Alien Spouse

Specs.

 

New Specs.

 

Old Specs.  

I really like the new ones, but I've only had them for an hour, so my eyes are adjusting to the new lenses still and making me feel slightly queasy.  I really like that the glasses look different from different angles, because the frames are made from plastic with a slightly sparkly grey grid pattern to it.  And the corners are blue, which you can't see at all here!  Clearly I'll have to take some more pictures to capture these in their full glory.

Whilst we were at the opticians, one of the receptionists asked me what the legal drinking age was in the UK.  Apparently she has a British fourteen year old staying with her, and he's been swearing blind he can drink all he wants back home.  Even better he's been telling her how dangerous his home town is, apparently you can't walk down the street without getting stabbed.  In Thetford.

Norwich in the News.

It's always good to see my home town in the news.

Even if it does lead to the inevitable question:  How can someone have worn a bra for five hours without noticing they weren't, um, alone in there?

Boston: A Fine City

Actually that title is nicked from my home town of Norwich, where the city signs when you arrive proclaim "Welcome to Norwich.  A Fine City.  Twinned with Rouen Koblenz".  I like that.

Of course when that wording was originally chosen fine meant really rather good, and now it means sort-of-alright, or is the killer end to the always ominous statement 'Nothing's wrong.  I'm fine."

Anyway...

Boston is really rather good.  It is home to lovely people such as Bob, it features several wonderful restaurants where they can cook things not involving a deep-fat fryer and it has shops. 

Oh yes, indeed it has some fine shops.  I was going to do a round up of all the stuff we bought, but it's mainly stuff for the new house so maybe I'll just post pictures once we've moved in. 

For now let's focus on the fact that Boston was able to produce pair of Croc Ballet Mary-Janes that are actually feminine enough to wear with a skirt and not look ridiculous, with the bonus of being a particularly delightful shade of petrol blue.  Ah, Boston how do you do it?

Morag.

I dreamt last night that I woke up and my cat Morag was at the end of the bed.

Morag was my cat when I was a little girl and we were living in Norfolk.  He was a very loving and loyal cat, and put up with me liberating the rabbits he caught with a pretty good grace.  We moved house when I was about ten, and he didn't like the new place at all.  Unfortunately it was slightly too close to his old territory, so he could find his way back to the old house.   We'd bring him back and shut him in the new house for a few days, during which he'd sit looking out of the patio doors miaowing sadly, until we let him out and then he'd be off again.

Eventually we had to accept that he just did not want to live there and we could not make him.  It was quite possibly the most tragic event of my pre-teen years.

It's really weird that I've never dreamt about Morag coming back before, because he was the best and most handsome cat ever and I loved him very much.  It was a very happy and reassuring dream.

Earthquake!

I cannot get my head around the fact that the UK had the biggest earthquake for twenty years, and I wasn't there to experience it.  I miss all the good stuff!

My Mum told me the quake woke her up, and she just thought "Hmmm, that's not the wind making that noise.  And the house appears to be shaking, so it's probably an earthquake." then went back to sleep again.  So nonchalant.

Here we have had fairly impressively heavy snow all day, which I find odd because it was really quite warm not two days ago.  I'm not used to the weather chopping and changing quite so dramatically, and I keep putting away my woolly scarves only to have to break them out again.

Still, it's not the biggest earthquake for twenty years now is it?

Birthday Wishes

I am a very bad daughter. 

Mum's birthday card is still sitting on my coffee table in North Caroline when really it should have been in Norfolk days ago.

Signed, Sealed, Delivered.

My journey yesterday was quite a long one.  I got out of bed in Norfolk at 5.30, and I finally got back into bed in North Carolina just over 24 hours later.

Mum drove me to the airport, and we made good time.  Mum and I had already decided that we were not going to get all upset and tearful at the airport, so that was obviously all fine.

When I'd checked in, I went through the security checks and my bag was selected for searching, of course.  It was all unpacked, and the electronic nose sniffed everything, a couple of things were x-rayed again.

There then followed the usual hanging around that gets done at an airport, I bought water, apple (I could only get sliced apple in a bag though, plain old fresh fruit was nowhere to be found) and a bottle of Paul Smith perfume, before headin to my gate.

