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Return of the Boot
Dec. 30th, 2003 01:50 amHello LJ! Did you miss me? I would have posted before, but the last ten days have been frenetic, and my head is full of pointless gibber.
It all started beautifully with dinner and roleplay at Far Too Talented’s house with the stabface crew, went on to a magnificent evening at Red Raunchette’s, where I learnt that stilton+red leceister+apple juice make a phenomenal fondue as long as you don’t look at it, carried on via a trip to the centre of Birmingham where policemen were wandering around with Great Big Guns, moved on to London where Splendid Sekhmet had arranged a fab party for me and I was barracked by quite extraordinary coven gossip before I entered Penge, land of mother. Then I travelled cross-country to Wokingham, to spend some time with my love and his family. I am here now, exhausted and unable to sleep, the one consistent feature of this entire bizarre holiday.
The bad news is that I did not get a) a wormery or b) a NASA designed perspex ant-farm, and there were inordinate numbers of wonderful chums I missed seeing, including His Grace The Duke. The good news is that I saw at least some much loved and missed faces, and for half an hour I fell into the arms of the British Museum where I found myself refreshed and cherished by the gorgeous genius loci therein. It was a feeling that could sustain me through anything other than sustained contact with Littlebro, which was almost but not quite my greatest challenge all holiday.
Littlebro is a complex combination of viciousness and vulnerability, compounded by a domestic situation which makes Eastenders look like a zen retreat in Hokaido. Currently, he’s way too thin, he coughs like a consumptive and he smells of cigarettes. Lacking the energy for finesse, I told him he looked like hell and he blamed Belgium. An unanswerable argument I concede, but he still has to eat more, even if it’s waterzoie, mayonnaise and chips. Yes, I am very concerned, dear LJ, even if I am too tired to express it fully.
Too much has been on my mind all holiday. I am so glad to be back. There’s so much to think about, so much to do. The thing I must do now is bed.
It all started beautifully with dinner and roleplay at Far Too Talented’s house with the stabface crew, went on to a magnificent evening at Red Raunchette’s, where I learnt that stilton+red leceister+apple juice make a phenomenal fondue as long as you don’t look at it, carried on via a trip to the centre of Birmingham where policemen were wandering around with Great Big Guns, moved on to London where Splendid Sekhmet had arranged a fab party for me and I was barracked by quite extraordinary coven gossip before I entered Penge, land of mother. Then I travelled cross-country to Wokingham, to spend some time with my love and his family. I am here now, exhausted and unable to sleep, the one consistent feature of this entire bizarre holiday.
The bad news is that I did not get a) a wormery or b) a NASA designed perspex ant-farm, and there were inordinate numbers of wonderful chums I missed seeing, including His Grace The Duke. The good news is that I saw at least some much loved and missed faces, and for half an hour I fell into the arms of the British Museum where I found myself refreshed and cherished by the gorgeous genius loci therein. It was a feeling that could sustain me through anything other than sustained contact with Littlebro, which was almost but not quite my greatest challenge all holiday.
Littlebro is a complex combination of viciousness and vulnerability, compounded by a domestic situation which makes Eastenders look like a zen retreat in Hokaido. Currently, he’s way too thin, he coughs like a consumptive and he smells of cigarettes. Lacking the energy for finesse, I told him he looked like hell and he blamed Belgium. An unanswerable argument I concede, but he still has to eat more, even if it’s waterzoie, mayonnaise and chips. Yes, I am very concerned, dear LJ, even if I am too tired to express it fully.
Too much has been on my mind all holiday. I am so glad to be back. There’s so much to think about, so much to do. The thing I must do now is bed.
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