Pen's Nest

I just found myself writing "an infusion of coffee" and thought, hmm. An infusion of tea, sure, but does that seem like the right word for coffee? What should I be saying instead? I'm not talking about the brewing method, but more of a necessary injection of caffeine, but... infusion?

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Spent the weekend with my (women's) chorus, working on our October Convention numbers with plenty of time in hand. Since I went to Harmony College very recently, I was pleased with myself for, I think, providing a useful bit of input into what we're doing.

The May Convention (the men's one, which also involves the Mixed choruses) is coming up fast. We have our dress rehearsal this Wednesday, and a final full day together on Sunday. Must make cakes this week. Then it'll be off to Harrogate for a long weekend. We have secured a house-sitter who will make sure the cat is kept, if not exactly gruntled, at least regularly fed.

Also, I had my first appointment with the dressmaker who is going to make something for me to wear at my Bun's wedding, so I have colours in mind that I can take to Harrogate's fabulous hat shop, always supposing I can find it. Yay!

I spent the weekend at Nottingham University, doing Harmony College with my fellow female barbershoppers. It was good. It was informative, interesting, and fun. And I won't bore you all with the details unless anyone is fascinated to find out more. Barbershoppers are really good at sharing knowledge and educating one another.

Alas that I now have clusters of red bumps on my person, where tiny, unseen creatures have feasted on my flesh.

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I read a probably unhealthy amount of 'other people's problems', and I have concluded that if one could only be brief in reply, these are four answers that would cover perhaps 90% of the problems:

1. Get over yourself.

2. Run away. Terribly fast.

3. A small water pistol.

4. Have you considered a paid assassin?

Beast and I just watched 'Smoke', a series on (I think) Apple TV about an arson investigator and a police detective who have a couple of arsonists to chase.

Taron Egerton is really, really good in it.

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( The rest of this post is about twenty-five years out of date! )

Sycamores, now. Sycamores.

The sycamore tree is a glorious thing. It is a handsome tree, tall and straight and with majestic and elegant branches. Its leaves are lovely and, in autumn, spectacular.

And it is evil. It is out for world domination. A sycamore tree's one ambition is to fill the entire temperate zone with sycamore forest. Its seeds sprout everywhere and are relentless. Miss one, and you have a sapling three feet tall which takes enormous effort to extract, or a five foot high growth which must be KILLED WITH FIRE.

I plucked about fifty baby sycamores this morning when I had only gone into the garden to pick some kale. Grar.

I—I—Lance Bass has written books. For children. Whimsical children's books. Books! Lance! Lance Bass!

I am (as you can tell) absurdly happy about this.

I spent much of yesterday being very self-indulgent, wandering around the city buying things like fancy paper and a cheap but splendid blue and green skirt. And met up with a subset of my knitting group in the Waterstones café, where the three of us spent quite a bit of time surreptitiously eyeing the rather fancy sweater being sported by a quiet chap who had moved table so we could sit together. His shoulders/sleeves were bright stripes, the rest of the garment being a pleasing soft grey, and we would have liked to interrogate him about it but thought that might be a bit much.

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Exciting developments along the Daughter's Wedding front, as I went with Bun and her three bridesmaids to start dress shopping on Friday. I drove, in fact, as one bridesmaid was coming from Hertfordshire and the other two, as well as Bun and myself, from Norwich. Entire trip was completed well within one batteryload, so both environmentally friendly and cheap! We went to Newmarket, whither I had never been before, to a nice little dress shop that looked like a converted house but was well provided with customer parking. It may seem odd to go to Newmarket, when Norwich is knee-deep in bridal stores, but Norwich is a long way from everywhere else, and it was kinder to the Hertfordshire bridesmaid!

I was quite surprised by Bun's initial choices. Tea length I did expect, as the nuptials will feature ballroom dancing, but I am sure we had a conversation years ago about how she liked lace but abhorred glitter. These were sparkly dresses! Sparkly dresses with extra sparkle!

Anyway. We four sat in a row while Bun was helped into a succession of lovely dresses on the other side of a massive curtain. No traipsing through the store to stand on a platform, it was efficient, friendly and somehow pleasantly informal. There were even Ferraro Rochers for us, which I thought was brave, with all those nearly-white dresses so close!

