-15 people wouldn't/couldn't for each project along with their normal job, there was a temporary reprieve at one stage when another team got involved but they didn't like the mind-numbing miserable hard grind stage either and made such a fuss and being a grade above us that they had the mind-numbing miserable hard grind stages taken off them and we had to work even harder to catch up but it got a temp in their team a permanent job at our organisation. But this mind-numbing miserable hard grind stage was all a temporary measure until someone could figure out who could/would do it instead of us and that was in 2010.

Still for 6-9 months of each project we could comfort ourselves that as the team running the actual projects are pretty inept in many ways we got down time between these mind-numbing miserable hard grind stages when we could do other projects and other work, and that was enough to keep us chugging along in our fashion. We NEED that down time - the hard grind miserable and mind numbing work is also currently coupled with issues as to how the other team run their parts of the project, they need to order and track a lot of journal papers for us to appraise and extract data from and this consistently falls down and impacts us, it is stressful on it's own.

So cue about 3 weeks ago when we were called into our managers office to be told there was a new plan, instead of downtime between these long projects and their mind-numbing miserable hard grind stages we would start a new one right on the tail of the current one and in fact with some overlap and carry on with our other tasks as well. Well didn't we squeal - we have been logging and complaining for months about our work load, we have been complaining and logging for months about the stress of the other team not doing their process. We were told that it was unfortunate on so many levels - basically the other team forgot to factor in who does our work or if anyone was available but they had appointed their external group members now so no going back and it was a once-r. So bearing in mind our mind-numbing miserable hard grind stage was also a once-r and that was 10 years ago, the two of us most involved in the work were sent back to our desks in a very unhappy state, but happy in the knowledge that as the work flow "may" be impacted by overlap and timing then it could be put on the mythical "risk register" where problems go to sit until someone higher up feels like discussing them. We were in such an unhappy state that we spent the next week kvetching and bumping our grumpy little gums over this issue until this Monday when we were called aside.

The manager of our managers manager who sits next to me had made a formal complaint down through the line of command - our behaviours were not in line with our organisations of policy on "values and behaviour" and respecting other, we were to stop complaining in case it brought other people down and this could be counted as a formal strike. Not even slightly happy. A formal complaint - not a telling us to zip it or even asking us what the hell were we moaning about THIS time, a formal reprimand.

Cue Thursday, we have an update meeting every week in our small team to check progress which started normally enough until I made the mistake of asking what actually happens when something makes it to the risk register... The team manager got quite energised about labouring the point that our "issue" hadn't made it to the risk register yet, it might - but only it just MIGHT... Being a bit bemused and still not feeling answered despite him repeating this many times I felt compelled to ask "but what does the risk register mean? what does it mean for either the project or the people??" which I admit was a big mistake as he started repeating again that "our" issue was NOT on the risk register yet but it might get on there. So as he started repeating this several times over and people eyes started rolling their eyes and glaring at me as that was going to slow the meeting and haven't we got enough work to do already, already... I realised the walls of the tiny meeting room were bending inwards and they were getting more and more convex as he spoke and I actually couldn't hear him, at the same time the air pressure began to build like a giant pressure cooker and I was getting smaller and smaller but also floating, until something inside my head just went "ping" and somehow I got up and fled.

I am in the ladies loos hiding in a cubicle struggling to breathe and bawling my eyes out and unable to breathe or stand and essentially reduced to a complete gibbering puddle. The work-wifey appears with another trusted colleague from a different team and they scrape me out into the open area of the ladies. Together they work on getting me to breathe and just calm down a bit, one goes and collects my bag/coat, they haul me off the wall I am slumped against and together they take me down in the lift and to the nearest Starbucks while they decide what needs done. The upshot is they decide I need an emergency GP appointment, I need to be away from the office and I need to be somewhere safe - can I get home on the bus OK? 

