Lazy girl

Grumpy blogger (self-loathing for lack of blogging discipline and focus).

Slightly vexed knitter (pattern-induced anger--by the time these darned flappy mittens are done, it will be June).

Cat-napper (ahem, rescuer).

Cape-wearing wise woman (due to wonderful eccentricity of my St. Clement's friends!)*.

So, I am sat home not going to knitting tonight with a kitty on my lap and having a grand old time listening to the 'flishy-flishy-pause-flishy' sound of the washer going in different directions. This is okay because will be on manic trip to Cardiff this weekend, and unless I spend all of my time in IKEA the store or IKEA the catalogue, there should be a little time to knit in the vehicular transport (it really makes me happy not to have to drive in this country! yet.).

Last week, I sort of went to knitting. But never actually got there. The journey began when C picked me up at 7 and we drove in to the Forum. Forty-five (45) minutes later, we were sat at the barrier in the parking garage waiting for someone, anyone to freaking leave the car park so the machine would let us in... 3 minutes later when we finally got in, we both decided we couldn't be arsed (and I needed to go home in less than an hour for a husbandly creation of completely homemade pizza -- a 20 minute walk away). So we drove all the way back, she parked her car at hers, introduced the kittehs to me (mew!), received decline from hubby to join the pizza/knitting/cider outing, and we walked to E's Pizza Wonderland, where tomato sauce was being flung with wild abandon (have I mentioned that cleaning is my task? sigh.). It was all excellent fun, but not a whole lot of knitting was accomplished on my part. C has this outstanding sock technique she invented herself where she knits two socks, toe-up, at once on 2 circulars -- my next project is to learn this; sounds like an Oz/NZ trip project to me!

Fortunately, I was able to do a little knitting on the (3-hours late) train to and from London on Monday/Tuesday, but two (further -- i think I have ripped this flap out 7 times now) attempts had to be abandoned and re-started. At this point, I am beginning to hate the mittens -- for the knitting problems and for the fact that I am running out of the purple angora from Kneece. Kneece, move back to France!

The rest of this week, I have been pooped in a sort of 'grump-and-stay-at-home-drinking-hot-chocolate-and-knitting' sort of way, and no more knitting has been done.

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Above, I must admit that I optimistically said there will be a trip to Cardiff (and IKEA -- slightly obsessed with storage solutions for my life at the moment) this weekend -- there is a forecast of 8 more inches of snow across south and west England, so we may be in drippy Norfolk instead. But if so, I shall selfishly and suspiciously indulge and drink hot chocolate, knit, sit with kitty, etc., etc., as mentioned above... so as to fit in with national culture.

In case it hasn't outstripped the local need to report on drive-bys and bar fights in the Ark-La-Tex, it has been a snowy week in England -- the snowiest in 18 years! London was as quiet at Christmas on Monday night. Banks were shut (or at least the 3 branches of Lloyd's I tried to visit on Tuesday). Transport has been chaos (London busses didn't run on Monday, and 90% of the Underground was suspended).

As the girl who got married in 79*F heat on 20 December, snow/ice/frost is exotic and thrilling. I take pictures of it. I force the macro setting to capture the frost on the car roof; people stare at me as they walk down the street. I peer out the window in the morning in anticipation of a snow day (in vain). I smile in my water-proof-waxed and fleece-lined hat. An understanding of the logic of legwarmers is continuing to develop (no, I still haven't any of my own -- cannot take that idiotic step yet).

Eamonn has only let me scrape the ice off the car windows once, because he said it made him look like a b-a-d man for him to sit in the warm car while the wench scraped the window.


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I may have mentioned there is a warm kitty on my lap. This is all well and good except that my toes are on the ground and they are cold. So I must now relieve myself of the computer position and adjust everyone so that my toes are on the insides of my knees where they can begin to thaw.

* Explanation of cape-wearing in medieval church. One of our regulars is just lovely and thoughtful and, as he is clearing out some unneeded things from his house, happened to bring a clerical cape into St. Clement's on Saturday since he has watched me slowly turned blue over the past few weeks (a medieval church does hold the chill to an impressive consistency). So, I put it on and then when Tom (pictured above, another regular) came in, I think I rather terrified him, standing alone in the middle of the nave next to a heater :)

However, I think it may become necessary for me to wear capes -- not in an attempt to be the best Harry Potter fan ever -- but because that thin cape is warmer than my hugely thick woolen Gap coat! Judith is afraid that I am becoming blasphemous, although her logic in this conclusion baffles me somewhat. I shall have to force British humour and eccentricity on her during her upcoming visit.

