If I could live anywhere, I would live in the house I already designed and described in anticipation of the day that the TV station running the Grand Designs show offers to pay for the houses to be built if someone has a good enough idea. I particularly love the subterranean, grotto-style swimming pool with underwater lighting and mosaics in the bottom. And the vegetable gardens on the roof. And the undersea reading room.
I just love it all.
But a location. This I didn’t think of initially.
Sadly, as a marriedperson, I can’t just think of myself (even in daydreams) and if I had my own way, it’d all be somewhere blisteringly hot with clear seas, but Husby’s Irish physique would stand about two seconds of that before he had severe sunburn and a headache, so I’ll have to settle for somewhere more temperate (but equally beautiful, please).
The thing is, where we are now (South of England) is pretty much as temperate as you’re going to get (although, the weather here lately has been bizarre, so perhaps this is up for a change). Places on a par (or possibly slightly more southerly, for arguments sake, because I love the sun) include Torbay, Newfoundland; New Waterford, Nova Scotia; Long Beach, Washington; Oostende, Belgium or Monbetsu, Japan. I don’t know whether the weather is equally temperate in those places, though. Perhaps one day I’ll check.
|Google tells me this is New Waterford, Nova Scotia – looks dreamy|
This week I bested (or worsted, depending on how you look at it) my latest late night, by managing (for absolutely no good reason at all) to stay up on the computer until 6am. The next day I got up lateish, managed to slog through an assignment (which is still in reasonable shape) and had some wonderfully woozy dizzy spells.
I’ll aim not to do that again in a hurry (or ever).
I’ve stayed with my Sis, Niece and Neff again this week, which has given rise to some golden moments – here are my favourites
- Niece (who’s three and quite dinky) putting on my giant boots and trying to pose for a photo with one leg stretched out in the air. They were so heavy she kept falling over. I suggested she lay on her back and stretch her legs upwards (thinking that this might be easier for her). She duly lay on her back, stretched her legs upwards and they suddenly overbalanced her and THUNKED down, one each side of her face, folding her totally in half. We all laughed. Like drains. For ages.
- Spontaneous BIG hugs from Neff
- Being allowed a nap while Sis took over, and being in a woozy state of near-sleep when she and Niece crept in to tuck me in with Niece’s princess blanket (I later found out this was her idea)
- Watching telly (not having one at home, this is a real treat, but I do end up watching utter trash)
- All snuggling/wrestling up together, wherever we are, in a big Niece-y, Neff-y pile of climbing, fidgetting loveliness
I have started reading a book about translation by David Bellos, called ‘Is that a fish in your ear?’ (Sis caught the likely pop culture reference of the title (apparently in Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, a fish translates for one of the characters by whispering in their ear – see how little I know)) which Husby bought me a while ago (cause he knows I’m into that kind of thing, and he was feeling flush and like doing a sweet thing for me) and not only am I loving it because it’s great, but because it referred to something I’ve already come across!
I don’t know about you, and perhaps it’s really geeky, but I feel SO gratified when I come across something someone’s writing about which I already know, particularly if it’s something a little off the beaten track.
In this case it was Adrian Celentano’s Prisencolinensinaincuisol, in which the Italian pop star uses English-sounding gibberish to demonstrate what English sounds like to foreigners. It’s very odd, very funny (very old) and well worth watching.
I’m wondering how long I should give myself before I start worrying that we’re not unpacked (remotely so, beyond what happened the first week we moved in). The place is wonderfully liveable, but boxes are still everywhere and in my darker moments I feel like we might be forever inundated with them. I’m hoping that an acceptable time frame from moving in to having the last box unpacked is something highly forgiving like, say, a year.
It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just I’ve been busy, and when I stop, I lose the will to push myself to unpack instead of relaxing.
I’m beginning to seriously wonder what’s going on with my lack of motivation to get thinner and fitter, particularly as it has the potential to impact on whether I’m decreed eligible for infertility treatment when the time arises. You’d really think that for the sake of this all-important baby we want, I’d be able to get my act together and get on with it, instead I’m probably in a worse state than I’ve been in a long time. And not looking like improving. I’m beginning to second-guess myself and wonder if it’s some form of self-sabotage in order that I can blame being too out of condition instead of facing up to the ever advancing deadline which marks a potential change of medication that’ll write everything off.
The thing that makes us human is our compassion; our ability to read someone’s story and feel joy or pain on their behalf, and even though it’s somewhat removed from our experience, we are affected. Hollywood knows this, and that’s why they’re all rich, but when it’s real people; real stories, I love it that so many people pause their own life, momentarily, and give a damn.