"Oh my, so you're naturally blonde?"
My boss saw an old baby pic of me and was surprised at my natural colouring. Suffice to say I'm currently sporting a crop of garishly red hair. It is cheaper to change my hair than my wardrobe and my tastes in hair colour are fickle at best.

I am currently scanning my own weight in old photos so I can clear space (and thusly get rid of boxes of old photos) so let me know if anyone who happens to be in them wants them (inclusively jonnynexus, luciddestiny, thescribbler, kyaathecatlord, gerthdynn, catriona80 and assorted others [I haven't gone through them all yet, but I'm pretty sure these people will turn up]).

I spent the weekend hauling tree around the garden with Two Jacks and one of the guys from work. He's a very nice man with a big chopper.

mood swing: content

There is another place, another feeling, another... something, that you only get a glance of on rare occasions.

It happens when there is no one around, in places that were busy, full of noise and bustle and life.

This is the realm of forgotten places and lost things. A shop, long since deserted, looking around the inside, a stirring of dust for no reason, and on a warm day the chill settles gently upon your shoulders.

A walking through the City of London after a tube bombing, walking down the middle of the once gridlocked roads the wrong way with no traffic.

A picking up of something once lost that was obviously loved.

It's a feeling of something lost. The every-day magic is gone, replaced by something all-together darker, something more sinister, something whispering quietly and watching.

This god is a goblin figure skulking in shadows, watching and playing, running a long silent finger down your spine as you bend down to pick up the teddy bear from the dust, running a thumb over the hazed over eyes to allow it to see again.

This hunched goblin, grinning, spins in it's old stolen clothes, thread-bear and dusty cotton shirt and jaggedly ripped trousers of indeterminate colour, whirling and laughing, a sharp cackling as of a foot on a dry twig, master of once cherished toys and photographic images long forgotten.

Lord of Lud-in-the-Mist with his clockwork balls, dancing gaily to imagined tunes with a ripped dress-makers dummy and torturing a one-glass-eyed doll for its own entertainment. A half-smile forever stilled.

mood swing: thoughtful

Well, sitting has got easier, but bending is still prooving to be a little problematic.

I've been FaceBooking like a demon, picking out quite a few people I used to work with. It's nice to get back in contact with them.

I wanted to go on the Zombie walk around Bristol, but sadly it happened just after my op and therefore couldn't make it. It looked like a lot of fun. Next year hopefully.

I'm getting all Christmassy at the moment. Wee!

TwoJacks is away this week. This leaves much room for boredom, yet lots of room for Moo cuddles.

Finally I finished editing the wedding photos. I sent them off. Went to a 60th party on the weekend.

I'm not sleeping well yet, woke up at 5am this morning in pain, the op's taking it out of me, but I'll get there.

Back to work for me I suppose, more interesting writing when I'm more up to it.

mood swing: tired

Well, I now have a gall-bladder sized hole in my stomach and several incisions in my side.

Sitting is no fun.

I'm grumpy. And I have no idea what to write for NaNoWriMo.

mood swing: grumpy

Tomorrow I have my op. They're taking an organ I probably don't need and rarely use. What's with defunct organs that go bad?

Today I sat on the bus humming mindlessly to myself and decided to put on my mp3 player and was greeted by the smooth voice of Tinman telling me that poetry ain't got to be pretty. If there was ever a voice that was made for seductive oration, flannel's is most certainly it. It's a voice to dance to in the dark, which, quite naturally, he knows.

The world is turning to Autumn and the leaf mulch smells muskily of mushrooms and promises long fled.

My hair is cherry red, slowly turning with the leaves, the blonde of summer long gone. I wonder if by Christmas I'll have purple hair. It has a life of its own. I always believe that dyed hair ought to look dyed, there is little reason for that belief beyond a mistaken desire to be honest with looks.

I spent yesterday raking leaves from the trees in my garden, clearing out the old vegetables from the patch and planning the myriad of unusual squashes and rainbow coloured carrots the like that I will be growing next year. There's something deeply satisfying eating something you've grown yourself.

Tonight Two Jacks and I will be picking (scrumping) apples. There's little quite as endearing as a woman in a pin-stripe suit and heels jumping up to grasp fruit branches in the rain by roadside. It's the last day I'll be able to do that for a while. I'll have to be careful on how I stretch for a while.

My mobile phone died in a most spectacular way, however, due to a donation, I'm back in the world of contact. I luckily managed to save most of the contents of the phone, photos and contacts, yet have sadly had to sacrifice my Bagpuss mp3 ringtone of the perversely capricious fickle god of wireless dissemination.

I listen to the monotonous drone of my colleagues, eyes half-lidded as they repeat mindlessly the usual bunk of IT support. There's only so many times you can say the same thing and remain interested in what it is you do. We are drones and thusly we drone, mindlessly, without feeling or thought, we simply turn up.