I can report that I quite like transatlantic flights with North Western Airlines, the air crew were all really nice and efficient, the food was pretty good (for aircraft food, obviously), they had an excellent selection of films and cartoons to keep me entertained but more importantly, the leg room was very good and the head rests on the seats were the most comfortable I've encountered.  The only problem is they don't fly directly to Charlotte, and the hassle of connecting flights is really not worth it.

At Detroit I handed over The-Envelope-That-Must-Not-Be-Opened to the officer at Immigration control. I was sent over to a desk set aside for Visa processing.  The woman dealing with me opened The Envelope (which contained several of the forms I'd filled out, but I couldn't see what else was in there), she took my right index fingerprint, using a proper ink pad this time instead of the usual electronic pad thingy, and asked me to sign next to it.  Then she stamped my passport with my temporary green card, and told me that I should expect to receive my social security number at some point in the next 6 to 9 moths. 

And that was about it.  I'd been told to bring a good book with me for this part of the process, because it would apparently take at least a couple of hours.  I think it actually took less then ten minutes.  I honestly don't know if that's normal, or if my application was so unusually straight forward that I was just very easy to deal with.

After I'd got my passport back, I had to collect all my luggage to be re-checked in for the connecting flight.  This was actually quite handy, because it meant I could pack the perfume I'd bought at Gatwick, as well as the chest x-ray that I'd being carrying with me until the immigration officer explained that was actually for me to give to my doctor in the states, not part of the immigration paper work.

Then I had to go through security again and my bag was searched again. 

This time I found out what was freaking them out.  It was the scented candle with a silver lid that Mum had given to us as a wedding present.  It obviously look a bit more sinister when viewed on an x-ray screen.

Once I knew I'd finally got my visa safely stamped, and all my bags re-checked in, I phoned Doc C and told him I was on my way.

Baked Camembert Recipe

Tonight Stu was playing squash, so Mum and I ate a slightly idiosyncratic dinner in the kitchen.  We'd been wanting to try baked Camembert for a while, so tonight seemed like as good a time as any.

You need a whole Camembert, two cloves of garlic, fresh thyme (which we didn't use, but it's on the recipe card), a ciabatta loaf and some chicory.

1. Preheat oven to 200 degrees C, Gas Mark 6.
2. Lay the cheese on a 30cm square of parchment
3. Using the point of a sharp knife make lots of deep slits in the surface of the cheese.  Push slices of garlic, along with pieces of thyme (although we forgot this part) into each slit.  Grind pepper over the cheese.
4. Gather the corners of the parchment together to form a purse & tie with string.  Bake for about ten minutes, at which point the cheese should feel gooey.
5. Meanwhile, make toasted ciabatta fingers for dipping.
6. Remove the cheese and bread from the oven.  Serve immediately.
7. Use the toasted bread to scoop out the cheese.  You can also use chicory, which is healthier and just as tasty.

We really liked this, it was like a really easy fondue and it was very nice to have both the ciabatta garlic bread and the chicory, because it added a nice contrast to the meal and kept it light.

Packing Update

I have filled one large green zip-up shoulder bag with just clothes, I have also filled one large wheelie bag with clothes, half my CD collection, my favourite Christmas decorations (They are die-cut cardboard cut outs of 1940's movie stars), a large number of Lush products, Jamie Oliver's new cookbook, an enormous jar of Marmite, a bottle of CK One, a bottle of Baedadas Original bubble bath and several books stuffed in the front pocket in case of literary emergency.

In the large soft wheelie bag I will be putting my file of important papers (No, Doc C, I am not referring to the papers I will need to hand over to the immigration officials.  Those will be in my hand luggage.), red DM boots, black ballet flats, a cream wool coat, several hoodies, a v-shaped companion pillow, a cotton stars and moons blanket and whatever else I can squeeze in without danger of the thing bursting.

In the red courier bag I use for my carry-on luggage will be my immigration paperwork, a black skully mug, a Tate Modern Measurement glass, 3 mirrored glass tea light holders, a small present for Doc C and all of those things I deem necessary for transatlantic travel.

Is that everything I was hoping to take back with me this time?  Frankly no, but there is only so much I can actually take on a plane anyway.

Not a great photo, but an excellent cupcake notion.