The bus ride home is OK, I am pretty much the only person travelling on the 11.10 and can sit and snotter/snivel the hour and quarter home undisturbed and the bus ride is so juddery I can't feel my shaking. I give it half an hour after getting in the house before I try to ring the GP as I figure if I really try, I can stop crying and ask for an appointment like a sensible sort of person. That doesn't work so well, as the receptionist answers the phone I lose it completely and she eventually realises I can't even speak and starts me on more breathing, after what feels like ages of trying to breathe she persuades me to go into the kitchen and get a glass of water for "little sips" only I am shaking so much and in such a state I'm wearing the water but a emergency GP appointment is arranged. I count this as a result it is the one productive thing  seem to have managed today.

The GP clinic is mercifully quiet on a Thursday afternoon - about 3 other people and I only have to wait about 10 minutes before I am called but once I am in the consulting room I am back to being a puddle, for much of it I am an incoherent sobbing wreck, until she says quite firmly "there is no way you can go back there at this time" and writes the letter.

That's more than enough of my current train-wreck week, I am signed off.

January

Well January is normally a month of the doldrums, nothing happens. Except January 2020 has been more interesting than that – I have met Deb, yes that Deb – THE Tasmanian Deb. Exciting or what? as in so exciting I didn’t take any photos, but very exciting never the less, but yes, Deb and I have met. We have known each other off and on for years – I’d hesitate to say it must be nearly 20 but it was an online knitting group and we just chimed – isn’t it funny how there are certain people you connect with and never mind the geographical distance. I’ve met one other knitter from that group and she is someone also very special to me as well so the idea of meeting up is exciting but also nerve-inducing – what if someone you really like and enjoy online doesn’t like you in real life??? Anyway we have met, we had a total blast, we really have so much in common and so much to talk over and it was a total joy. The relief is overwhelming.

hmmm its a map but Tazzy is missing, free stock images don't seem to include Tasmania

My other excitement has been renewing my (New Zealand) passport, the days of sticking everything about you into an envelope and trusting it to the RoyalMail are over – which is great as the feeling of sending your life and everything to confirm you are you away in a small brown envelope was somewhat concerning, now happily it is online so it gets zipped down to New Zealand House in London without you leaving the comfort of your sofa except to hunt bits of your life in the large amorphous mass of “official things that can’t be thrown out” stored in shoe boxes “somewhere”. Anyway because I am skint/tight I figured I’d go for the 10 day service and sent off my form and information on the 7^th of January after I got home and had my tea, the next day just before lunchtime I got an email to say it had been done and with an expected signed-for delivery of Monday the 13^th, except on Friday the 10^th I got ANOTHER message to say – it will be “delivered this afternoon” which is great-not great as I was in the office and the office is an hour and a quarter bus ride that leaves once an hour – cue frantic phone call to DHL and their lovely team and a breakneck run for the 11.10 bus and everything has been sorted. That of course now meant my British Residence Permit must be updated – this is also online but much more scary, you have to prove you have been continuously resident – to do that you upload documents such as bank statements/end of year tax certificates/doctors letters and/or utility bills as well as proof of previous permanent residence permits. EVERYTHING. Once you are suitably uploaded you get a terse and slightly threatening confirmation to bring yourself, your confirmation and ALL your documents to a UKVISA centre and you must book an appointment and you may not bring anyone unless they are an advisor or part of your application. It is all a bit like you are on life's naughty step just for being you.

Will I be deported without my knitting??? Worrying

So my UKVISA appointment was for 2.00pm on the 17^th in a converted warehouse near the motorway down “that” end of town and you MUST turn up at least 15 minutes early and you can pay £75 to get your documents checked or trust the gods of chance to smile upon you. I decide to trust the gods to be nice, but still walking the skeevy bits of Glesga to get to the converted warehouse with ALL my documents (bank statements passports, current residence permit, tax certificates…) felt a little uncomfortable – so much so, I am there 45 minutes early. I have extra tissues in case I start snottering during the “interview” and I have a fully charged phone to send goodbyes as I am marched back on to the boat home, I am prepared and nervous as heck.