Long live repeat on my mp3 player.

Current Location: Frenchay Hospital, Frenchay Park Rd, Bristol
mood swing: awake
mental jukebox: Tinman - "Bury me, Liz"

So, let's see, where to start, where to start...?

I'm signed off work due to intense pain which leads to an operation in a months time.
Someone got into my bank account and stole all my money.
I'm having problems getting travel insurance due to point A.
I'm trying desperately to finish off the last of the wedding photos, but due to pain having problems concentrating.
My cat thinks she's a duvet.
It's bloody cold in my house!

Plus side?
Due to pain I'm not eating and therefore losing weight!

See, every cloud...

mood swing: pained

I am, it has to be confessed, waging a silent war against my postwoman. I'm allowed to be politically incorrect, I'm a 1950's housewife, you're just damn lucky I haven't forced a cool creamy laramie between your lips for health reasons.

Every day she opens my gate, posts my post and walks out without closing the gate. It's not so difficult really is it?

Anyway, for those of you aware, I've been in hospital, I got a good dose of morphine for the experience, so it wasn't a complete waste. I'm ok, although the issue is as yet unresolved, still got the random pain, never mind, that which does not kill us makes us stronger, or so the beer advert says.

I spent the weekend catching up on Heros, so now I'm up-to-date on it all. I missed a couple and decided to wait. I confess I adore Hiro, and yet there's something about Ando that appeals too. I'm *such* a geek lover...

Note to Self: Spread the word that I'm damned
"He's an inner ball of rage surrounded by an outter ball of rage covered in a light crispy vegan coating."
"You're going to hell."
"Tell me something I don't know. It's early, I'm just all snide, I don't have to be awake for snide."
"When I grow up I want to be just like you."
"It's not a learned thing, it's a genetically celtic thing."
Daily Obsession: Vegan chocolate balls
Daily Object of Use: Broken camera
Song Stuck in my Head: Placebo - "Teenage Angst"

I've eaten all my sweet sweet pilfered vegan sweets and now I'm sweetless. This is not a good thing. There are tell-tale little abandoned foil football wrappers all around the place. I've found them stuck to the cat, I've found them stuck to Two Jacks, I've found them piled neatly in the bathroom on top of the Venue and New Scientist. The latter was a little worrying, but I've put it down to woodlice snacking.

I'm slowly wading through the 1200 photos that were taken before the camera died mid-conga on the Saturday. I'm editing them all for the best quality, but picking out maybe a hundred or so and doing some proper fine tuning on them before Jonny Nexus and Mrs Nexus get back into the country, I spent about 8 hours over the weekend trawling through everything,

This weekend is the Organic festival. I went to it last year and fell in love with the best chocolate cake in the known world, possibly I'd go so far as to say the known universe. Unfortunately for me I'm working this weekend and smiling sweetly down the phone to people who call up because they don't know which end of the mouse is the dangerous end (the end attached to the user naturally, oh, hark at me and my early morning not-awake celtic snidery).

On the Sunday Two Jacks uploaded some more music to my (now ancient really) Creative. Unfortunately it's seen a few too many times of the ground rushing up to meet it a la vase of petunia stylee and would not undock and would not turn off. This morning it finally ran out of charge. Go me and my dented equipment. (Note to self: stop dropping the player when running for bus, fishing in bag for mirror to check lipstick or other quintessential girly things.)

I spent some time at the wedding baiting an old woman. She was brutal, but, you know, in a strange way, fun and refreshing. I knew I was being naughty when I started talking about the only way to keep men happy was to keep them drugged and you drunk. I refrained from hookers, but only because I was hoping she'd stay longer and I'd get to bring it up later in the night. Sadly she denied me that pleasure by leaving without saying goodbye (yet in the mean-time stealing everyones seat and being brutal about the other guests in a "oh god, bite your tongue, please don't smirk, don't crack a smile" way). I hope to meet her again one day.

I recently (upon hitting the big 3oh and going mad) dyed my hair a rather unnatural shade of red. I'm trying to work out if the next shade will be purple. I'm a strong believer that when you dye your hair it ought to be quite obviously dyed, otherwise, well, what's the point?

Note to Self: Men in frocks are the silly-bom
Daily Obsession: GIMP plug-in's
Daily Object of Use: Digital camera
Song Stuck in my Head: Billy Idol - "White Wedding"

Well, it has been far too long since I wrote.  I can but apologise.

I spent this past weekend going my photography duties, and am currently switching between editing them and feeling like I've been beaten with a sack of potatoes.  I've managed to pick up a cold, and am otherwise ill anyway.

It was a glorious weekend weather wise, although I did think that several of the guests might end up with sun-stroke at one point.

Suffice to say, there were kilts, there were vegans, there were small children, an Elvis impersonator and a naked bouncing Irishman.  It pretty much ticked all the boxes.