I know this is not one of my better photos, but I was in Waitrose and I had to record the inspired idea of decorating cupcakes with lollipops. 

Of course, my second thought was "Because the butter icing and sprinkles do not provide quite enough refined sugar?"

I wish I had bought some of these to arrange on a cake stand and better illustrate their fabulousness.  True, I would have prefered the icing to be white, rather than a pale green, but I am loving the concept.

Norwich. I shopped. I reminisced.

Today Mum dropped me off in Norwich before she went to work, and left me there until she'd finished for the day.  I had several things I needed to buy, and several shops just to wander round through nostalgia.

I bought:

• An Emma Bridgewater mug, with a design of Swallows in flight.  For my Mum, because they are her favourite bird.
• A white shirt, one size larger than I usually wear to be comfortable enough to wear on the flight, but in a vague attempt to look smart enough to impress the Immigration people in Detroit
• A grey vest top with white polka dots and stretch lace detail on the neckline, which will be worn under the white shirt
• A black wrap shawly thing.  Cosy.
• Knee length black socks (x 2).  Also cosy.
• Black thermal long johns.  Thirdly cosy.
• Black socks with white skulls and hearts.  These weren't on my original list, but come on and cosy.
• Jamie Oliver's new book. I've enjoyed the odd bit of the C4 series and the recipes I've seen thus far.
• The second and third Harry Potter Books.  I've read them all, but mysteriously didn't actually turn out to own these two in the series.
• Half of Lush.  I know they have shops in the US now, but not in the part of NC I'll be living in.

I nostalgically checked out:

• Brambles.  I'd been there with Mum once already, but her cards-and-novelties tolerance is far lower than mine.
• Bojangles. For all the reasonably priced jewellery your teenager could possibly want
• Head in the Clouds, with new sister shop Feet on the Ground.  Ah Patchouli!
• Bonds of Norwich (Which is really John Lewis), Christmas department and Coffee shop.  Both central to my child and teen years.
• Jarrolds of Norwich.

The Michelangelo Stencil

This is slightly strange graffiti of Michelangelo's David. 

It's a stencil, which was printed on to paper and then pasted onto the wall.  The black and white stencil (which has been almost entirely scraped off the wall) would originally have been about 5 foot tall.

The really interesting thing is the miniature version of the same stencil, in aqua, pasted over the face of the large stencil.

Cows.

These cows are in a field that Mum & I walk past every morning.

This is the first time they've deigned to be close enough to the gate for me to get a reasonable photo of them.

A Classical Education should also cover how to spice up dull social events.

We went to Norwich today.  Mum and I had a cup of tea in a coffee bar near to St Andrew's Hall.

My school always used to have prize giving there, and I was immediately reminded of those afternoons which seemed to last forever.  Even if you were on the actual stage waiting to receive a prize it was deadly.

I only realised it was just as bad for the teaching staff in the lower fifth, when my form tutor noticed I was wearing a digital watch and asked me to time how long the guest speaker's speech went on for.  She'd organised a staffroom sweep stake, and I think the head of Computer Science won that year.

Why do people keep fibbing about expected time frames?

Remember how the courier firm told me it would take 3 - 5 working days for my passport, visa and mysterious sealed envelope to be delivered?  And they also said they'd send me a text when it was on it's way.

Well they didn't send the text, and they tried to deliver this morning when Mum and I were out for our morning stroll.  The courier couldn't find the house (which admittedly is in the middle of a field, without many distinguishing features.) and phoned the land line number about 10 minutes after we had left.

Next morning is not 3 - 5 days.  It is distinctly different from 3 - 5 days.  It may well be better, but if you don't forewarn the recipient to be there, how are they supposed to know?

Practical Arrangements for The Interview

My interview is at 8.30 tomorrow morning, and to get there on time from Norwich would involve me catching a train at 5.00 in the morning.

And then I thought, but what would happen if the train was delayed for some reason?  What if there were signal problems, or leaves on the line?  So instead I'm booked into a hotel about ten minutes walk from the Embassy and I'm going to London this afternoon.  It will mean I can, hopefully, get a bit more sleep so I'm not quite so jet lagged and it's one less thing to stress out about.

