I can’t eat with my hat on without getting hair and fluff in my mouth. I’m not like some people who can’t bear having a strand or two of hair in my mouth (or food). It happens, it’s ok. People in eating establishments might be using their observations of me as a barometer of food hygiene and me repeatedly pulling hair from my mouth and inspecting it just to make quite sure it is mine may not be the perfect hot house for their peace of mind. But never mind them. Unlike most people, I really don’t like taking my hat off. It’s not just about the cold. It’s my security hat. It’s like containment holding for a neonate. Makes me feel safe. Also, means I don’t have to do much about my hair.

My dull, boring, mousy, broken hair. Well who cares about that. It’s not who I am. (Rather hypocritical in retrospect.)

I’m one chopping board down since I walked out of the kitchen with the kettle on the gas. I returned to find melting plastic, flames, and my entire childhood fire safety indoctrination flashing before my eyes. Despite the recent spring clean, I still have rock hard lumps of plastic welded to the kettle and the hob.

While trudging through some New Forest wetlands and dragging my lovely, beautiful, perfect Lincoln Conquest (I call it “Abe”) behind me, I eventually just had to say “Let’s face it, the shoes are ruined” and get moving. Otherwise I’d still be there now. Sort of wish I was. Life is so much easier when all you have to do is go cycling, eat cream teas and deliver crushing definitions of important words without first engaging the brain. I think it’ll be my new hobby. I’ll need some new boots first though.

The toaster. The damn toaster. What right have you to call yourself a toaster when you toast not evenly. It should not be up to me to turn the bread around half way through!!!

I’m going to have to read an awful lot of books for the next two and a bit years and recently was offered 12 study days and judicious use of my annual leave. There’s a place where the sun don’t shine for deals like that…who were the ancient gods of funding for post graduate education? I’ll inscribe some lead and drop it in their fountains.

Now March is here and it really is time for resolve. The first two months are just are run up. A rainy, grey, depressing run up. Without looking back at previous posts, I can’t really remember what I have resolved to do. In one of my tedious lessons a few weeks ago, one smug young lass eschewed resolutions in favour of “just doing” something. You know, whenever.

Words fail me.

GRPs for nearly burning the kitchen down: -5

FitnePs for 38 miles of cycling and a hilly run that felt easier than the time before: +335 (all negated by cream teas, curry, a weekend of boozing and pizza).

KarmaPs for accepting the gloves picked up in the pub: -1

FrienPs for a thoroughly rootin night out: +1

TeePees for cleaning kitchen and bathroom top to bottom: +2

HosPs for offering up my humble abode to a weary traveller next week, I’d better stock up on cake and ice cream: +1

  • Karma: +15
  • FRP: +33.6
  • Relationships: +6
  • Family: +9
  • Friends: +17 [Supplementary PPs: +2]
  • Career: +15
  • Fitness: 0
  • General: -9
  • Hospitality: +4
  • Tidyness: 0
  • CVF: +3000
Lyric of the Week: Vodka and coca cola, cocaine tucked in her shoes