In case of snotters actually I am a hanky woman pure and simple

I am to report to room 102/103 only there is no room 102/103, there is room 101/102 and room 103/104, I decide to chance 103/104 and enter to find row upon row of bright plastic chairs, empty and two desks at the front with a boy/child half strangled by his attempts at tying his tie and a man with a wonderful walrus moustache who looks like a throwback to 1980s detective shows, I decide the small boy is suitable to assist me and the less scary option, he confirms I am in the right place and invites me to sit down. He asks for my passport and then takes my photo, my fingerprints and my signature, he checks the passport and hands it back. “All done” he says, “huh?” I ask (always articulate in the face of officialdom), “all done”… “but what about my documents?” I ask, “oh them, they are all verified, you’re done and submitted.”

Those are all my documents

5 minutes tops. I am disappointed by the lack of drama – now all I do is wait.

 

Naturally this level of excitement has slowed my knitting, I finished the “Belle” jumper which is lovely in the book and quite nice on Ravelry, to find it looks hideous – utterly unsuited to me – the neck is too high, the colour change is awful and even though I knitted for my size it looks large and shapeless. I think it goes straight to “donate” rather than “gardening/odd jobs/stuffing about in”. Honestly what the hell was I thinking – I am a total sucker for a woolly-pully but I have many, I actually could do with cardigans but still, for some reason I am lured by a nice knitted sweater pattern. The only other knitting has been a tea cosy – it’s a sweet little retro pattern for a small-ish teapot, only this seems intended for a very small teapot and of course I am running out of the blue yarn just before I finish, pfft. The knitting gods have not been smiling on me this month, so I have stuffed about with some very old patchwork instead – many years ago when the children were very small I started making a random hexagons quilt, only I never quite got around to much in the way of progress so what I did make I re-found and have been forming into 2 cushion fronts instead, it will be fine – nothing fabulous but fine.

A (not much to) show and tell, or how I spent Cheesemas

Annual Christmas road trip up to Loch Fyne for hot smoked salmon

Happy New Year, Christmas is over, we have had a quiet one starting with our traditional excursion up to Loch Fyne to buy smoked salmon for Christmas and to visit the small garden nursery cafe next door - it is not the trendiest or most hipster, but the food is lovely and the women who run it are super friendly. Love this place.

Motoring up alongside Long Long

Fish bought, time for a snack...

Christmas day is very quiet for us, Gravel-guy goes out for a run and does something to the fence outside, madam is laying waste to Edinburgh with some childhood friends, Nr.1 kid doesn't do daylight, so in the afternoon we take a walk along the edge of Loch Katrine. There are barely a handful of souls out enjoying this, it is magical.

Anyway, Cheesemas is over (yes it does exist - it is that vague period between the 25th December and early-mid January when it is traditional to eat as much cheese/junk as possible in order to fatten up for New Year fasting and good dietary intentions involving not eating cheesejunk. Gravel-guy and I went away - we don't give each other stuff so instead we head somewhere for a bit of bonding and go wandering in cold windswept places where we couldn't hear a conversation even if we were inclined to try and make some. 

Dunnotar Castle

This year we had 2 nights up in Aberdeen and explored the landscape up north of the city, Aberdeenshire and Banff is a really lovely part of the world - high boulder-y cliffs and little bays. Glorious. That photo of Dunnotar Castle doesn't give any impression of the wind, Gravel-guy says those cliffs it sits on - they are red quartzite cobbles carried 485 million years ago by a huge great river all the way from Norway. Every now and then gravel-guy knows some impressive stuff.

I also packed some knitting and squirrelled deep into my pile of samples and small pots of face care - I am a total sucker for skin preparations and rather than hoarding them I am resolving to actually use them, so whilst day time was spent out and about, evenings were spent with a face covered in magical potion and knitting my current sweater-crush, Belle (quick - very quick and non demanding but will replace a very sad old sweater of almost black).