Doc C is practically having kittens about the whole thing, he's really worried that I don't have the right tax forms and just generally freaking out.  I think he likes to have a good fret, he's definitely of the opinion that the glass is half-empty and what liquid is in the glass is filthy and disease ridden.  I'd always prefer to check what's in the glass first, and if it's nice, well then the glass is half full.

I'm not taking the lap top with me, so I won't be posting the outcome of the interview until tomorrow evening, unless I happen across a nice internet cafe or something.

Which involves a lot of jogging back and forth across airport terminals.

So, you remember how I was supposed to be connecting in Detroit?  Didn't happen, but *Spoiler Warning* I did still manage to get to Norfolk safely.

My 4.10 flight from Charlotte was delayed with computer problems, at first it was just going to be an hour and I was assured I would make the Gatwick flight.  Then it was a delay of three and a half hours and I was not going to be able to make the connection.  Everyone on my flight who was connecting in Detroit had to phone a helpline number to see what they could do for you, and I was bumped from the North Western Detroit-Gatwick flight to the US Airways direct flight that was leaving from Charlotte at 7.50.

This was actually much better for me, because although I'd leave Charlotte three hours later than planned, without all the hanging around in Detroit, I'd get into Gatwick 2 hours sooner.  We had looked at this flight but it was strangely expensive, so for me this seemed to be a win-win.

First though I had to get from one end of the airport, Concourse A for domestic flights, to the other end of the airport, Concourse D for international flights, to make sure the transfer between the airlines had gone smoothly.  This was doubly important because I had no paper work, or even a reference number, to show that I could get on that flight.

So I jogged through the airport, and waited for the US Airways departure gate to open.  Once it did, I explained my having been sent over from NW and, after 45 minutes of fiddling around with computers, they handed me a ticket.  Then I asked about my luggage.

The lovely departure gate people at US phoned NW, and it turned out my luggage had been dumped on a carousel over in Concourse A.  Of course no one had thought to mention this to me when I was over at the NW departure gate. I had to describe my luggage in detail (at which point my having sewn several distinctive Emily Strange patches on to my wheelie suitcase really came into it's own) so they could make sure it was still there. It was, so the departure gate people decided that the best thing to do, would be for me to go and get the bag and check it in at the main US Airways check-in desk.

I had 90 minutes before the flight, and I was told if it even looked like I might miss my flight to just drop everything and run, so I jogged back to Concourse A and miraculously found my bag really quickly.  Then I had to go back to the main entrance to the airport and check in again, which was fine, the queue looked long but moved quickly.

Of course this also meant I had to go back through the security check point again, so I was chugging the litre bottle of water I'd bought whilst waiting at my original departure gate for my original flight.  Just as I got to the x ray machines I was randomly selected for a security search.   In my head I was thinking "Aaaaahhhh!!!!!!!!!!  You have got to be kidding!!!!!  Not now!!!!!!!!!!! I don't have time for this!!!!!!!!!  I wouldn't have the first clue where to buy drugs!!!!!!!!!  I am not a terrorist!!!!!!!!!   Why Me?!?!?!?!?!?  What is this profile Doc C and I fit??????  How should I dress to avoid it???????  AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!" but I kept a lid on it, and was very co-operative and friendly whilst my boots and bag were being electronically sniffed.  I talked about my Visa application, which explained why I was travelling alone, and the homeland security people seemed to relax a bit.

I made it back to the departure gate 15 minutes before boarding.

Pekhs, you may not like this

On the Saturday before I left Norfolk, we went into Norwich so I could buy a few things (example given, a large jar of Marmite).  On our way back to the car we walked past the Norwich Playhouse, and parked outside was the Insect Circus.

We didn't have time to go in, but I did get some pictures of the van and they do have a website, which is quite charming if you don't mind insects.

I particularly like the art work on the posters, which you are apparently able to buy from the Insect Circuses ebay shop, except not right now for some reason.  I shall be keeping an eye out for them though.

How, amongst other things, my amazing ability to crash computers proved useful on my transatlantic flight

Mum and Stu very kindly got up at a ridiculous hour to drive me to the airport, and we got there nice and early.  Which was useful, because when I got to the check-in desk the line was actually really short and I zipped through, but the second I actually got to the desk ALL the computers crashed.  I was quite relaxed knowing I was really early, and I chatted to the lovely check-in ladies.  The queue grew and grew, and they were getting some really dirty looks, but I was so sympathetic that when it did get up and running again, I was only charged for one of my two extra bags.  The moral is be nice, it's just pleasanter all round.

