Smurry

And our Word of the Day is smurry.

Suzy at work informed me of this linguistic item this morning, which she has just learnt, as it was a rawther smurry morning. Have since verified the meaning online at a most charming blog: Pomegranates and Paper. To relieve your suspense, smurry is when it is persisting it down in a misty sort of way. My guess is that this is because the mist kind of makes the world look a bit smeary and that 'smurry' is a corruption of this (sort of like 'Murree Crimma' -- heh heh heh. Although I am being quite serious.).

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Have watched (sort of) Top Gear, which is really the funniest auto show I have ever seen. (Actually the only one, but I really do enjoy it!). Tonight, they made a space shuttle out of a suburban or something and it was quite a feat. Not necessarily successful in traditional notions, perhaps, but as one of them reviewed, 'I think we did quite well, considering. Nobody was killed...'. One of E's favourite sections of the site is called Carbage, and it is hysterical! They have obviously been to Louisiana.

Talked to the Mama tonight and being Superior OCD Mother and Daughter Team (SOCDMDT) that we are, we are busily planning an agenda for the next trip to the 'Port 'o' the Shreve! Hoorah for obsessive planning!

Must now go and prepare self and baggage (only one bag so as to not check luggage. And if they try to take my 120ml bottles off me, I shall be QUITE displeased. We shall just not mention it, but put them in the little clear bag on the belt. Here is a question: umm, wouldn't the shady people just pack the liquids in the bag anyway and not declare them? Would they be caught?) for tomorrow's excursion to Ireland! E's cousin on the paternal side (she thinks. E is sometimes a little fuzzy on too many details, clearing up why we get along so well -- smirk.) is getting married in County Galway (she thinks). Reception is at The Lady Gregory Hotel in Gort, and I have been warned to prepare for a v. late night! Take coach tomorrow morning from right outside my office directly to Stansted and then fly to Knock, where shall meet E, Ciara and Mark, which mad people are taking the 3.30am ferry tonight from Wales to Ireland and then driving all day. (Was supposed to join this excursion, but 6-hr train ride, min., from Norwich would not have gotten me there before they are leaving Cardiff at 10.00pm to drive to the West coast.) I hope it isn't smurry the whole weekend...

Toodles for now!


p.s. ooh! have found another fabulous author -- E.M. Delafield (and Wiki). Am reading The Diary of a Provincial Lady at the moment; it is delectably funny and also a delightful cultural commentary of the post-War period. It is kind of like a 1930s version of Bridget Jones (in a much tamer sort of way, but writing style v. similar.)

On November 14th, the Provicial Lady writes about a friend who is coming to visit on her way to her own home in Norwich:

(Query: Why Norwich? Am surprised to realise that anybody ever goes to, lives at, or comes from, Norwich, but quite see that this is unreasonable of me. Remind myself how very little one knows of the England one lives in, which vaguely suggests a quotation. This, however, does not materialise.)

p.p.s. Additionally, there is a Chicken Pox epidemic sweeping Norwich right now. Lorraine in our office who developed pox last week, has been diagnosed with Chicken Pox in her lungs... Helena's housemate broke out today and offices all over campus have people out with the pox! Deary me -- it sounds like there weren't enough Pox Parties about 20-30 years ago!