phantym_56: (ed - headhand)
 Four whole days with no posting. That's not like me. That sort of makes me feel like I should offer some sort of explanation. I've not had anything to say and for once I've managed to not say it. 

Stress at work, hand injury, shopping/hiking, sleep. Kinda rambly )
phantym_56: (big book project)
 God bless quiet relaxing Friday nights in. I've eaten a bowl of pasta (my body is currently capable of doing this) and crawled into my parents' bed because they've got a TV in their room and I've watched Mission Impossible 2 and part of 3 before being turfed out. I am on the quiet quite a big Tom Cruise fan. I know he's gone all crazy but you know... (I have a thing for pint-sized men, I'm aware of this. My GCSE crush, Tom Cruise, Bryan Dick, Ed Byrne, Gordon Michael Woolvett, Iolaus from Hercules: The Legendary Journeys.) And I've been a Mission Impossible (films) fan since I saw the first one aged twelve or so. I know that the second and third ones went all out for the action with the romance subplots when the first one was quieter and perhaps cleverer and a lot more spy-like but they're still epic fun. I don't ask for high art or philosophy in my films - my favourites include the Mission Impossible series, Pirates, Iron Man and Priscilla. (I'm not actually a big film watcher. My DVD collection seems to be mostly TV.) Back to the subject of Tom Cruise, I also love Knight & Day. Ethan Hunt goes undercover as Roy Miller? They're clearly the same person. (And I'd love Minority Report a lot more and watch it more often if it didn't have the eye fixation. I am ridiculously squeamish about eyes.)

This time I watched it - Mission Impossible 2/3, that is - while half working on Chapter Twelve of the sequel of my own spy series and comparing Ethan Hunt to Alex Leyland. They're not very similar in much apart from that they're not very tall. Alex is absolutely phobic about heights which rules him out of trying about 60% of Ethan's stunts, for one thing. I need to make my spy books a little more exotic. Not too much. That's half the point, that the reality is nothing like James Bond, or indeed Ethan Hunt. Chapter Twelve is a bitch. It's over 1000 words too short, I've got Joey having a bout of despair-induced depression, Alex down in the dumps and a thunderstorm rattling around keeping everyone awake. I've been poking it for about two months now in the hope that it'll finish itself and I can move onto a cheerier chapter.

(I am feeling much better than I was earlier. Tomorrow I am off shopping for a couple of OS maps, a compass of my own and some proper waterproof waterproofs. Mine are waterproof in the way a tent is - touch the inside and the water comes through. And you can't wear waterproofs without touching the insides.)
phantym_56: (tg - tilt)
Expensive morning. My poor baby was taken in for emergency surgery on a broken arm - the baby in question being my adored car, by the way, and the arm in question being a front offside suspension swinging arm. How do you break your suspension and not notice? I mean, it's bad enough that I succeeded in breaking it in the first place, but to not know I'd done it?!

So I spent a few hours shopping. I have acquired two more big soft oversized men's shirts which are just brilliant for throwing over a t-shirt as a lightweight but warm extra layer, particularly when I'm travelling in chilly countries, like Lithuania in March or prowling the Arctic Circle in May... My sister is quite a bit disgusted by my taste but I like them. And besides, her taste in clothes tends to consist of a lot of visible flesh, which I really don't do. Except feet. There's a very pretty pair of trekking sandals in this months TGO magazine, red neoprene-lined Merrels which are gorgeous... and very much like my current trekking sandals which are blue-grey and still in very good condition and not in need of replacement. I fail at Being A Girl.

I have also acquired a bottle of Piriton. Not for summer allergies, because I don't have them but for emergency inability to sleep, for example when the sun doesn't set all night in Norway, or when the hotel is so noisy that I'm still awake at 6am crying from tiredness and frustration and subsequently getting mistaken for a drug addict when I venture outside again (this happened about this time last year) or when I'm in London. I don't think I have ever managed to sleep in London. The only thing is that I'm a little nervous that my brain will start pleading for the stuff the moment I get into bed tonight because it knows it's in the house and so on and so on. They keep Piriton behind the counter in chemists, so you have to ask for it. This was something of a major obstacle for me.But they didn't ask any questions or offer alternative suggestions.

The MOT took an hour longer than planned because of the unexpected surgery so I spent quite a while sitting in a park, watching the birds. Swans are massive when they're scrapping in mid-air just above the surface of the stream and they make a lot of noise with their massive flappy wings. There's a bridge having some major work done to it and they've attempted to block the stream underneath with sandbags and then some big tubes to let the water flow through. But six ducklings have got over the sandbags and ended up in the stream under the bridge. The water level is a foot lower there and they can't get back over the bags. Mummy Duck can get between the real stream and this enclosed bit of stream and she keeps popping over to see them but when I left, I think they were all beginning to get a bit upset. All the ducklings were making a constant sad peeping noise and jumping at the bags before drifting off a bit to have a splash and then try again and Mummy Duck had got all the boy ducks in the area to come and see. And there's nothing I can do to help. I can't climb down the wall into the river six feet below and lift them over. I can't find a big plank anywhere to make a bridge. I phoned the RSPB but their automatic switchboard said "If you have an injured or sick bird, please be aware the RSPB is not a welfare charity and can only offer limited advice." I've seen several men from the council observing the stranded ducklings so I hope they'll be rescued. Otherwise they're going to have to grow up in that enclosed spot until they're big enough to fly out like Mummy does. Or perhaps go to the other end of the blockage where I don't think the dam is so high. They'll be ok, I think. But it's not nice leaving them stranded.
phantym_56: (ed - doesn't matter)

Hello. We knew I'd be back pretty soon. I've managed a few quiet days but let's not go into that. I enjoy wittering on here and it's silly to deprive myself of the release for no particular reason.