As I wrote yesterday I really hoped that I would be sat next to a nice lady, and I was very lucky indeed.  The lady who did have the seat next to me was utterly delightful.  When she sat down I noticed that she had a British passport, but her accent was very much American with the odd English phrase here and there.  It turned out that she had moved to America 60 years earlier having married a GI at the end of WWII.  She'd left Britain when she was 18, but always retained her British citizenship and seemed to be very happy with how the move had worked out.  I think she is a very positive role model for Alien Spouses everywhere!

There were only a couple of films that I wanted to watch (I watched the third "Pirates of the Caribbean" which is really long, and overly complicated.), so I mainly listed to music or chatted to my flight companion.  We did however still have plenty of drama, as we were sitting right behind the seating area reserved for the stewardesses (They get the bulk head seats, and a curtain across, so it's a really neat little cubicle) and, about two hours before we landed, they brought one of the passengers to sit there.  He was having trouble breathing and had had chest pains that morning, so they put out the classic call "Is there a physician on the flight?".  They were inundated, a woman who introduced herself as a general surgeon turned up first and got the gig, but very close on her heels was a man who said "I'm a dentist, but I have had some general medical training as well".  I think I counted at least another four doctors who made themselves known.  It was very reassuring.

As it turned out the poor man had been going through several very stressful and emotionally draining situations all at once, and was just completely stressed out.  Combine that with a general fear of flying and you get a panic attack.  He calmed down a lot, and by the time we landed he seemed a lot more comfortable.

We landed slightly early, and the line for immigration was quite short (we were the first flight to arrive after their lunch break) but again the second I walked up to the desk the computers all crashed.  I think that worked in my favour because the immigration officer was a bit concerned that I'm currently unemployed and visiting my American husband.  I had to reassure her several times that I am literally almost at the end of the visa process, I actually forgot that I had all of the paperwork with me in my courier bag but perhaps I otherwise I would have actually shown her that!  Fortunately with the computer glitch and the growing queue she decided to let me go through without too much hassle.

When I got to the baggage carousel my bags were all there waiting for me, but it turns out the baggage trolleys at Charlotte are crucially smaller than the trolleys at Gatwick and there was just no way I could fit everything on.  Whilst I was trying to re-stack the bags into some feasible configuration, I had one cop and one airport official each separately ask me what was in Doc C's guitar case, which is a long oblong box and not actually guitar shaped.  I resisted the urge to say it was a high power rifle, smiled and explained it was a bass guitar.

Just when I thought I was going to have to balance something on my head to get it all through customs, a lovely airport employee, who was parking a wheel chair nearby, saw me struggling said "Do you need some help?" and took the trolley, so I could wheel the one bag that wouldn't fit on there.

We walked through customs, down a ramp and round a corner and there waiting for me on a seat by the window was Doc C.  And he had roses with him

Location Mapping

Right now I am here (and hoping the seat next to me is either empty, or occupied by a nice thin lady or gay man.):

Location Mapping

Right now I am here (except it is, of course, dark at this precise moment:       

And Packing is Completed.

Everything is packed.  Everything.

I don't know how much I've managed to pack into the three wheelie bags, but it's most of my clothes, half my CD collection and quite a number of books.  There were a couple of tense moments, would I be able to fit both pairs of my high heels into the green bag?  Yes!

I am so ready to catch a plane tomorrow.

Let the Packing Commence

I've started packing, again, and this time I'm bringing three wheelie suitcases, as well as Doc C's bass.  I'm really hoping it's all going to fit into the car, but I think with the seat down it'll be fine.

And yes that is Buffy, but don't worry she's only cocooned in bubble wrap to keep her safe in my luggage.  Miss Summers is in fact bubble wrapped, and then packed into a poster tube along with two classic WWII posters ("Keep Calm and Carry On", and "Keep Mum, She's Not So Dumb"), and a pink paper parasol.

Buffy also has her Vampyre book, and a crossbow and two stakes wrapped up with her (Any customs officials reading this should relax though, it's all plastic).