Being locked into Cathedral grounds

...might sound entertaining (and it is), BUT it is not as entertaining if you ought to have found a loo before planning your walk home.

Fortunately, the pain was not so excrutiating that the clouds around the spire missed being photographed. It was really pretty, but the fog was cold! It almost made me consider knitting some legwarmers. Almost. I haven't sunk to the Flashdance level quite yet.

Now, the reason for being locked in the Cathedral is kind of funny. E and I were walking (or waddling, to tell the truth) back from Lisha's flat, where we had enjoyed a marvellous Chinese New Year dinner cooked by Lisha, her mum visiting for several months from China, and her 16-year-old Chinese lodger! A long walk was really needed after 3 hours of constant feeding (water-lily salad, aubergine dumplings, leek pancakes, pork skin, stir fry, meat dumplings, and thai chili soup), but E opposed my idea to go the dodgy way through alleys around the south side of the cathedral. His option was to go through the pedestrian gate that was in the process of being locked by a security person. So, I trotted along, too.

And was quite happy to see the gorgeous light on the clouds around the spire. Until I noticed the closed Ethelbert Gate (the south vehicle gate)... and E walked ahead to find the closed Erpingham Gate. Titter. So, there was some large amount of sighing during the walk back around the entire cathedral -- along with fervent prayers that the Bishopsgate entrance would be open, as desecrating the church grounds would have been poor form (we kind of figured it would be -- after all, people live in the Close and posh people do not go climbing over medieval walls and gates after an exquisite dinner out. And sometimes those dinners might go on past 10.30pm...).

We walked along past the massive evergreen at the back of the cathedral, where scenes from Dean Spanley were filmed. And were very joyous to find Bishop's Gate open -- whew!

Then we found a shortcut through to the river at St. Martin at Palace (it is so cool to live somewhere that you can feel safe tootling around in strange territory at night!), and walked up to Magdalen Street on Quay Side (across the river is Fishergate). The reason it is called St. Martin at Palace is that this medieval church is directly across the street from the walls of the Bishop's Palace, part of the Close, I suppose.

Walking up the river, there was absolutely no wind, which E commented on (coming from the constant windy-ness of Wales). This made for nice reflection of the Ribs of Beef, which is quite a pretty Dutch-influenced construct. And which has some nice ales on most of the time.

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Today, we had cake at work! An odd thing in Britain is that the birthday person is responsible for bringing one's own cakes (or cookies, or something generally sugary and fattening) for everyone to share. My opinion of this practice has not been fully formed; it just seems like the birthday person should have cakes brought for them. Maybe that is just me being culturo-centric and only-childish. One is also meant to bring in cakes on one's anniversary of work, and then pretty much any other occasion possible :) Offices pitch in for birthday cards and there is much subterfuge in obtaining signatures and well-wishes in an inter-office envelope, which everyone knows is a card. It is a funny thing.

The reason for cake today was that it was Sally's birthday. I am quite pleased that her sons have gotten her a Cinema City membership for a pressie, and we can pehaps lure her out of an evening now!

Sally and I have also begun the final evolutionary adaptation to our new space, after two office moves in the past two weeks (most everybody else moved once). Admittedly, the shelves in this picture are now full (the second desk is mine and the far one is Wayne's), and more are due to be hung, so that Sally's desk will indubitably be tidier than mine...

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After the trauma of a move last week, we did try to liven things up by attending a ceilidh (click on 'Kier Hardie Ceilidhs') in preparation for a certain upcoming event in Eire[Sally has (with her therapeutic baking efforts) recovered from the shock of being whelmed by so much madness in one week]. There is apparently a ceilidh in Norwich on the 3rd Wednesday of every month, and Clare, Eileen, Sally and I went along -- this was the first one possible since I found it; we didn't quite know what to expect. But it was a grand time!

It was absolutely jam-packed and between the cold and vigorous exercise, my lungs are apparently in need of some work. Sally questioned later why she had thought it was a good idea when I suggested it in November, but we may be able to peer pressure her into returning next month. She was quite dubious after having noticed that it was at the Working Man's Club, and alarmed by E's non-appearance for the same reason. She was most dubious of the loos, and we all giggled at her. We got her onto the floor for 2 1/2 dances; but we have a cunning plan for E to assist in upping this number at the next ceilidh.