 

12 photos of 2019

Atelier des Lumières, ParisMusée des arts et métiers, ParisStreet art of St Kentigern, Glasgow

Botanic Gardens, Glasgow

Van Gogh journal at Tate Britain, London

Chihuly exhibition, Kew Gardens, London

Carcassonne

Fontfroide Abbaye

Cathedrale, Albi

A proper flat white, Spitfire Cafe, Glasgow

Princes street, EdinburghDunnotar Castle, Aberdeenshire

The unexpected weekend in London

The vegetable people - Museum of London

Mid-December and I have now seen the new digs that Gravel-guy inhabits in Londonshire, the inside looks a bit ski chalet - all exposed brick, pine and mezzanine floor/bedroom nestling beneath a steeply pitching ceiling whilst the outside looks very much like a retirement complex complete with raised pond and community seating. It is actually very nice and very cosy. I was moderately surprised to see the shrine of homemade marmalade and jam and chutney, but somewhat gratified as well. It was probably a good thing to go away and have a break as I am currently worrying about one of the cupboards in the kitchen - it seems somewhat damp. I don't know if the damp is from a leak from the shower pipe or condensation from a recently fitted kitchen extractor which seems to achieve little if any steam removal. So no poking or prodding on my part, and when gravel-guy returns this weekend, he can look at high places and decide what the issue is.

Anyway much of the weekend went well - he seemed pleased to see me and unusually he was at the airport well before me, normally I have at least 20 minutes of harumphing and feeling a little Billy-no-mates. Part (much) of the enjoyment over the weekend was exploring how gravel-guy lives when left to his own devices (different toothpaste, 50p bodywash and no flannel in sight), I also discovered he has one tea towel, one bath towel (but he bought a Tesco value specially for this wifey) and a fixation with coasters everywhere. I feel like I am discovering the habits of a new species, he also likes 2 duvets and a very warm bed.

Much of the weekend went rather well - a brisk trot along the canal, a visit to the Museum of London (yikes it is like the Tardis - its poked away in the Barbican and doesn't look that big on the outside but it is quite fabulous) and generally pottering about. Less good was Mayfair and then a walk along the heaving Oxford Street (I hate crowds at the best of times and I was hyperventilating and shaking by the end of that), I much prefer the quieter bits and the weirder bits - just don't ever show me pre-Christmas rush hour Oxford Street again.

York

Tansy beetle I believe - rare and endangered

Most people post photos of the Minster when they visit York, you get a gable end with a rather special beetle - this, I believe is a depiction of a Tansy beetle. Tansy is a herb that grows wild in sunny, poor soil and is often mistaken for Ragwort (similar leaves and they both have yellow flowers, although Tansy has very cute "button" type flowers rather than the shabby chic of Ragwort), the reason the Tansy beetle is rare and rather special now is that Tansy gets mistaken for Ragwort which is toxic to animals such as cows and sheep so people pull it out, therefore Tansy often gets pulled out too and these poor little hungry beetles don't fly from one Tansy patch to another - they walk. When you are a tiny, shiny little beetle with a hungry tum that is probably quite a sorrowful trek. Poor little guys - anyway they are hungry, and rare and rather pretty. That's one of the lovely things about the UK - full of little oddities and rare treasure that tourists often miss as so many of these things are very local or have special stories missed by people ticking one big item after another as they zip between the main attractions of a place - you can miss so many quirks and kinks that actually make the place what it is. OK, a few photos of the Minster/locale....

I love this couple - I think she rules, as he seems so aware of her presence, even though he isn't looking at her....

He looks even more distressed and praying for deliverance

Has the artist caught a bit of a nervous facial tic?

Anyway, an opportunity came up to attend a day long meeting in York, so I grabbed it - I love the place, the meeting is very much my area of work interest (methodology - sad, and geeky but there you go). After some discussion with gravel-guy, he expressed an interest in meeting up there rather than either of us travelling the full distance between Glasgow and London, 3 nights were mooted, a very cute apartment in Monkgate was found and then Gravel-guy decided other people had greater need of his time and he could come for 1 night and stay lateish for another, but really he was quite busy and needed by others. Was I impressed? Nope.