Addict?

Since I've been back in Norfolk I've developed a new interest in playing Scrabble, particularly via an application on Facebook which means I can play with my friends no matter where they are in the world. I think I'm currently playing about 6 different games.

When Doc C Skypes in the evening we generally talk for a while and then start a fresh board, which is obviously because it's fun, but also it is really hard to speak to someone you are missing a lot without the entire conversation being "sigh... I miss you", "I miss you too", "Well, I miss you more!", "That's not even possible, because I miss you so much" etc, which is just extremely depressing and repetitive after a few weeks.  So instead, we tell each other what we've been doing that day, and then play Scrabble.

The Scrabble thing was just sort of a social thing first of all, a lot of my friends were doing it, but then when I was helping Johnny move he gave me a book called "Word Freak" by Stefan Fatsis, which is about his exploration of the American competitive Scrabble scene.  It's a mix of the history of the game, with contemporary stories about the people playing at the highest competitive level.  It's really quite interesting.

Then I got ebay involved, and now a vintage 1953 complete set with wooden tiles should be in North Carolina before I am, with any luck.

I still have my Scrabble habit under control, of course, I mean I could stop any time I wanted to.  Really it's not a problem.  Although if you fancy a game...

A Class at My Primary School

Mum and I went to a yoga class this evening.  I knew it was going to be at my old primary school, but it was still weird to go back to the school 20 years after I was last there and several feet taller, so it all looked shrunken. 

There were obviously several things that were different to how they had been when I was there, a couple of new classrooms for instance.  I took pictures of a couple of things that were exactly the same though.

One thing I have a very clear memory of is stacking chairs in the alcove off the hall after lunch.  They were even the same chairs I think (or at least the same design), I was always interested in the dots in the centre of the backs of the chairs,and which were different colours to the chairs themselves.  I could never understand what those dots were for, and, if they didn't actually have a purpose, why someone had gone to the effort of putting them into the chairs.  I still can't work that out.

I also noticed two song books on top of the piano, and I distinctly remember music lessons and hymn practises using those books. The words used to be written out onto acetates and projected onto a screen at the front for assemblies. 

The hymns tended to be the more modern ones, so mostly fairly cheerful ones, but every now and again we'd get something like "Think of a world without any flowers" which is really surprisingly bleak for most of the verses.

I particularly remember the second verse which runs:

"Think of a world without any people,
think of a street with no-one living there,
think of a town without any houses,
no-one to love and nobody to care:..."

Imagine that being sung by a room full of five to eleven year olds at top volume!

Anyway, yoga was really good, and I put my mat at the back of the hall at the right hand side, which was exactly where the big kids used to sit in assembly.

En Route

I'm about to catch a train back to Norfolk, I'll catch up with you when I get to a nice Internet connection again.

My Pirate Credentials

This trim little vessel was out on the water some weeks ago, and it made a mariner's heart glad to see this craft out on the water.

Mariner?  Why yes, it so happens I had a trim little boat named after me, so I did.

Truth to tell, I was a cabin girl of nine or so, but I could captain that dinghy with a steady hand on the tiller and my eye on the horizon.  Scourge of the Norfolk Broads.  Yarrgghh!

For the most part we sailed without incident, but there was that one day of good sailing ruined when a scurvy racing boat crashed it's prow into the side of us. 

It holed us on the starboard, but with great good fortune twas above the water line and we got back to the shipyard without getting our boots wet.  Yar.

Leaves. Sky. Puddle.

It rained last night, which was annoying because I'd left my washing out on the rotary drier over night, but it did mean that there were big puddles.

This morning was actually quite sunny and the reflections in some of the puddles were lovely.

I think this one would make a good fabric print.

Interview Request Despatched

On our morning walk Mum & I pass a corner shop/post office, so we stopped there today so I could post my request for an interview with the US Immigration Officer at the US Embassy in London.

It's been sent by recorded delivery, which guarantees next morning delivery.  It's some what strange then that you can track the letter on line, using it's reference number.  Surely it's quite simple, the letter is here today, & it'll be there tomorrow, right?  And I'm paying slightly extra for the cast iron knowledge that it won't get lost, right?  So why do I need to be able to track it?  Being given that option worries me, but I know rationally it's more to be able to prove that the letter was received and the date it was received on, which must be useful for businesses, or lawyers, or something dull like that.