Half a dozen tea lengths later she picked her favourite of those (lace-free) and went on to some long dresses. Even trying on a long-sleeved one which the bridesmaids had decided she ought to try, despite her expression when it was presented to her. It did look nice—given that she is a well-shaped, fairly slender 5'9", this is not surprising—but not for her. In any case, she had The Dress right there.

Well. It wasn't precisely an 'everybody bursts into tears' moment (my eyes were prickling but they do that a lot, these days), but The Dress made her look like a goddess, and it was perfectly clear from her face that she loved it. It was definitely a that's so YOU dress. It was, inevitably, the most expensive she tried on, though the attendant-dresser-saleswoman instantly offered to knock £150 off the price, which was nice. So we bore it back to the car in triumph and went off for a burger. The dress will need a modest amount of alteration—slight shortening of the straps, and something doing to hitch up the train so that she can dance. And hemming, of course. Essentially it fits beautifully.

Awwww.

So, a very satisfactory day, and since the bridesmaids all agreed over lunch that the dress one of them had suggested looked like an excellent option, that seems to be sorted as well, bar the actual purchasing. A most satisfactory day.

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Next up, my outfit. Gibber. I am neither 5'9" nor slender, so it will be a tiresome process unless I get very lucky.

I just spotted a recipe for something that I scribbled down on a notepad next to my computer.

Cup warm water
spoonful sugar
spoonful baking soda
spoonful vinegar
Cover and leave for two days.

Which is fine as far as it goes, only... what is it? What does it do?

Anyone?

I learned today that (see Tuesday's post) Sable was companionably choosing to relieve herself next to The Man, who was on the loo at the time.

This amuses me so much.

I have acquired a rather splendid scarlet T-shirt which bears the following legend:

THINGS WE DID:
Built this city; shot the Sheriff

THINGS WE DIDN'T DO:
Start the fire; shoot the Deputy

THINGS WE WANT TO DO:
Break free; know what love is

THINGS WE WILL DO:
Rock you, Anything for love

THINGS WE WON'T DO:
That.

I should like to make a feminine version. Can you help? I want phrases sung by women, in whatever context. Any suggestions for any of the categories will be considered gratefully, and I will amend this post accordingly, though bear in mind that I am old-fashioned and may not recognise them all!

THINGS WE DID:

THINGS WE DIDN'T DO:

THINGS WE WANT TO DO:
Zig a zig Ah
be loved by you
danced with somebody
have fun
build a snowman

THINGS WE WILL DO:
survive!
come out of the kitchen
always love you

THINGS WE WON'T DO:
be seen and not heard

THINGS WE CAN'T DO:
say no

THINGS WE NEED:
a hero

Interesting how different these are from the bloke version! Thanks for contributions so far, and I would be delighted to have some more.

Lovely rehearsal this evening, with lots of singing, though we did spend a little while working on the new song. When we sang Good Vibrations, we danced!

I didn't go to rehearsal last week because on Wednesday I had to leave my lentil soup and chips rather hurriedly in order to do some highly dramatic vomiting. My ribs hurt all the next day, so I didn't want to sing. Neither my homemade lentil soup nor chips has ever had that effect on me before, and I didn't care for it.

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Yesterday, funeral for one of my chorus members. The chapel was gratifyingly full. I had to stand, not because I was too late for a seat but because a fellow chorus-member was standing next to me and I knew she has back problems. Managed to sing two of the hymns more or less convincingly, but the third I did not know at all. It has been a very long time since I was in church for anything other than tourism or a funeral.

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I have been listening to The Wordsmiths of Gorsemere, the fabulous BBC Radio 4 production featuring Simon Callow as Colerick (or possibly Cholerick) and Miriam Margolees as Stinking Iris. It is very funny indeed. Dorothy Wordsmith is so devoted to William, and his fiancée/wife Mary never gets to finish a phrase. Several literary associates have dropped in to Vole Cottage with varying degrees of success, but Quinine is currently resident there.

It's old but I have been wanting to listen to it for years, and Beast got it for me for Christmas.