The daughter also decided she might come by - she is in Leeds (close), but a night in a cosy bed in a cute apartment and being cosseted and fussed over and not freezing in her very cold flat seemed very appealing. Was I impressed? Nope, but she decided to come anyway, along the way she pinged messages to me - could I pick up a pair of jeans ordered in Mango (nope), could I look at a jersey she had seen online in Zara (nope), her skin feels funny could I go past... (nope). By the time she got to York she was seriously concerned about me as I don’t normally do so many "nopes". Suffice to say, we had quite a lovely day of madam and didn't have to do much of her type of shopping and schlepping about, although she got fed and acquired a tea advent calendar much to her delight.

So it worked out OK in the end, gravel-guy bought dinner - once we found somewhere that was gluten/lactose free for madam - she had fish and chips and ate everything except the plate. More importantly after I got rid of the pair of them I got down to some shopping at the local Palenque (which I like very much) and ate some very large lunches.

more sparkly in real life, I am smitten

This is a lot more sparkly in real life - a bit like little, tiny mermaid scales but I feel fairly sure no mermaids were harmed in the making of the ring. What is more, the daughter normally spots and then critiques such bling "That is hideous - get it off!" but she never noticed. Happy days. I then scuttled back later and got the eggplant coloured, thinner version, just y'know for reasons, but I like that one too.

...and the other one

So now here I am back home and that's rather a good thing as being away from grotty mansions I am dependent on food I don't make - and being away or out and about means portions are huge and I eat, I seriously now need to winch it in. Gravel-guy however must have felt a bit guilty about the York non-event as he has just arranged flight tickets for next weekend to London, I suspect it will involve not a lot of free time and definitely NOT time to stuff about the house finishing bits and bobs I should be finishing but it is a nice sentiment. As Nr.1 child pondered, "perhaps he misses your irritations, mum" I suspect so. Anyway, I get to see his digs and I have told him I am looking forward to eating home cooked at his place as I feel like a complete porker so maybe I needn't go out so much at the moment.

The train trip back was possibly less than joyous - electric cables came down just north of York, so a couple of thousand people were eventually pitched outside the station awaiting information, any information. After a couple of hours the staff were given shiny megaphones, which were possibly too shiny to use as they still didnt tell us anything. Eventually it transpired they "might" have found some buses, people tried to ask where those buses might go (pesky details) but were fobbed off with "there will be buses" how many? Nobody knew, going where? How very dare you even ask. Eventually a small gang of us made it on to a minibus going to Darlington, did I/do I know where Darlington is? No, but I was cautiously excited, we arrived in Darlington about 7.30 and Darlington was more than a little surprised to see us. Trains may or may not be coming from Edinburgh - no one knew, a mysterious train to Newcastle appeared on the boards, so we all go on - hunnerds of people, we got off at Newcastle and this time there was confusion over Edinburgh trains - they were going to Edinburgh its just no one seemed sure if they were STOPPING... I got back to Glasgow Queen Street at 23.05 with the guarantee someone would be there to help people like me who had missed the last bus home, naturally there was no one so a taxi trip of £50 was in order, I am hopeful of claiming that back... 

November and the season changes

Looking up at the castle - pretty isnt it

This was on my walk back from a meeting near Edinburgh Haymarket the other week, I could have caught the train at Haymarket back to Glasgow, but the lure of Princes Street Gardens was too strong and the autumnal sunshine too delicious. I decided it was my reward for sitting through a long morning meeting with a colleague who has been in his job too long so he proceeded to explain MY job and what exactly I had been doing for the last few weeks to external group members. Normally I just sit and let it roll over me, but I figured once he finished I would actually explain what it is I do, as clearly he has no clue. I felt much better for that and he looked a bit stupid. Sadly much of the Princes street gardens will now be under timber boardwalk for the next few weeks as they gear up for the Christmas market and this little spot of heaven and serenity will become a buzzing, raucous nightmare of greasy food and noise, I’m all for a  bit of glitz and fun but the Christmas market like many of the Christmas markets in Scotland are a cheap and tacky imitation of markets elsewhere – expensive but crappy food, expensive but crappy “handmade” crap, expensive but crappy…. And every year exactly the same.