Anyway I just checked, and my interview request is still at the Post Office.  Still I'll keep an eye on it's movements and let you know if it does anything completely unexpected. 

A Very Blue Outfit

I saw this dress and coat outside an antiques shop in Southwold.  It's not a colour I would wear en masse like this, and it doesn't look very exciting at first glance, in fact it looks shapeless on the hanger, but I think it would work quite well when actually worn. 

I do like that the detailing on the waist of the dress is designed to be visible through the slit of the coat opening when the buttons at the neck were done up.  Even better this was clearly home made. 

I think Erin at A Dress A Day would approve.

Childhood Memory

Today we went to Southwold.

This could have been very traumatic for me.  As a small child I was paddling in the sea at Southwold when a giant malignant wave knocked me off my feet and washed me up against a steep bank of shingle.  I had a really badly scraped leg, which bled a lot, and I remember being carried howling up the beach to the car, where I sat in the back seat on piles of tissues.

I vividly remember the incident, although I had forgotten where it actually took place until Mum reminded me, as we were paddling.

Vampiric Whiners must DIE!

Mosquitoes are my new nemesis. 

I am forced to implement a scorched earth policy, not because they bite me, they tend to leave me alone actually, it's that noise they make.

I try and keep them out of my room, but if any do manage to sneak in, the high pitched whine they make keeps me awake, until I have no option but to hunt them down and kill them.  Kill them all!

That whole vegetarian thing just goes right out of the window, which is what the little blood-suckers should do if they want to live another day.

Camouflage!

On our walk this morning Mum and I saw a small deer eating in a field, and it didn't notice us at first.  When the deer did see us, it folded up it's legs and hid in the long grass quite obviously chanting under it's breath "youcan'tseeme,youcan'tseeme".

I was hoping to get a picture so we went a bit closer, and just as I was getting my camera ready, it decided to make a break for it.  And deers are fast.

On the same walk we also saw a frog just sitting on the road, and it stayed completely stock still, letting us walk right up to it.  I think the frog hadn't realised it wasn't actually in the undergrowth which was about three inches to it's left, and was thinking " I am camouflaged! youcan'tseeme, youcan'tseeme"

Clearly the frog was wrong, and I got several pictures.

It's Conker Season!

Anyone got any string?

Swan Estuary

I've always had a healthy respect for swans, because they're large, strong and they are also pretty tetchy. 

I grew up around cats, and painful experience soon taught me if something the size of a house cat hisses at you then you should stop doing whatever it is that the cat doesn't want you to do IMMEDIATELY, if not sooner.  If something the size of a full grown swan hisses at you?  Well, I think that advice still stands, which means, so far, swans and I have got along just fine.

They are beautiful though.  I took these pictures yesterday, whilst eating my giant ice cream.  They were fairly benign, and I was only hissed at by cygnets.  That's like being hissed at by kittens, monster kittens, they don't really mean it yet.

Enormous 99

We went to Ipswich today to have lunch at a bar near the quay, then we looked at lots of boats both in and out of the water.  I took quite a few pictures of really interesting paint effects on the bottom of boats, currently beached waiting to be repaired.

After that we drove to Mistley and had a walk along the estuary there, whilst eating really huge ice creams.

You know I've had plenty of ice cream in my time, but this was probably the first occasion that I've been slightly intimidated by a 99.  That is a full sized flake you can see drowning in there.

We had asked for large, but really this was gravity defying and I don't think any of us were quite prepared for it.

I had actually already eaten some from the top before I thought to take a photo of it.

Should you be in urgent need of a vast quantity of ice cream there is a Mr Whippy van in Suffolk that clearly takes that sort of thing very seriously.

Film and The Doc

You know I do worry about Doc C. 

Every day Doc C skypes me after his morning class, and then I skype him back before I go to bed. That way I can keep up with how his classes are going (they are going well, the students seem to be interested and he's quite enjoying the teaching) and what films he's getting from Netflix.

I like knowing what films Doc C has been watching, because there are so many that I know he'd love and it's great to be able to talk to him about them finally.  It's just annoying that he's a couple of thousand miles away when he is watching them.

