Introducing...

Oona Mary Elizabeth Pirate!

Born on the day I saw the very first daffodils of spring (while walking to McDonald's for lunch while I was in labor!), and Pirate saw the first cherry blossoms (while walking home from work to take me to the birthing center).

And yes, that is a Star Wars T-shirt I'm wearing. I used the Force. It helped.


She weighed 8 lbs, 7.5 oz. Don't ask me how long she was, they don't do that measurement here so I have no idea.

We didn't go to a hospital, we we went to a midwife-led birthing centre. It was marvelous and peaceful. I was the only mother there, and I was waited on hand and foot by two fantastic midwives who had been working as a team for 30 years, knew each other inside and out, and had great humor and bantor, and by a materinity assistant, who did all the non-medical stuff like make me tea and draw me a bath after. I couldn't have received better care if I'd been the queen.

I stayed overnight with Oona in bed with me. They offered to let Pirate stay as well, since he was falling asleep on the tile floor of the delivery room. Poor wee Pirate; he was all pooped out after 11 hours of labor! *snort*

I'll post the whole story with the gorey details later, if any of you maternal vultures are interested. Right now I have to put the bed together for my maternal pirate-in-law, who is coming to stay for a few days to lend a hand so Pirate can go back to swashbuckling.

Watch this space...

I'm back.

But that's not the big news. THIS is the big news:


And this photo is a couple months old already. I'm T minus 2 weeks, and boy am I ready to pop. My mom and doc don't think I'll make it to 40 weeks, which is good, because I'm SO FREAKIN' SICK OF BEING PREGNANT!!!! (I know I know, after I wanted to be pregnant soooooo badly. So I'm a hypocrite. Shoot me.)

In other developments, Pirate and I no longer reside in sunny Cornwall. Now we're living in bloody Swindon. Thank fuck it's only temporary. We'll be out of here in July.

So why the sudden return to blogging? You can thank First Nations for that. I saw that she was back on line again and it inspired me. That, and Pirate has been bugging me to get back in the blogging saddle for a while. He's scared I'll get hit with post-partum depression (a legit fear, with my family history and my own history of depression) and knows how supportive all my imaginary friends have been in the past, and figures one more safety net can't be a bad thing. Plus all kinds of zany crap keeps happening to us, and he's constantly saying shit like "this would make an awesome blog post." And he's right.

So watch this space...

Yay! Also, Oops.

I've done it; I've started Kingfisher Cakes. The website will be online shortly. (I hope.)

I'm extremely excited about this. I began this with the view that it would just be a little cottage industry, something to help me earn a little pin money. But looking at the way the website is shaping up (I'm making it in MS Publisher), it looks ruddy professional. Now I'm thinking, the sky's the limit. Who knows how far this could go? How far do I want to take it? I don't even know, but I'm open to much bigger possibilities that I was a few months ago.

I've also just realized that in telling y'all the name of the business you'll be able to go to my website and find the real me. Now all you cyber-crazies can find me in meat-space. Oops. Oh well. I'll have to take my chances. It never occured to me when I began discussing this with you that I was crossing over my real and virtual personalities. Now you know. Too late.

And for your edification and delight, here are some photos of cakes I have made recently:

First up is a double-chocolate, 10-inch square layer cake with chocolate buttercream frosting, decorated in a solar-system theme with hand-piped buttercream.

Next is this awesome R2-D2 cake. Fully 18" across, the sponge is chocolate, covered with white buttercram frosting and decorated with hand-piped buttercream and silver sugar balls (which you can't really see in the photo but looked great in person).

Lastly is my own wedding cake. Two tiers of lemon drizzle layer cake, 2 tiers of carrot layer cake, all covered with cream cheese frosting and decorated with real pansies and rose petals which had been crystallized by hand by yours truly, and all of which were completely edible.

So whadda ya think? Would you pay money for one of my cakes? (Oh, and I have learned how to do marzipan and sugarpaste, so if that's the look you're going for, I can does that, too.)

And the beat goes on

I've finally done it. I've finally pursuaded the Pirate to let me lose the patch and allow nature to take it's course.

Damnit, I'm going to be 31 in just a couple days! fuck me that sounds OLD.

Part of me is rejoicing, but part of me is still really worried. He doesn't seem happy with the idea, just resigned to it. I don't want it to be like that. I want it to be a happy occurance (when it eventually occurs). Having a baby should be full of joy, not resignation to your wife's biological clock.

I want him to want what I want, but life just doesn't work that way.

So I finally got what I want, but I can't bring myself to be happy about it. Fuck.

And I'm about to turn 31.

(Jesus, have I ever sounded more like Herebe? Now there's a frightening thought.)

I can has family?

Here he is! Isn't he handsome?

(If a bit scary.)

Hello, small predator!

Aww, look at his widdle white socks!