Knitting is going in fits and starts, the purple scarf thing hmmmm sort of gradually progressing ... (done), the green ultra-plain jersey from Rowan (kidsilk haze and felted tweed) sort of gradually progressing ... (finished actually – by ‘eck it is ugly – large and shapeless), the rest of the pile of good intentions – completely stalled… so naturally I am casting about looking for something else to cast on. I am a little concerned about the jersey, it may go straight to “gardening” status as I like the colour (bit perturbed when I started in case the teal kidsilk haze was too muddy against the bright electric green but I think it is OK), what concerns me now is the length – yikes it is long, actually it HAS gone straight to gardening status. Unlike my usual tendencies I have followed it to the letter and I went back and looked at the photo – yes, yikes it IS long. Concerning – do I leave it at that length (and keep my kidneys toasty)? Or do I trim it down a little with an unpick and a re-knitting which as I am exceptionally lazy I would really rather NOT do…. Decisions, but that means I will be casting on for something else… Decisions made - it is my ugly-sweater for when I am feeling sorry for myself.

This looks astonishingly bad on

So anyway, the weather has turned perishingly cold – bright and glittery and frozen, the other day the temperature was -4.0 and as the buses around here don’t do heating in winter (only in summer to stop their engines blowing up), that was an hour and a quarter of sitting in -4.0 until we arrived in Glasgow. Getting off the bus when your legs are numb is an entertainment best observed in others, we were all staggering like drunken penguins. So today, I am working at home and trying out my new baby – a small version of a slow cooker for the first time, I’m making dhal, not that I’ll be eating it tonight as I still have something for my tea – I will have the dhal tomorrow when I get in from our corporate “Away Day” and when I will seriously need cheering up. Who would have thought that in general, larger slow cookers are cheaper than small ones that suit one or two people? Anyway, it seems they are, and dhal is my treat for tomorrow after the corporate away day from hell.

My little treasure - I am deeply enamoured with this little retro gem

I have also changed the bedding from light cotton sheeting to flannelette duvet covers - this is my happy time as I am very snug and cosy and it feels like a "thing" to me every year I make that change - so "happy flannelette-mas", I am sure it is a thing.

Bed time....

I don’t know about corporate away days elsewhere but ours are uniformly dire. We are exhorted to have “fun” and be “creative” which is never going to end well in an organisation that thrives on earnest handwringing and permission asking, the people that work in our directorate are safest in their happy fug of rules and regulations and checking things and following in the strictest possible manner the many SoPs and checklists they like to derive and validate. Fun and creativity are not something I ever want to see any of them get up to, it would be like seeing your colleagues naked. There is also seeing them the next day and knowing you can’t unsee/unknow their whimsical song they created during a particularly creative session on what the directorate means to them. Horrible, horrible, horrible. I feel queasy thinking about it all.

I survived the "Away day" and so did my colleagues, that's all I ever want to say about a day that is now been and gone and can never be revisited. I met a friend afterwards in Glasgow and we trotted of to Gin71 to put the day back on a decent kilter. That's actually a photo of my arm and the ugly sweater, we were both quaffing "rhububbles" which seem to be rhubarb, gin and prosecco, with a wee slice of ginger root on the rim - one was quite enough to have me bouncing up the road for the bus home, delicious.

Glasgow - love this place

It is now the weekend, today the baby Slow-cooker has been pressed into service making chilli for me and the boy. Only the chilli ended up also feeding gravel-guy which was a bit of a surprise as he had been away for about a month, maybe a tiny bit more and for that month or so I had not heard from him. OK, I checked his wellbeing 2 weeks in and heard nothing and wasn't actually sure if he was in Singapore still or Manilla, a week later the monster-child had a very important science type question she needed answering NOW and wanted to know where dad was, my response was - well ask him. He replied within 5 minutes and by then he was in Sri Lanka, my nose was firmly out of joint. He turned up last night, only last night was the night I went to bed with the remnants of a throbbing sinus infection that has settled into a revolting sore throat and cold at the unfeasibly early hour of 9.30pm. Gravel-guy spent the night on a discarded chair in the basement feeling sorry for himself before appearing at the back kitchen window this morning, once I had prised myself off the ceiling I decided that as a very nice person (ha! no I'm not) I let him in, but yknow I might have uses for him at some stage. We are going to have a "little talk" ...

