Anyone fancy another look inside my diary? Let’s pretend you all said ‘yes’ to that, shall we? Here you go…
Getting hair cut tomorrow, so naturally hair has never looked better than it does today. Why does this always happen?! Consider cancelling appointment, then remember I’ve spent the last 6 weeks hating hair with a fiery passion. Also, if I cancel the appointment now, hair will instantly look like ass: there’s no way to win, is there?
Two stripe tops arrive in the mail. One is identical to a stripe top I already own, and the other is identical to the first one, only a different colour. Suspect I might have a stripe problem. It’s OK, though, because I can totally stop any time I like, I swear…
Stripe skirt arrives in the mail. NOW I will stop.
Spend morning telling self I’ll just ask for a trim when having hair cut. The second I sit down in the chair, though, I hear myself asking for a sideswept fringe: THE HELL? Luckily I had the presence of mind to request that fringe be long enough to tuck behind ear, so suspect hair doesn’t actually look all that different. This is confirmed when we visit parents, and they’re all, “Lookit Terry’s hair! Terry’s had a haircut!” without noticing mine. Bullet successfully dodged.
Feeling a bit blah when I wake up, so decide to take own advice, and read a bit of Anne of Green Gables while drinking my morning coffee, just to cheer myself up a bit. All is going well until I get to this bit:
Have to re-read it three times, then flick back to the home screen to make sure I am, in fact, reading Anne of Green Gables, and not some kind of gritty reality novel for animal haters. I mean, am I imagining things, or did Anne of Green Gables just teach us how to kill a cat? Will be disturbed for rest of day now, for sure.[Spoiler: the cat-killin’ attempt was unsuccessful, so they decided just to keep it. Phil was all for giving it another go with the chloroform, but Anne, somewhat reluctantly, said that if the darn cat wouldn’t die, so be it. Ah, the heart-warming tale of a more innocent time!] [Still: at least the cat got a good breakfast before the attempted murder? So that’s… nice.]
Weather forecast for tonight tells us to expect “the highest winds in recorded history.” Unfortunately there were a couple of casualties from LAST week’s “highest winds in recorded history” (because it’s just all high winds, all the time this winter…):
Feel like this could be an art installation at Dismaland or something. Mind you, that one gnome seems to find his situation pretty amusing for some reason:
I dunno, I guess some people just have a really inappropriate sense of humour, don’t they? Not Anne-of-Green-Gables levels of “inappropriate” obviously (Nope, still not over that…), but still. Anyway, needless to say, am pretty upset over this whole ‘broken gnome’ situation [Backstory of the gnomes here], so I’m taking no chances tonight, and have ushered the entire gang indoors for the night:
[Please excuse Rude Gnome’s hand gesture: he doesn’t know any better…]
At least the little guys will be safe… and it’ll also give Terry time to perform the necessary surgery on the severed limbs (one of which is being used to prop up its owner in this photo). Fingers crossed. (Er, not you, Handless Gnome: you’re excused the finger crossing this time…)
Survive the worst of the storm unscathed, but then, just after lunch, the worst thing imaginable happens, and the internet goes down. OMG! Spend a few minutes twiddling thumbs while wondering what the hell people did with themselves in the days before internet, then decide to brave the (still super-high) winds to take Rubin for a walk:
Yeah, not my best idea ever, really: actually had to walk backwards at points because the wind was so strong I couldn’t breathe – fun times!
When I get back home the internet is STILL down, and continues to be down for several more hours: apparently most of the UK is affected, which makes me think it’s probably a zombie apocalypse or similar. Am secretly disappointed when internet is finally returned, and no zombies have been sighted: it’s not that I WANT a zombie apocalypse, you understand, it’s just that… well, it would be something different, wouldn’t it?
Wake up to blue skies and a room filled with sunshine. Assume I’ve died in the night and that this is what heaven is like: amazing what a difference a bit of sunlight makes. It almost makes up for the fact that the harsh light makes me look like Voldemort when we try to take photos in it on our way out later. “It’s not my fault,” says Terry, who is, as always, behind the camera. “That’s just what your face looks like in this kind of sunlight.” Immediately vow never to go out in daylight again, and live like vampire, only without the blood-drinking.
Later we go to meet friends new baby for the first time: this makes up for everything – such a cutie!
Polka dot blouse arrives in mail. Er, at least it’s not stripes?
It’s still not raining (not sunny either, but hey, it’s better than nothing!) so decide to venture outdoors, maybe see if I can get some photos that DON’T make me look like Voldemort this time. We haven’t gone very far, however, when we encounter some surprised looking sheep, running around right next to a busy road:
We might not know much, but we know sheep and roads aren’t a great combination, so we call the police to report the escapees, then get out of the car to try to “herd” them back away from the road. While doing this, it suddenly occurs to me that I’m now herding sheep wearing a light beige dress, a pair of 5″ stilettos, and a furry, faux-sheepskin coat. I mean, stilettos aside, I could actually BE a sheep right now. Wonder if they see me as one of them, or if they’re just offended by my coat? Wish I’d known in advance that this is how I’d be spending my morning, because seriously, who wears a sheepskin coat (even a faux one) around ACTUAL sheep?! SO insensitive!
As for Friday, well, I’m actually writing this post on Friday, so it will forever remain a mystery. (Note: not really. I’ll blog, clean and Netflix binge. Just like every other Friday, basically.)
How was your week?[Title lyric: Fleetwood Mac, ‘Storms‘]