High seas blogging

Hi all! I'm blogging from the high seas, being tossed and turned and tumbled in family, food, and affection. Mrs. Pirate hasn't left the galley since we arrived, and the edibles have been endless. Pirate is currently trying to get his little brother's old dinghy in working order so we can go for a bit of exercise in the cold sunshine and shed a few calories in the process, but it appears to be a lost cause; i don't think the little craft has been water-tight for years. It's more than a morning's work to get operational.

We sailed up on Friday in Pirate's big, splashy classic yacht, and after leaving the fog in Brizzle had clear water the whole way. Mr. and Mrs. Pirate were ecstatic to see us, and after raising several toasts to everything Mr. Pirate could think to name, the two of us (Pirate and his mum being teatotal) drowned the majority of the ship's supply of bubbly rum. We nearly burnt the ship down that evening in an attempt to roast some chestnuts, but after some quick action on the Pirate's part there were only a few singed sails to tell the tail.

I've been sleeping like a rock in the big double hammock in the guest saloon, rocked gently each night by the movement of the vessel, and Pirate has completely abandoned the moratorium on non-married people sleeping together and has crawled into my hammock every night. Thus far a very successful visit indeed.

Tomorrow we are all sailing north to the paternal gran's port, where there will be a big clan gathering, roast turkey, and pressies galore. Stay tuned for the swashbuckling update!

The present dilemma

What do you do when you get a really really rediculous Christmas present that you don't want and for which you have no use, that you could exchange for something genuinely useful, but you don't want to hurt the feelings of the giver (who think they got you the greatest present on earth) and there's a reasonable chance that if you swapped it, the giver would find out (call it a 30% chance)? Christmas politics: ack!

You better not *wink wink* in a pear tree!

This is the best Xmas medley ever of all time. I don't wanna think what rehersals must have been like!!!

zero degrees

Did you notice how warm it wasn't this weekend? I cycled to training and back on both saturday and sunday. Saturday was OK. I got to the boathouse, got out the scull, did my 12k, and got home just as the Pirate was waking up. It did take him a solid 15 minutes of massaging my ass to warm it up and bring it back to life, but overall I felt fine. (Alright, fine; after a 15-minute ass massage i was a lot better than "fine." But i did genuinely need it -- my ass was ice to the touch!)

Sunday was a different story. The smashed potatoes I had for breakfast didn't last me the day, and I committed the dual fatal errors of A) underestimating how many calories my body would use up just keeping warm, and B) forgot to pack extra food.

After 9k of hard work (no paddling about, me) I was ravenous, and I knew I had a long, hard bike ride to get home. Oh, and fatal error 3: no cell phone to call for a rescue! So i hauled off the water early and got on Ye Olde Velocipede and headed back to the Pirate's: 15 miles and most of it uphill, including a 2-mile constant uphill stretch. (And keep in mind it was only 1 degree out.)

By the time I got to the bottom of the A4 and I had 3 possible routes. Normally I take the most safe route, traffic-wise, but that also happens to be both the longest and most difficult. It includes extra hills and a super-long climb that is hell, but the road surface is in much better repair, there are no lorries, it's straighter so what few cars there are go well around me, and the scenery is spectacular in places.

Normally when I reach the point at which I decide on a route I think, "Which way is safest?" Sunday when I left the boathouse I thought, "Which way is easiest?"
By the time I reached the place where I had to make a decision I was so cold and weak I asked myself, "Which way is the best for walking?"

I got off and began pushing my bike up the long hill. At least the sun was shining. But I was trudging. My back hurt so much I was crying and trying to dodge traffic through the tears.** For miles and miles I walked. No, I'm not exaggerating. I walked the last 4 miles.

When I finally reached the topmost bit of the hill and the plateau where the Pirate resides, I tried to get back on the bike to ride the remaining few hundred meters. I swung my right leg up and only succeeded in kicking the rack and knocking the bike over. Brittley I bent over and picked the bike up and tried again, with all my effort. I got my leg up higher, but the movement destabilized me, and without the strenght to control my balance, I fell over.

Yes, I fell over trying to get back on my bike. I was that fatigued. I had been in the cold, freezing temps for 5 hours at that point, and I was done.