Self-care continues and the louche-life of lounging about

Gravel-guy wasn't back last weekend, so I could slob about. This was rather delightful  - the weather is getting much more autumnal and the nights are drawing in, when I say drawing in, what I actually mean is I don't really fancy the small house being shared with gravel-guy grumping about with no escape whilst it is persisting with rain outside and it is dark, the dark, narrow, country roads really are no good for people perambulating, so we rattle about like 2 cranky peas in a pod. But anyway it is now pleasurably cold and the evening skies are sometimes quite fabulous - look a lemon sky, how utterly, weirdly wonderful.

I was reading and enjoying a post by the imitable Atypical60 about slobbing around at home, she makes me cackle with pleasure when I find there is another "refined slob" out there. I do however hesitate to call myself such a thing - I'd love to be refined, however I'm too much of a peasant, but slob I can do. I have two modes of slobness - as a dab hand at this sort of thing I find just the one isn't enough. I'm not the most put-together person even at the best of times - there are reasons for me being a minimalist type dresser, truly I love the maximalist look but mainly I am too disorganized - take the weekend when I went down to London, I was so excited at packing my knitting and book and skin care samples squirrelled away from trips to Kiehls (they give great samples btw), that I turned up with 7 socks and 3 types of serum, yes 3 and 1/2 pairs of socks... I'd like to think this gives me a rakish and charming air, but really I know in my heart of hearts I probably look a bit chaotic. Essentially I am disorganised and lazy, I need visual cues such as lists and then lists of lists to remind me to pack what I need.

the little make up bag sorted...

I am trying to be that little bit more organised - as soon as I got home from London on the Monday night, I was sorting the toiletries bag - that way I still remember the things I forgot to take as I have quite sensitive skin, I like to be on top of my skincare. It's not as though I have an extensive regime - too many products upset sensitive skin even more, but there are basics I don't like to be without - so I spent a happy hour or so fannying about with little pots and tubes of goo. If I have an overnight for work (rare, but it happens) or any other reason - then I'm sorted and can stop fretting about that and fret about something else like cables. I can fret about cables for powering up my increasingly unreliable camera and my elderly phone. Then I can move to fret about emergency knitting and the like.

Then toiletries packed and ready for next time

Conveniently it is changover time for potions in our household (well for me basically), skin care needs for colder weather and central heating are different to summertime and that goes for fragrance as well. My makeup doesn't change that much during the year - I still need skin protection although summer is a little less obvious coverage.

Given the self-care kicker I am still on (in fits and starts), Wednesdays-working-at-home are now my days for trying colour combinations and or new faddish ideas, this means I explore the brighter colours in my colour palette - I am unlikely to ever fling them all together I suspect - my love for the humble grey (and I mean intentionally) grey teeshirt is too great. Very little can't be put with a grey tee. Grey tee and flannette PJ bottoms are my idea of heaven of an evening, nobody will see me and I am a very happy little critter slobbing about, especially when I am curled up in my nest with a good book. However I am leaning towards the idea of dressing UP for a work day at home - no one sees me but me, so I wear my current favourite jersey, jeans, jewellery, some basic makeup so I don't look like a dandelion head if I answer the door and a spritz of perfume. That makes the PJs and the fresh bed all the sweeter come evening. I also make an effort with what I eat - left to my own devices I veer between tofu / salad veg and wotsits /prosecco.

Un-ironed but oooh so pooofy and soft

Wednesdays being the laundering of the bedding day means my cosy nest is quite delicious on Wednesday night, ok we are un-ironed but we feel so good... we also do the odd experiment on a Wednesday, we bought a cashmere cardigan in TKMaxx for £20 quite a while ago, the colour in daylight does nothing for me - I'm not sure what I was thinking when I bought it, needless to say I haven't worn it - so some washing machine Dylon, "wool cycle" and there you go, a much more plausibly wearable colour. 

