f...f....f...freeeezing

that's it. that's the last time I go surfing. 5 hours later, and I'm still trying to raise my core body temperature to somewhere vaguely near normal (can barely type my hands are that numb). would help if I had somewhere warm to come home to, but of course... I don't.

rage against the machines

think I am the most technologically challenged person ever!
Finally managed to set up this Skype thingy to make internet calls to Australia, but because my speakers don't seem to be working, spent the whole time shouting, "hello? hello? can you hear me??" down the little mic to my son (who could hear me loud and clear) but with nothing coming back at me, so hardly the most successful of conversations. To make it even worse, I also bought a cheap (I know, I know - false economy) webcam from Argos, but the image it produces is a total blur, which therefore makes it utterly useless. Great. Makes me want to kick something...

nanny fi

It's official - I'm a grandma! 5lb 70z baby boy called Luka.
Still can't quite believe it... best get the ol' knitting needles out, and take up lawn bowls.

quizzical

why is it that I only ever average answering one or two questions per round (out of ten) in a pub quiz... is it because I is thick? Tonight's impressive display of knowledge included naming the river which runs through Istanbul - Bosphorus; the author of Fever Pitch - Nick Hornby; the year of the great fire of London - 1666; and that Thomas the Tank Engine was set on - the Island of Sodor. Four out of thirty - pretty damn crap, eh. Now what was it that I said in the previous post about being over-qualified...? Hardly!

meanwhile, back at the OU...

whatever possessed me to go ahead and sign up for more study/more deadlines/more grief? when will I ever learn?? am on target for becoming the most over-qualified barmaid in West Penwith...

unlikely title for a play

"Death of a Hamster"

yes, Bun did finally kick the bucket. Reluctant to either wheelie bin him (or flush) and as we have no garden to speak of (i.e. tiny concrete yard, with pitiful collection of small pots) disposal wasn't so easy. Ended up wrapping the stiff (yet surprisingly still cute) little body in a pair of Rosie's old knickers (biodegradable of course) and taking him to band practise, where he was buried by head-torch, with full honours (including 'The Last Post' played on harmonica in a proper ska-stylee) in a sweet bit of woodland, under a starry, starry sky. If I ever get round to writing a will, think I might request the same.