Since I last wittered, I think I've been snowboarding twice and got on pretty well both times. Back at the stage I was at last July but marginally less terrified. Not bad considering I pretty much abandoned it for the best part of six months. The instructors (who've had their hands full with kids on half term) have been encouraging and managing to keep half an eye on me, which is amazing considering I don't even know them. I like the snowboarders more and more all the time.

Today I've been shopping. See?

 

Today's shopping )


An elaborate fantasy of buying phones and furnishing a house on my imaginary lottery winnings. )


phantym_56: (ed - sleeeepy)

I'm feeling a little better now. Back in my own bed (my parents' bed for some reason is much better for anti-pain naps), I've had some painkillers, I've watched Primeval and Russell Howard's Good News. Now I'm just plain tired. I went out with the girls from work yesterday, to a murder mystery evening. We got back late, my mind had been set going far too fast and it was reluctant to slow down and it also decided it needed to see the Graham Norton Show before I could sleep. I put the computer down and fidgeted for an hour and hovered on the edge of sleep and then gave up, hoisted the laptop back up. Fine, brain. You win.
And then, having not got to sleep until nearly 3am, my brain decided to wake me up by 8. Properly awake. Not the sort of half-awake that compels me to push back the heavy duvet so as to be able to get at the radiator better at 6am but properly now-I'm-awake-I-should-get-up sort of awake. I didn't get up. I listened to the radio on my phone instead, having had to first go downstairs to fetch the thing. Then I got dragged to town, dragged to the bank to get Dad's name taken off my bank account and then had to remain until Sister had finished shopping. I bought The Heroes by Joe Abercrombie and I'm looking forward to finishing Best Served Cold.

Ireland trip planning )


I'm tired. I missed a lot of sleep last night and although I had a nap this afternoon, I've still several hours to catch up on. But first, Primeval.

Musings on Primeval series four. )

Goodnight.


phantym_56: (snowboarding heaven)
I should go to bed because it's a little late and I'm about to be tired. I can feel it coming.

I don't know what's going on - I'm enjoying work! Well, not so much that I wouldn't stay home if I had the opportunity but I'm not getting up every day and going "Oh God, I can't face it today!" I'm busy, we've had visitors in all week so I've seen next-to-nothing of anyone with any authority, I've got loads of stuff done.
 
Driving the company car )
IT vs 71-year-old )
Snowboarding/snowboys )
And it appears, from comments on Facebook, that my mate Silver is coming home from his war earlier than I was expecting. No idea exactly when. I was expecting late March but people keep saying "Not long now!" which seems not quite right when he's still got 2 out of 6 months to go.

The trials and tribulations of needing to buy new shoes )

Aha. Here comes the impending tiredness. Time to brush my teeth and sort out my blankets. They seem to have had a party while I was out today. God knows how they've got in such a tangle. Have I mentioned recently? Blankets are awesome. Get rid of your convenient modern duvets. Blankets. They are the way forward.
phantym_56: (lom - dreams)
Can't answer. Literal dreams, I rarely have them. Or if I do, I can't remember them. They do happen from time to time and they tend to happen several nights in a row which is exhausting but then nothing for months. If you're that interested, I believe I occasionally note them down here under my dreams tag.

Dreams as in things you'd like to happen to you in the future. My future plans are somewhat hazy. A house of my own, with as many bedrooms as possible, lots of books and a world map and eccentric furniture and maybe a cageful of degus. That's within the realms of possibility; only limited by availability of funds. A very patient and understanding husband has a certain appeal but so does being completely independent, not having to look after and be looked after by another person; not have to be accountable to each other, you know, all that. I suppose I might say that I wouldn't mind having a person in my life but I don't want to have to share my life with him. That one's not so likely. The chances of me coming across someone like that is tiny. That doesn't really bother me. It's not a "dream" per se. Other than that, I'd just like to go to New Zealand. Another funding one. I like to keep my so-called dreams within the possible.

Anyway, so. Today I have done some shopping. Mostly for myself but I've got some stuff for my mate Silver. For me I've got a couple of warm fleecy jumpers, a stripy thermal top, a book, some rings and a velvet skirt which isn't as mini as it looks on the hanger. No idea what I'll wear it with. For Silvery, I've got a book, some assorted sweets - if he doesn't want to eat them himself, he knows how much it makes people love him to feed them sweets - cotton wool and baby wipes and eyedrops and socks - the internet says soldiers love this kind of thing and I'd rather send something useful that he'll appreciate than something daft that just takes up space. I've also got a spare Dara DVD that I'll put in - I bought it last year and asked for the other one for Christmas. Mum managed to buy the same one again and I've spent nearly a year wondering what to do with the spare one. And the important bit, the letter. Apparently he won't get it by Christmas but never mind. A message is a message.

And finally, actual Christmas presents. I bought a present for Jess's not-quite-one-year-old son. I promised her two-year-old daughter some curved pieces of wooden railway track but our local toyshops don't have any. I know what I'm getting for Annie but no idea about Jess. Her kids are far easier than she is. And my sister. No idea.

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June 2012

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