Today we were talking about Steve McQueen (The Doc has "Bullitt" on it's way), which naturally lead to "The Magnificent Seven".  Then Doc said he was quite interested in seeing "The King and I". 

This is simply not normal behaviour from a man who complains like hell whenever I make him watch a musical, be it on the stage or on DVD, because whilst I can usually work out now which ones he'll actually enjoy, I do sometimes still get it spectacularly wrong, so he likes to kick up a preliminary stink just in case.

However, "The King and I"?  That would definitely be in my top ten list of musicals to never make Doc C watch, fortunately he explained that he's only really interested in seeing the 1956 film version because he wants to see Yul Brynner sing and dance.  I still don't think that's enough to keep him from hating the rest of the film, so I started singing "Getting to Know You" and he changed his mind quick smart.

Fortunately he'd already ordered "Westworld", and that's on it's way to him now, so he'll get Yul being a scary android instead.  My main quibble with "Westworld" is that the only options at Delos, which is an amusement park for adults in which they re-create historical communities using life-like androids, are Westworld, Medieval World and Roman World.  Which are all great options if you are a man, but as a woman you'd either be a serving wench or a hussy, neither of which sound like holiday fun to me!  That one reservation aside, I think it's a really interesting premise.

I'm looking forward to hearing what Doc C thinks.

Components

I can just tell that secretly you were wondering what type of components I was putting in little individual plastic zip-loc bags this afternoon.

I was about half-way through at this point, so I'd made up 30 of the very small bags (those are in the grey box, top right of the photo), then I made up 10 of the slightly bigger bags (the two top rows of bags), the bigger bags have the smaller bags in amongst other things, including an allen key. 

Then I laid out all the components for the second type of small bags, took the photo, then made the bags up and put them in the empty box on the right.

Then I had a glass of orange juice and a banana.

Summary of the Current Situation

So right now I'm at the part in the visa process where there is actually nothing to do but sit and wait.  Almost literally in my case, I am sitting waiting for two pieces of paper.  I've probably detailed both of them before, but let's have a re-cap anyway.

1) My police records check, which I know is in progress, and that will probably take another fortnight or so to come back with the information that I have no police record.

2) An affidavit of support from Doc C, which just means providing proof that he is earning enough to take care of us both financially.  Obviously I am fully intending to get a job, but the point is if for some reason I can't work the immigration service needs to be certain that I won't be a drain on resources.  Doc C has been waiting for some papers from the tax department or something, so now he has those he'll be able to get the affidavit done.

Once I have both of these important bits of paper I can then apply for my interview, but until I've got them, well, I can't.  So I'm sitting around waiting.

Whilst waiting I've been reading a lot (currently half-way through Terry Pratchett's "Monstrous Regiment", which is not bad.), watching classic films on DVD (I watched "Harvey" yesterday, and I got "It Had To Be You" this morning).  Today I also started helping Mum & Stu out by putting components in little plastic bags, they are fitting kits with screws, rawl plugs, valves and other things in them.

Which means I have a choice about what to blog about at the moment, I could either post about putting together fitting kits or I could post reviews of books and films. 

Hmmm, let me think about that for a bit...

New Shoes!!!

Mum and I went to Tesco's this evening just to get a few things, like shampoo and salad, but we also had a look at the clothes, because well they were there.

And Cheap.  Ohmigod, so cheap!

As were the shoes, I am getting used to T-shirts being a fiver or less but a pair of shoes for £2.50?  A nice pair of shoes for £2.50?  That's just crazy, but it would be even crazier to turn your nose up at it.

True, the left shoe (which is on the right in the photo. Work with me here, People) is missing it's ankle strap but a quick trip to John Lewis' fabric and ribbons department (although I am prepared to bet there is a snappier departmental name than that), will sort that out quick smart.

And I am not going to re-read "No Logo" again whilst I'm wearing them.  No, I shan't, and you cannot make me!

La la la la, nice cheap shoes.

Local Hedgerow Produce

After discussing Elvis' diet I feel like some fresh fruit, don't you?

The blackberries growing in the hedges around the house are lovely and ripe now.  Perfect for a pre-breakfast snack whilst on a three mile walk.

A Dinosaur is for Life, Not Just for Christmas