It don't feel like Christmas Eve

It surely don't.

Although the house is Christmas Cheery:

It feels a bit like an ordinary day.  I guess that's getting older for you.  I have to work tonight until 10pm too, which means I will miss the smoked salmon and scrambled egg for tea.  Buggeration.  Oliver has, in a roundabout way, let me know he no longer believes in Father Christmas.  I expected it, and I am a bit relieved really, as I was getting a tad concerned about his logic genes kicking in.  Still, he will probably do what most kids seem to do - carry on half believing in some sort of magic around pressies and Christmas until he reaches his late teens and twenties when Christmas becomes CRAP and all about the alcohol.  Shame.  I am not looking forward to that.

We have done stuff:

Killerton House:

Longleat with the 'friendly' animals,  fab Festival of Light and the last Santa visit :(

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So, let us enjoy the good bits with a nod to Christmas carols for Jesus.  Happy Birthday Mr J and Joy To The World.

I knew it was a mistake

to buy Maltesers AT ALL.

Let alone 'fun sized'.  I bought them as a treat snack for Oliver.  Pah.  Within an hour I had eaten seven bags of them.  Last night I went out and bought a whole new lot to replace them and promptly ate another four bags.  Bloody hell.  I am never buying them again.  (but I will accept large boxes for Birthdays and Christmas). They are the crack cocaine of the chocolate world.

Well, here we are again.

We have enjoyed three weeks of high days and holidays, starting with a week in Ibiza at the beginning of the month.  This was a real bargain holiday, coming in at £886 for the three of us, all inclusive, flying from our local airport, three miles up the road.  Me likey muchly.

It was a lovely break - the weather held and it was wonderful to guzzle, stuff and read books by the pool.  Oliver took an active part in the Kid's Club for the first time and found he enjoyed tripping off to take part in various activities throughout the day.  It gave him a bit of freedom from us and he actually likes meeting people and making friends.  Unlike his parents who sit in a corner with their sunglasses on shunning all social interaction. 

I am not exaggerating.

Some snappies:

 

 

We came back on a Wednesday and then Friday saw us setting off for Dorset, and our annual break at Warmwell.  Lovely.  Lodges set in woodland - so cosy. 

And finally, and not leastly by any means - a trip to Bath to visit my old school chum.  She isn't old, by the way.  Well, as old as I am and I suppose that is pretty old now....

It was a good crack - haven't seen her for years, but familiarity from days of yore mean that there is no awkwardness and conversation flows as easily as the humour.  I caught the train you know - how grown up am I - and got to see a man taking a piss when he forgot to lock the auto door.  Ha ha.  I had the fastest wee in the world when it was my turn for fear of showing my bum to the gathering crowds in the corridor.

Oh, and I got a big ol' haircut:

Then I put a dye on it.

Honey Blonde.  Allegedly.

Trades Description comes to mind.  The brown has lessened a little and now it is edging back towards a lighter shade. 

There are other bleatings to be bleated, but for now, c'est tout.

Au revour mes petits pois.

Fish Face

I woke up this morning with a sandpapery feeling in my eyes.



this is not my cat

To discover the cat was licking my eyebrows and sockets with fervour.  I screwed up my eyes for fear she should lick off the top two surfaces of my eyeballs and tried to brave it out, as it is truly an honour that a cat should deign to take a break from licking it's own arse to give you a wash and brush up too. 

But the red raw skin and fish odour was too much for me and I took off to the bathroom with my eyes closed, bumping off the walls all the way to find a wet wipe.

Phew.

It has been a long time since my last blog post.  Things have happened, but as they slip into dim and distant memories, it seems less vital to bother to blog about them.  But I will give it a go, as I do find my blog a useful record of 'stuff done'.

In no particular order:

I found that I actually enjoy running after the confessed loathing of competitive athletics which I undertook in my teens.  I have been puffing my way around 2-3 miles since January with very little improvement in pace or fitness, but after slowing my pace down considerably it suddenly dawned on me that I liked pootling along with my own thoughts, and that I could run 4-6 miles with an improvement in both pace and fitness.

To this end I went along with Mark one Saturday to Killerton House to do their weekly Park Run.  This is the first 'race' I have attempted in over 25 years - a real milestone for me as I thought I would NEVER want to do it again.  I came 118th out of 250 ish runners, and was 25th female overall.  Not bad, but am aiming to do better this Saturday.

I found a lump in my breast.

This was a sudden discovery, and a heart-stopping moment.  Thus followed a trip to the Docs and three hospital visits, all within the space of a couple of weeks to discover it was a 'whopping' blood-filled cyst which they showed me on ultrasound before sticking in a needle and sucking it all out.

Flippin eck.

I am so glad it is all done and dusted - grateful to the NHS for their speed and care and fully appreciative of the fact I have been able to walk away from this with a big sense of relief when many others would not have that luxury.

Thank you thank you thank you.

We rejoined the National Trust (again) and had a lovely trip out to Coleton  Fishacre.  I bought a Jazz-age CD and it fills me full of Sunday afternoon melancholy when I listen to it.  Lovely.

 

There is a walk down from the house to the coast - truly wonderful on a good day.

 

Mark and I attended a book signing at Torre Abbey with Sophie Hannah, who has written the new Poirot story - The Monogram Murders.  Having discovered her by accident over the last year and read her avidly, I was thrilled to bits that she was given permission by the Agatha Christie estate to write a new Poirot.  The Agatha die-hards are whining endlessly over the fact that she killed off Poirot in Curtain, but this book just slots neatly into a gap where there were about four years where Poirot did not appear, between 1929 and 1932.

Apparently. 

So there.

I haven't read it yet.  And it cost me £18.99 which I resent enormously.  But there you go.  And I met her and managed a conversation without drying up or stammering, so that's Good.

The new school term has started (is it just me, or did the Summer just pass in a blur this year??) with a vengeance and I have upped Oliver's 'work'.  I am pushing him more this year, as I am hugely conscious of the GSCE factor looming on the horizon and if he does end up wanting to go on to Further Education, I have to be thinking about it now....

OH - MIDORI!!!!!

I sold my Filofax on ebay - for £80, can you believe, so I got myself some leather and notebooks, and made myself this:

It is very me, very satisfyingly chunky and full of the bits I need, and I love it.  Happy days.  I am going to make a 'Traveller size' one, and fill it full of holiday ephemera.

The Tour Of Britain passed through Exeter.  I have NO interest whatsoever in cycling, I find it yawn-tastic to the nth degree, but an event is an event is an event, so we trundled along for a look-see.

It was boring waiting,  and so entertained ourselves with selfies.

 

The event was all over in a matter of minutes, and for me the most exciting part was the volume of police motorcycles whizzing by.

 

That is all.