In which FP has disappeared
I love posting-in-advance. Writing in advance, I mean: writing something now and publishing it then.
See, I’m not here right now. I’m away on holiday again. I would say “I’ll post photos,” but as things stand I’m not even sure if I’m going to pack my camera or not. I should already have posted photos of the other weekend: sitting by the Thames drinking Früli and getting sunburnt. How long it will take me to post photos of Mystery Holiday Destination #2* is anybody’s guess.
* it’s not that mysterious if you search
In which it’s time to go home
I’m always sad when a holiday’s over; when it’s time to pack up the tent and drive home again, leaving nothing but a little patch of yellow-white grass behind.
And then back to the office, where little has changed* and I have a big pile of work waiting for me.
* except for the Office Gossip’s resignation
In which FP checks in from Devon
Right now I’m sitting on a quayside in Plymouth, in front of some white fluffy clouds, lots of yachts, various “rustic” harbourside buildings, and an Apple Mac. The Mac is nearly as much a holiday as the rest of it: I keep forgetting that British Macs have American-style keyboards, with the ” and @ keys the wrong way around.*
Next week I’m going to be back in the office again, but for now, I’m making the most of the sunshine (by burning slightly) and the free time (by doing nothing much of any importance). Lots of photos when I get back – I really should start using my Flickr account properly.
* to say nothing of §, ~ and |
In which we go away for a while
Time for a holiday – the tent’s ready, the car’s all loaded, and we’re going camping. Someone will be looking after the site whilst I’m away, I promise.
The mother was concerned that I wouldn’t be able to see at night. She didn’t think I was taking enough torches. I pointed out I had a small torch, a big torch, a medium torch, a wind-up torch, a strap-to-your-head torch, and an album by “heavy stoner pop” band Torche.* That’s enough torches.
* Not to be confused with an organisation called The Gay Conservatives, who apparently used to have the domain name www.torche.gb.org.
In which we go to the seaside
And, I’m back, myself. From an Easter Weekend away. We went out on an excursion through the Wallasey tunnel,* to the seaside. Photos to come later in the week. H thought about walking out to sea, to wade across to the Hilbre Islands, but the tide wasn’t quite right, and the water started creeping up to the knee.
Apart from that, we relaxed, unwound, wound up again, that sort of thing. And ate lots of chocolate, jelly and cake, of course, because it’s seasonal. Are there any festivals which aren’t used as an excuse to eat something, even if it’s something not very impressive?
* Fellow Sinister veterans will be pleased to know that I did hum Marx And Engels to myself as we drove.
In which we’re puzzled by origami
The end of another week, and it’s been an enjoyable one for a change. Work: not too stressful. Life: rather nice, in fact.
The only thing about work: I wish that I could regularly work a four day week, like I did this week. My day off was lovely: a lazy lie-in, breakfast at the Wetherspoons on Carr Lane, a bit of a potter round town, and dinner out at a rather nice restaurant. It’s a shame I can’t have a day like that every week.
Today, as you can tell, must be Colon Day.
Tonight, I have mostly been marvelling at some origami crease patterns,* and trying to see if I can see any link at all between the pattern and the finished design. In general, I can’t see any connection, and it leaves me wondering who on earth could read a complex mass of geometrical lines and see that it folds up into a tiny little ornament.
* link via but she’s a girl…
In which we leave for home
Leaving is always hard. Leaving somewhere you want to stay is a difficult thing to do.
What’s worse, though, is being left behind. It’s a feeling I’ve always hated, whenever I’ve had guests. The emptiness of the house, of the room, after people you’ve wanted to spend time with have gone away. If you’re the person leaving, you have travelling to do, things to take your mind off the departure. If you’re the person being left, you have nothing to help you.
Because of that, I can always sympathise, with anyone in that situation.
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