Admittedly, the caller was not the best, but this consolation did nothing to help Sally feel comfortable in not knowing what to do (she was slightly annoyed and flumoxed). It was mayhem during some dances! There were loads of students there as well (very cool) but some of the 'old hands' were not impressed by the flailing about in wrong directions -- I got a cutting glare for trying to 'Thread the Needle' the wrong way. One man totally looked in need of some castor oil. Oh, we are going back, we are! (and future Naarrich visitors need to plan their sojourns around the 3rd Wednesday of the month...)

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And finally, a sweet (and tear-jerking) story:

Jack is the Methodist minister who was caretaker/tenant of St. Clement's for 30 years. He comes across the street every week to visit us (and to fuss at me for being there in the dire cold or to scold at me not to wear myself out cleaning). For a few weeks (since we got back to St. Clement's after Christmas), there has been a red rose in a tiny vase on the candle stand.

Many years ago, a lady asked Jack to place a red rose and light a candle three times a year on her behalf in memory of her son who had died: one for his birthday, one on his obit day and one at Christmas-time. The lady died about 2 weeks ago, so this is the last red rose and candle for her son. Jack was going to the funeral on Monday, and he was torn as to whether or not to take the rose and place it on her coffin...

Happy Blue Monday

That is kind of contradictory to some people, particularly people like Lightnin' Hopkins [i.e., happy + blue], but there is really no need to sit around and moan.

Ever.

...Well, maybe for 6.7 minutes or so, but after that, one is really doing nothing but stealing extra oxygen than their allocated share; stealing people's peace and quiet; and stealing others' right to be happy about little things like: ginger nut cookies or warm lamb stew or finishing the flap on fingerless mittens. [admittedly, it is only one flap on one mitten and the other mitten still languishes for a flap of its very own, but we can be happy!]

However, there is one reason to pull a briefly long face, and that is because panto season is over for another 11 months.

The last performance of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (why do I think it should be 'dwarves'?) was last evening, and the panto nutcases went along! We had hoped for some extra final show silliness (and there may have been, with the fire extinguisher aimed at one actors bum for an extra-long period of time), but there was nothing obviously OTT. Sigh. Nilu was extremely disappointed by the fact that only 5 packets of candy were thrown at the audience -- very weak... But it was a great show! And we always have fun, and I do miss working backstage :) Because I am mad, no doubt.

The panto was a consoling end to last week, since we moved offices (slightly chaotically) last week. The amusing (or not so much) part is that 4 of us moved last week and -- for additional fun and entertainment -- are moving AGAIN this week! Ha.

Saturday, I could only manage about 2 hours at St. Clement's again -- because it is COOOOOLD in a medieval church in the middle of winter. (shock and awe) I Swiffered the tile floor where we have a cunning plan to have a table and chairs area (with tea, coffee and biscuits of course) and that warmed me for a while, but the toes do go numb so very quickly. Must. Find. Kettle.

There is construction work being undertaken on the Cathedral ceiling, and so service was said in the Presbytery. This had two results: the singing is much richer being in a smaller space (than all the feeble Old Dear voices in the massive Nave as normal); and there was also a nutter in a big plaid blazer behind us in the small space who muttered to himself (or perhaps to his invisible friend) through the whole service -- he even pronounced the sermon, which included an informative and interesting section on figs as complete... erm, refuse. ha!

Since it is now late, and time for good creatures to go to bed, I had best get to my evening stretches, includine toes -- demonstrated here by a certain Bete Noir (who happens to be absent this evening due to the disruption in the din-dins schedule caused by a free viewing of Frost-Nixon...). Backdoor meowing will most probably be quite vehemently chiding tomorrow morning.

A Thoughtful Spot

That is really what we all need, isn't it?

And sometimes we go to that place (albeit not quite as idyllic as Pooh's) and we think we might blog and communicate with the outside world; and then the circus music starts. And we get distracted with little piddly things such as: 'Should that picture be hung on the wall 2.7 more inches to the right?' or 'The kitty is outside, so maybe I should vacuum.' or 'Oooh! Just a Minute is on (or Top Gear, or Oz and James Drink to Britain or a CSI marathon -- despite the fact that I have seen them all --) and I need to finish these fingerless gloves with the mitten flap I am attempting to knit.' or 'Why is that Robert Mugabe still thieving oxygen -- and why does nobody seem to care about anything other than the intensely personal fact that they might have to cut down to only 2 new pair of shoes per month due to the recession?' (Do not expect sympathy from me when you still have central heat, do not work in a sweatshop in Manchester and haven't been sold to the highest bidder. I do sympathise when your bank attempts to take your house from you for the sake of two late payments after your husband leaves you with two kids when his business fails -- and you have worked for said bank for 17 years, never being late with payment before now... -- I am sorry to have lost electronic evidence of this story)

And the best laid plans, you know...