Dylon experiment, not "ultra violet" but happy with results

Self care at work is much harder, so far my work-wifey and I have invented the fruit o'clock, basically 7 pieces of fruit and an hour between each one... when they are all gone it is time to go home. We make our own kind of fun. Each day I look for at least a small pleasure (that is often a flat white from my favourite coffee place), do something creative (even if it is just knitting a few stitches) and appreciate beauty or creativity from somewhere or something - that can be a good read or some autumnal leaves, if I can't manage all three during the work day, then I'm OK with a good book or some knitting in the evening counting as part of that mantra. Self care is in some ways a building of rituals and habits to shield against other peoples nonsense, and autumn seems a good time to do this.

The soon-to-be patented satsuma work clock, when they have disappeared, I disappear too

But the self-care at work is hard, too many meetings organised by people with nothing else to do except bump their gums. That's not my thing - I am a librarian partly because I am antisocial - I have fits and bursts of chattiness and being personable, but between those I need a lot of down time when I really don't speak to people and just keep my head down. The worst thing is when nice people organise meetings over the lunch break - as they are nice people we are not supposed to mind, but I mind, I mind very much. Nice people are the worst - you can't really disagree with them as "niceness" is akin to saintliness, never fall for nice people, they get away with stuff. Nor do I stay past my going home time - my bus takes an hour and a quarter, and there is an hour between buses, if other people were happy getting home at 7.30 that would be fine but I am not missing the 17.10 bus for people who like to ramble about nothing.

So self-care at work isn't just about eating well, it's about protecting yourself and setting boundaries which I find really hard. I spent the first 10 years in this job saying "yes" thinking what's the worst that could happen and that is what is encouraged. It means you get stepped on - it is much braver, but more valuable to learn to say no and then neatly sidestep the nonsense, I make a point of saying no and then sticking to it, I have my home time and I have my protected lunch break when I go out away from people. I also make it obligatory to spend time not being talked at, which is hard in my job, but I'm learning.

time to go, satsuma clock works!

A wild(ish) weekend in London

Well the weekend has been, been and gone in a flash basically. I traveled down on the Friday and headed back up Monday, I did wonder how things would pan out and apart from gravel-guy turning up 15 minutes late to meet me at Euston it all went rather well although I could have done with escaping his clutches for a bit of private time preferably in a yarn shop. Still I think I behaved sufficiently well to put those plans into action another time. I love the train journey down - fabulous, sitting, knitting, reading and snoozing.

We started with Friday night at Kew, having seen Chihuly during the day earlier in the year, I'd been very keen to catch this and although it was tipping rain it was superb. I was bemused how well some of the art works did lit up - the ones that were particularly successful were not necessarily the ones I had really liked during the day time. 

Basically you followed the trail of lights and trotted around in a circuit to see the glass outside and inside the glasshouses, even experiencing the glasshouses at night was a treat - they are beautiful when illuminated.

The next day it was still raining, so we did the Natural History Museum, I think it is easily one of my favourite places anywhere - there is something delightful about a rainy afternoon snug in a room full of minerals in glass cases, don't ask me why, but it is.

We spent the whole day there, heading back to our room we passed Daunts books - that's a grumpy Gravel-guy realising his folly of passing a bookshop en route anywhere... although when I came out to look for him I discovered HIM inside engrossed in the bookshelves.

I placated him with coffee in a hipster coffee place somewhere near Hammersmith.

Sunday, it started with rain but this lifted and we had the whole day devoted to the London Wildlife Centre - there are little ponds, there is marsh, there are ducks and geese and otter and Bob the heron. We then walked from there along the Thames pathway to Kew Bridge for dinner, pizza and cider - delicious.

Monday, gravel-guy was off to work and I had the morning to myself, sadly Loop the yarn shrine in Camden passage is shut Mondays, and the Wellcome Institute whilst open is also shut in terms of exhibition - but I did spy this dress approximating all the contraceptive pills a woman would take over 26 years, no I wont be wearing anything like it to work.

I therefore spent my morning pottering around the streets and drinking coffee whilst nursing my book and my knitting - an antipodean without a flat white would be no antipodean at all.