Well congratulations, world – you didn’t end. I hope that all the people who received the worldly goods of those who did think the world would end are living lives of luxury now. That said, the Mayans weren’t that daft, for all they’re taking flak now. Allex Bellos explains. And to be fair, you have to admire the confidence of an ancient civilisation for having the sheer gumption to plan this far.
Ah, world not ended. That means Christmas is next and we’re not terribly ready. We shopped today (it was horrible and horribly expensive – thank goodness for an accumulation of Tesco vouchers!) and narrowly avoided a mini-meltdown in the middle of the aisles (when I commented on this as a positive of the trip, Husby then berated me for being negative – I think he thought I meant *him* not having a mini-meltdown was an achievement; no, no – I meant me).
Cards still have to be delivered, we’ve wrapped no presents and somehow I had these daft ideas about baking more lebkuchen and getting another load of washing done. Hmmmmm. Odds, anyone?
After a difficult time earlier in the week, Niece and Neff saw fit to give me the most utterly perfect afternoon today. Abrim with trepidation I took them both to the beach on my own. Not done that before. They behaved in a manner which was better than my wildest expectations. We dug boats in the sand. We stamped on waves in our wellie boots. We heaved rocks at the ocean. We found treasure (shells), we threw mermaid homes back into the sea (hinged clams and oysters), we walked for miles (most impressively, they walked for miles), we scared seabirds, we held hands, we sang, we talked.
The minorest of minor incidents was Neff complaining in a verrry growly tone that he “hated” his socks. Course, that was because they were wet. Because he’d knelt in the sea. After having it explained to him why he shouldn’t. Thank goodness for the distraction of marching songs!
One of my oldest-most-longest-standing friends came round this evening. The members of this elite group (they number 4) are wonderous beings and time behaves strangely around them – it slows down and becomes rich; loaded with purport. It also speeds up to the point that several hours seem gone in the blink of an eye. Laughter was very much a part of this evening.
Sometimes things in life (little things, unimportant things) come quite out of left-field and leave you wondering how on earth that happened. This week’s topic for the bizarre is random, inappropriate crushes. And no I don’t want to talk about it (in detail – I realise I’ve just talked about it here, duh!).
Now agonising whether it’s ok to put an exclamation point inside a bracket and follow with a full stop. And beginning to get a little stressed about all the Americanisations Blogger wants me to make to my Oh-so-English spellings. It keeps highlighting most things with an ‘s’ in the middle with a big, wiggly, red, ‘you’ve done this WRONG’ underline. Nerts to that Dahling – it’s going to keep happening.
Is it wrong that at closer to 30 than I care to admit, I still have dreams of what I’d like to do when I grow up? Including being a train driver (a PROPER train, at that) and an astronaut (ever since I read Helen Sharman’s account of her time in space in a Reader’s Digest magazine in the early 1990’s – she made it sound so beautiful).
I also really *really* want my own traction engine. I fell in love with them after watching The Iron Maiden as a nipper and now nurture a very Fred Dibnah-like yearning to own one of those magnificent beauties and take her to steam rallies in summer.
What were/are your ‘grown-up’ dreams?