Now, in my Thoughtful Spot, thinking does actually occur (I don't just sit there tapping my head, repeating 'Think. Think, think. Think, think, think.). Usually this thinking is misanthropic (as demonstrated briefly above) or mockingly comical (or would that be comically mocking?); but it is generally amusing to myself and those who might happen to be in my immediate vicinity -- friends and acquaintances, I mean. NFN hasn't rubbed off to the point that I yap at random people I meet in Roy's. Yet.

But some things that make one think are:

Like, totally, why do cats always smell like haybarns? (this is a cosy smell, in case you did not grow up in a barn.)
Why is Facebook so addictive? (Or, why am I so darned nosy?)
Where does time go? (probably here)
Can one really go to too many auctions? (The correct answer is: NO!)
When can I be Martha Stewart?
It is impossible to have a) too much ginger or b) too much garlic (although not often together).

In other Norwich news (yah... I have not given proper newsy updates -- people should scold me more often):
1. The International Office at UEA is moving this week. This is all very exciting and dust-creating; it is also after the building we are currently in has begun to be tarted up from 1960s Cold War bunker-style and colour scheme. I have been mostly packed since yesterday, because I am batty. My influence has exerted power and caused others to talk in funny voices (or squeak like meese, whilst holding a computer mouse).
2. The January First Friday Five was entertaining (despite the foray into a pub newly acquired by the karaoke-ing lesbain couple), and Sally came along for her first CAMRA experience. I forgot to take any pictures -- sigh. However, the pubs weren't overly memorable. We are unsure if Sally will repeat her venture.
3. My knitting in public may be a topic in the review in the next Norfolk Nips. I am knitting Dave the Train a sock...(it is a long story).
4. Suspicions exist that Angus (the kitteh) belongs to the unfortunate people next door. Moral query: If we feed him better, since he keeps sitting on our window and taking his space on the bed -- does that actually constitute stealing or catnapping. Kitties do have choices, right? He still has no collar from any other peoples, but we (translate, The Cat Lady) may put one on asking if kitteh belongs to __?__.
Kitteh likes the spot on the bathroom floor where the heating pipes run underneath. He also likes the mat next to his food bowl. And the under-the-stairs closet. And the hand-knitted throw. And the polka dotted chair. And laps.
When he sits on the stairs or on the roof breast in the dark or under furniture, he is invisible unless he opens his eyes.
5. As mentioned above, there is work to be done on the fingerless mittens (which are supposed to look like this) and my obstacle at the moment is figuring out how to do the flap.
6. This past Thursday was my first time back at knitting since before Thanksgiving, and it was a good time (although Clare the knitter was missing -- I must organise a pub-knit. Clare, the Irish was there, and although she didn't knit, she had an outstanding time.).
7. Photos of Le Wedding de Bonnie Blue are up (in various places, such as here and Facebook), and they are wonderful to have, because I don't remember parts of it -- like ringing a bell.



Since 7 is the number of completion (or perfection, depending on your numerological semantics), this is a good place to stop. And to go and look for some more Ronaldo's ginger ice cream...

Blwyddyn Newydd Dda

Yes, I know I am not in Wales any more, but we really just like looking at Welsh words.

Happy New Year!

After a loooovely evening in Holt with Lady Yssy (and her parents, as they seemed to want to be there for some reason, instead of 'down to the pub') and a gorgeous baked creole cod dinner and tasty beverages, we have returned to a cold Norwich and are readying for a return to work tomorrow. (My attitude is a little more resistant than E's for some reason -- it could be because the cursed computer of mine is refusing to even turn on past the ctl+alt+del screen -- and so I am sulking and eating hummous to console myself.) None of my pictures taken today and last night can be uploaded due to idiot machine, either. Stupid computer.

However, inward self-indulgent focus does not mean that one cannot look forward to the year ahead. And I have made the following resolutions:

* complete knitting projects (instead of 3/4-completing and then leaving on needles until forget pattern);
* use yarn before buying more (well, maybe just small amounts);
* vacate creative mist in brain by blogging more than once every 35 days;
* floss teeth at least three times a week;
* have camera with me at all times;
* take more photos of official warning and street signs (a photo here would have been both useful and humourous, but I have a stupid computer);
* tidy my paperwork more often;
* be nice.