I stumbled through the door, and collapsed on the couch. Pirate, in his usual cheerful manner, asked how was training? *perky perky perky* "I'm proper fucked," I feebly explained. Within minutes I was covered in blankets and eating a giant bowl of banana slices in hot custard. Mmm! Goopy, simple sugars! Just the thing. Sadly, the hot water heater in the house wasn't working, so the hot bath I so desperately needed was not on the menu. No problem! Pirate packed me a bag, bundled me into the car, and drove me to his gym, where the showers are awesome.

If that ain't lurve, ladies, gents, dogs, and other collar-wearers, then I durn't know what is.


**I couldn't figure out at the time why my back was in so much pain, but in retrospect I think it was that the muscles that normally support my spine and compensate for the fucked disk were so exhausted that they weren't doing their job, and the disk was compressing without my muscles to help hold everything up.

What the wedding WON'T be:

• ostentatious
• snotty
• generic
• like something out of a magazine
• the product of one of those big "how to plan the perfect wedding" books

and most of all...

• the cake will NOT smell of explosives.

So we know what it won't be, but we're still not sure what it will be. Oh, well; we'll figure it out eventually. Process of elimination and all that.

Bin playin wif lolcats

moar funny pictures


shud prolly get bak to werk nao kthanxbai.

So wadda ya think? Is it me?

How to keep your Christmas Tree Fresh

For those of you with fresh, live Christmas trees, this is what to do with them:

When you get your tree home saw off the bottom inch of the trunk with a nice fresh, clean cut. If you don't have the means to do this, ask the guy at the tree lot to do it when you buy it. He should do it cheerfully. If he doesn't, he's a grinch, and you have my permission to pay him in coal.

When you get your tree home with its nice, freshly-cut trunk, put it in water right away.

Crush up a few aspirin (it must be aspirin, not tylenol or anything else. ONLY ASPIRIN!) and drop them in the water. This keeps the xylem open so the tree retains its capacity to uptake water better.

Keep the tree well-watered. Check it every other day and top it off as soon as it starts to get low. You will notice that at first your tree sucks up loads and loads of water, and will probably need to be refilled every other day, or possibly every day, depending on the size of your reservior. After a few weeks this will drop off, and you will notice your tree going through less and less water. When this starts to happen, add some more aspirin.

Keep on the aspirin and water and your tree should stay nice and fresh and full of needles for several weeks.

Oh, and try to keep your tree away from direct heat. Don't put it near a heat vent or radiator, or, if you can't avoid it, turn off that particular vent or radiator and turn another one up a notch that is father from the tree.

This message brought to you by Prof. Duh of the University of the Bleeding Obvious.

Feeling better. a little.

But then, that shouldn't be too surprising, since i've spent 28 of the last 40 hours asleep. Yeeesh. Work? what work?

Wankety balls bollox shit fuck wank damn carp

I'm sick. AGAIN.


I really do NOT need this, not now.


I'm gonna go get jiggy wi' da' Lemsip* (as the kids say nowadays). I'll be back later.




*Theraflu

Halp!

Dear Adoring Public,

Can anyone answer this question:

Why would someone say they want to get married, and then not want to tell anyone they are engaged?

Besides Romeo & Juliet-style familial disapproval (which doesn't apply here), can anyone think of a reason to keep an engagement a secret other than having serious second thoughts???

Signed,
Befuddled in Brizzle

UPDATE: After I got a little weepy with him about it, he finally bit the bullet and told his folks. (They were ecstatic.) I feel somewhat relieved.

And now, the details...

Thanks, guys, for all your warm wishes. It's wonderful to have so many people sharing the excitement.

Regarding the ring, I picked it out myself. Pirate didn't know what I liked and felt it was better to let me choose. Of course I would have liked whatever he selected because of what it represents, but it was nice to pick something really different! The 'petals' are tanzanite, there's a tiny diamond in the middle, and the setting is 9carat white gold. yay for durability!

Pirate took me ring shopping in Bristol and asked me to marry him outside the jeweler's shop. Yay for romance!

We're thinking about next September for the ceremony, so for the next 10 months this has officially become a wedding blog. sorry about that. if anyone catches a whiff of "bridezilla syndrome" you will tell me, won't you? you guys will get to hear all about the details as plans firm up, i assure you.

Thanks again for all the happy wishes! love and hugs to you all. xoxoxoxox

And now, the moment you've all been waiting for...

The Pirate and I are getting married!!!!