The pity of it!

Our boiler is broken.

For some time it has been a little shall we say temperamental. Not the least of which eccentricities was a snapped off hot water thermostat, resulting in decidedly un-hot water.

In any case, on Sunday, it gave up the ghost. May it rest in peace.

Our landlord has been very good in arranging a plumber to come round and fix it. But not quite so good on the timings. The timings being two weeks' timings.

Two weeks with no hot water!

Now it is true, I am a little pre-menstrual. I will grant you that. I will grant anyone that. Probably with a great deal of sobbing "No, you're right, you're totally right.... *SNIFF*"

But the news of the lack of hot water has sent me into some kind of teary-melty-weepy puddlish lump.

All we have is a tiny sink.

A tiny and unfeasibly high sink. (I am, it is true, unfeasibly small. So it doesn't take an awful lot of height to make a sink unfeasible for me. If you know what I mean. And why shouldn't you? I have made it clear in a number of excellent sentences.)

And a kettle.

Anyway. I looked at tin baths on ebay.

It is a possibility.

Oh I am all of a nonsense!

Dear reader, oh!

*siiiiiiiiiigh*

And also,

*sniiiiiiiiff*

What's in a name?

Now look.

I have a name. Like an actual name. The one that most people call me.

I know you must be disappointed, after all this time. You must feel as though I have been pulling the wool over your eyes.

I'm so sorry.

Here is my quandary: I have an interesting and vaguely amusing post, but it is based on my actual name.

So.

I have come up with a plan, a plan of disguise and cunning to conceal my true identity.

Here goes.

Imagine my first name is the shortening of a name that can be shortened. As "Chris" is to "Christopher".

So if we work here with the name that you believe my name to be, I am "Miss". This is what I am called.

However, there are some people, in this hypothetical situation, whose name is in fact "Missifer", for example, and who occasionally shorten their name to "Miss".

(I was christened "Miss", but some people were christened the longer version "Missifer" and only use "Miss" as a shortened version.)

Are you following?

So.

Again.

Hub came back from work and told me that today he took a booking for a woman called "Missifer Tickle" (please try and keep up). I admit, I felt a little as though my identity had been threatened. And so obviously I googled her.

She is a delight! An author no less!

And here is a selection of her works:

First Cook Book
by Missifer Tickle

It's Fun to Cook!
by Missifer Tickle

Romance in Medieval England
by Missifer Tickle

The Seven Champions of Christendom (1596/7)
by Missifer Tickle

Sir Bevis of Hampton in Literary Tradition
by Missifer Tickle

I realise that now, you could scurry off and do some extraordinary googling, and like the clever sausages you are, you could work out my name.

But I hope you don't.

Mostly because my parallel-y metaphor-ish smokescreen was ever so complicated to work out.

But I thought it was worth it for The Seven Champions of Christendom (1596/7).

LHC day.

Now. Hubling has been all of a fluster today. To be honest, he has been gaining in excitability over the past week. He can barely contain himself.

Is it that we are going away together for some couplish loving time? Could it be that he is entranced by the thought of spending a few days in the countryside writing his wondrous novel? Or is it that somewhere in the world, scientists are doing a thing?

Go on, take a guess.

So for many, many hours, more than perhaps I would care to remember, and exactly equal to the amount of time I have been trapped in a car with him, he has been telling me all about physics.

My gosh, he really loves physics.

In particular, he has been drilling into me the mechanics and properties of gravity.

I think you can probably make a wild stab in the dark as to Miss Tickle's Feeling on Physics.

Anyway. I was good and patient and I listened like a good and patient person. And slowly, I began to actually understand stuff. (Some of it.)

I would like to share the most significant bit of learning with you, my dear readers.

"So in conclusion, the force that gravity exerts is directly proportional to the mass of an object, which is why when people are in space, away from the earth, they float around."

"Yes, but they don't always though do they?"

"Yes they do, if they're in a rocket in space, they float around. You must have seen film of them shotting water pistols and stuff..."

"Yes but that's only the fun stuff for telly isn't it? They they get back to walking around and doing the work, like on Firefly."

Pause.

"What do you mean?"

"Well on Firefly and Battlestar Galactica and stuff they're all walking around aren't they?"

"But that's made up."

"What?'

"That's made up."

"So there isn't a gravity button or anything you can press in real life?"

"No."

"So those astronauts in space can't walk around, they really are floating about the whole time?"

"Yes."

Pause. I consider this.

"Oh."

So now I understand gravity. But I am a tiny bit less happy for it.

Only a tiny bit.

But still.

Strangely lady-ish.

I am going to a wedding, of two serenely lovely peeps.

But something about the wedding has fired off some craziness in my brain. 

Some appearance-based craziness.

It goes like this: 

ImustlookprettyImustlookprettyImustlookprettyImustlookprettyImustlookprettyImustlookprettyImustlookprettyImustlookprettyImustlookprettyImustlookprettyImustlookprettyImustlookprettyImustlookprettyImustlookprettyImustlookprettyImustlookpretty.

And it is mostly manifesting itself through the excessive purchasing of matching accessories.

In the past two days I have bought three hairbands, two necklaces, three bracelets, some amount of hairslides and two cardigans.

In particular I have gone a bit funny about things being matching. In a set sort of a way.

I am confused, for this dress-up business is something new. Usually I am more of a casual sort of a gal. I can't help thinking *whispers* that it is not really about the outfit.

(I am about to do a counselling course, and this might account for my being so very insightful.)

Answers on a postcard please.

PS. This particular craziness contributed significantly to a rather embarrassing moment earlier today. The setting: the changing rooms of a cheapy high street shop designed for those somewhat younger than myself. The item: a red strapless dress with puffty skirt designed for those somewhat younger than myself. The problem: getting stuck. I was there for some time and just couldn't bring myself to ask for the help of the assistant. For she would have seen my bosom!

Comings and goings

Last night, I had fish. And today, I have ill. I am not that pleased with the transaction.

It is not terrible ill, as I know these fishy things can be, but it is still quite definitely the wrong side of well.

Despite my terrible not-wellness, I struggled out of bed at some ungodly hour this morning to go to the induction for my new groovy supportive role working with the yoof. And I felt grumpy, oh YES, I felt grumpy. And cross. And irritated. And I did not want the school holidays to end and all that mean work stuff to start again.

And then it was really nice and I remembered how much I like yoof and I felt like a big old silly-head.

Also, and in a brilliant stroke of hilarious, the subject area in which I will be applying my groovy and supportive nature is Motor Vehicles.

Ha.

In other news, I am bereft of friends as they selfishly hotfoot it off to another country to have some kind of adventure. I will miss them a lot, but on the plus side, they left us a chair from which the Weird Cat has not yet detached herself. So plusses and minuses then.