My New Year's Day planning was not well-organised, but there is now a polenta cornbread in the oven, and some black-eyed peas soaking in warmish water. E has gone out to get some saag paneer to count as 'greens' (it was soooo difficult to coerce him to go out for a curry...).

Hopefully, this will satisfy the Southern gods of cultural fortune, and they will smile upon us in Norfolk this year :) There is not a requirement to eat certain foods on New Year's Day in Britain, so people do kind of think I am odd. But, hey... at least I make them think.

And now to check on my cornbread...

Mele Kalikimaka and fish stalking

Hmmm. Where to begin?

There was the dismantling and disposal of the electric organ prior to a visit from Richard (aka, Slinky) and the lovely Marlene in mid-November.

And then, there was Thanksgiving... on which day E stayed home like a good future Welsh-American slaving over a 14-lb turkey bird (ye olde American went to work). Clem, Richard, Yssy and Katie (this year's Rotary Scholar in Norwich) came over for an attempt at Oma-style feast. This was Yssy's first Thanksgiving! There is now confirmation that yellow crooked-neck squash does not exist in the UK; who knew it was of Mexican origin? Oma's squash casserole is not at all the same without it -- a completely different foodstuff altogether.

Next, there was the fun activity of moving my stuff from my flat and dumping it in E's (now our) house on Magpie Road. Result was his house looked like back store room of eccentric antique shop. Through this activity, E demonstrated a level of impressive fearlessness despite haulage of copious amounts of wool and books... (since meeting me, E has now helped/moved me 5 times in 2.5 years).

Immediately following such relaxing trauma was my 5.00am excursion to Norwich 'International' Airport on 5 December (the coffee isn't even on that early) and a teeny little crochet/knitting-mad flight to DFW, where one was greeted by the lovely Clarence.

The following morning began the first of a frantic 15-day run. Judith does not wait for the grass to grow, which is a very good thing. My heroes of December 2008 are pictured here -- there is no way the 20th December would have been pulled off without them! Of course, if it hadn't been for my continually thinking of more and more and more Martha-Stewart-overchiever-of-the-Year projects, things might have been simpler... but simple is not interesting in excess. And I have never been accused of being simple or uninteresting -- at least not where I could hear it.

There was a small family affair after the 15-day waiting period (just a little firearms joke) and most of the people expected made it -- the most important ones arriving dramtically from across the Atlantic (despite US immigration's best attempts to prevent reasonable entry by legal people). Advice was that little hiccups happening prior to a wedding forecast that everything will go smoothly on the day, and this seems to have been correct in hindsight.

No one fainted. Clumsy people didn't fall into the mud [prescience having led me not wear complicated shoes]. Only one person got slightly lost [but we found her later -- hoorah!] :) [Official photos, i.e., from Scot, are not up yet, but email requests for notification of same] Vir-roo has put some up; and Hiroko has posted some on Facebook!

My vague prediction of Louisiana weather as being between 80°F and 20°F was proved completely honest as there was a 50° temperature drop between mid-day of the wedding and midnight. The Brits no longer think I am mad -- or at least not for meteorological reasons.

Clarence the Great and Wonderful showed her fabulousness again by driving E and me (after E's Final Night concert at the Hilton lobby) to DFW the morning after the wedding! While it was quite wearying to head straight back to Blighty and not relax (or go hunting, as some people wanted to do), it was quite good to get home and start sorting through the antique shop that left in complete disarray. It is coming together quite nicely and we are pretty much sorted for visitors all and sundry to arrive! ['ahem' to all those who have gotten their passports...]

There has also been a tiny Christmas miracle (although E may look upon it as more of a small furry pestilence): it is cute and black and friendly and likes to sit in laps and purr. It also quite the naturalist as it enjoys fish-hunting.

'Christmas' seemed like an apt name since she appeared in the back alley and followed me home (albeit with the slightest coaxing); one can also call it 'Christmas' in different languages for educational amusement (e.g., Kalikimaka or Noel or Navidad or Nadolig). Eamonn voted 'Angus' (through a brow-furrowingly convoluted bit of tricky logic); and Matthew T. proposed 'Tinsel'.

The product of this combination is 'Christmas Angus Tinsel' (initials, c-a-t, which amuses me greatly in the most simplistic of linguistic jokes). It also appears that once again I am proved not to be a very good Miss Marple protege, as she has turned out to be a he. Not sure what we will do with it, but it is nice to have a little visitor! (even E the Gruff sympathised with it in the extreme cold last night, so my legs were trapped this morning under a purring lump)

Bonnie Blue Who?

Reporting from Whoville (in her bonnie blue coat), where there is almost 2 inches of snow depressingly melting away. It has been snowing for the majority of yesterday and until noon-ish today, as part of a Winter Mix spanning the east side of Britain, and it has just all been far too exciting, but I won't whitter on about it.

Unfortunately, I cannot blame the snow for 41 days without blogging. There have been a couple (or 194 1/2) other things keeping my attention, so this will be a feeble attempt to capture some of the big ones:
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Well, the last week in the US was just manic... We will leave it at that for now. BUT, it should be noted that neither of my suitcases coming back was overweight! Well, actually one was, but I cleverly went to a blank scale at JFK and fiddled things around so they were both under :)

An amusing (if you are mad, as I am) thing was learned on the return trip as well. If one is transporting Mrs. Meyer's organic liquid fabric softener in one's luggage, one should make sure that a bottle of Extra Strength Tylenol is not wedged next to the cap end. What happens is that the lid comes off the Tylenol (which capsules are RED) and then the cap of the fabric softener is punctured and then all of your clothes are pink. Although, they do smell really nice if you had purchased the Geranium scent, which is just lovely!
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31st Norwich Beer Festival (but only my first NBF to work) -- E was named Steward of the Festival on the last night (possibly because he worked 109 hours from Sunday to Sunday, and was also judged responsible enough to be put in charge of a stewarding team on the second day of the festival!). He was part of Team Tango, which is thus called because stewards wear orange shirts when on duty.

BonnieBlue was only part of Team Tango on the Saturday night, since my other two nights not as a punter (aka, a member of the general public -- I have no clue as to the linguistic reasons for this term), I served. Beer and ale, that is. (a picture to R is me resting m'weary legs after 5 hour shift after work and to L is Slayer's team -- Slayer was my team leader at the GBBF this summer and did not think me enough of a muppet to not want me to steward on his team again.). After the festival is over, all the people who worked it have a fairly large (yet sedentary since you are pretty wiped) party. It is pretty cool to be in St. Andrews Hall (this huge medieval priory hall) for a party with 40 or so people :)

Fabulously, I was also able to introduce some more Americans to the concept of massive beer festival since they were visiting us (as in the 'Us' from work) as part of a University-sponsored trip! (Facebookers can find some fun photos in Courtney's 'Damn Yankees' photo album. If the link works, that is...). Hoorah for intercultural edumacation!
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At the end of the Beer Festival, it became clear (through the remarkable insight of my friend, Sadie) that it was actually going to be pretty stupid for me to pay December rent for the 4 whole days and nights that I will actually be here before heading out on my little jaunt Stateside. And at £112-ish per night for those 4 days, I wouldn't even be able to order room service hot chocolate and extra pillows. So, just in case I didn't have enough to think about, plan, or crochet, E is helping me move (a little bit after work every day) for what is apparently technically the sixth time since he has had the misfortune of being part of my mad schemes. He is to be commended for his long-suffering and patience. I have a lot of yarn. He has had to sacrifice the organ....

There has been (in conjunction with planned move) a growing need to destroy the British Telecom Company as they are all a bunch of blood-sucking heathens (but I shall whinge at length about that another time).
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Then The Dreaded Lurgy struck. And stuck. I have had a chest cold for 3 weeks now, and while perhaps it would help me be a piano bar singer, my lack of vocal tonic ability(other than the kind with Hendricks and a bit o' cucumber) kind of lessens the potential of success. E has now begun to hack and moan, despite his strong Irish genes.
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We have had two loooovely sets of visitors the last two weekends, too!

Firstly, E's mam and his aunt, Sister Mary, came and we had a lovely weekend of eating and looking at churches and drinking tea and eating some more :) We went to Walsingham on the Sunday in the wind of the century and wandered around a bit.

Then, E's best man and his wife visited last weekend and we pootled some more. I have the cunning plan of luring them away from London, and they do not seem opposed to becoming Norfolkers (titter).

Apparently, there are photos still on my camera that need filling in, so maybe I can do that as a post-Thanksgiving update. Unless I don't... :)

This weekend, we are preparing for Eamonn to cook his second Thanksgiving dinner (I think that any doubters of his sincerity can take this as another sign of good character). He is even taking the day off work on Thursday to prepare (I'm not even doing that)! Shockingly, it is not a holiday here.