Now the question is what to name him. The options are:

1. Fred. This is the name the shelter gave him and, though not terribly original, I was thinking of him as "Fred" in my mind for the whole week before we actually brought him home, so we're already kind of used to it. Also, it's pleasant and domestic and kind of suits him. (He's a cuddle slut.)

2. Pai Mei. This dude. He's the bad-ass martial arts guru from Kill Bill. The Furball is not a badass, but he kind of looks it with his narrow eyes and white goatee. We'd probably call him "Pie" on a day-to-day basis, and that has pleasant pudding conotations. Also it kind of ties in with "Pirate." He'd be the Pai-cat. A Pi-rat and a Pai-cat! Brilliant! (I may have just talked myself into this one.)

3. Clawdius. You can't really see it in these photos, but he has white toes with brown outlines that form these little Roman arches across his feet. Like little aquaducts. So we thought a Roman name might be appropriate. Pirate thought of the pun with the spelling.

4. Toast. He looks like badly burnt toast. 'Nuff said.

5. Thornton. Because he's chocolate brown and Hershey and Nestle are totally unorigina. Ditto Cadbury. And Lindt is just too posh.


Go vote. We won't pay the slightest bit of attention to the results, mind. Your opinions are purely for my amusement.

Let there be catness!

Well, it's official. Pirate and I will be going to the shelter to morrow afternoon to collect the newest member of our family: a (roughly) 2-year-old male cat named (so far) "Fred."

The shelter told us Fred is 2, but i suspect his real age is closer to twice that on the principle that shelters have a bitch of a time rehoming old cats and always knock a few years off their age to make them more marketable. I don't particularly care. He is wonderful.

When we went to look at cats most of them just lay on the their blankets and ignored us. One or two opened an eye, assessed us as uninteresting, and closed it again. But not Fred, oh no. When Fred saw us he came straight to the front of his enclosure and and greeted us verbally. I replied in kind. We had a very enchanting conversation through the glass before the volunteer came to open the door so we could get to know each other better through a brief session of sniffing and groping. (Kind of like dating when you think about it.)

And just like it was with my Pirate, the minute i touched him I fell in love. Pirate wanted kittens, but I got all watery-eyed over Fred so Pirate caved and we are bringing him home.

Earlier this week I went to the pet store and spent 130 pounds on:

• a carrier
• a litter box
• a litter mat (to trap the gravel before Fred tracks it all over the house)
• litter liners, disposal baggies, and a pooper scooper
• a food dish
• 2 scratching things (a cardboard one for the floor and one made of rope that hangs from a doorknob)
• a fleece hammock that hangs off a radiator (cuz if i was a cat i would SO want one! hell, i'm a human i wish they came in my size)
• 8 packets of treats (4 for UTIs, 4 for hairball control)
• UTI paste
• hairball paste
• a rubber grooming glove
• a wire grooming comb
• 2 packs grooming wipes (not quite as effective as a bath, but a hell of a lot easier and better than nothing)
• a vibrating toy mouse
• a wobble ball
• a feathery thing on an elastic cord on a stick (Pirate loved it so much he played with it for 10 minutes. who needs a cat???)
• cat-wee carpet cleaner spray
• a food dish
• a collar with breakaway safety feature and ID barrel (in a very fetching red, yellow, and black aboriginal-style pattern)
  
• a book of cat care, heavy on the medical information

That, combined with the 55 pound obligatory donation to the shelter brings our total expenditure to almost 200 pounds, and we still haven't bought litter for the tray, a cat flap for the back door, or food.

Food will be the biggest expense as Fred has to be kept on a special diet owing to his FLUTD. If we give him normal food his ureters will clog up and he won't be able to pee. So by the time we add in the cost of a month's supply of food, the gravel (i want the flushable kind, which ain't cheap), and the cat flap, we're looking at an initial output of over 250 pounds.

Someone told me cats were economical pets. They lied.

At least I'll have him to keep me company over the weekend while Pirate is away. That will be nice. I'll post photos for you. (He's a very handsome boy.)

HONEY, I'M HOOOOOOOOOME!!!!

Well thank fuck for that. I got on a plane in Detroit, Michigan on Saturday and Pirate met me at the airport in Bristol on Sunday morning. He was 45 minutes late, mind you, so there was none of that walking out of baggage collection and into his waiting arms. Instead there was a lot of sitting around and looking at my watch, but he got there in the end and that's what matters.

The flights over weren't too bad, either. I managed to score exit-row seats on both planes. AND wound up sitting next to the male lead of Riverdance, who are beginning a new UK tour. He offered to get me comps to the show when they're in Plymouth. So all in all not a bad trip.

God it's good to be home. I missed my Pirate. I missed his voice and his laugh, his smell, the smell of the house, the feel of the sheets, my own kitchen with all my stuff exactly where it should be, Pirate's ginaggerous shlong, the birds in the garden, the fishies in the tank (Counselor Paul, our algae-eater, has gotten HUGE, as has Garlic, the snail), my cacti collection and african violets, and all the little things that make the house our home (mostly each other).

*inhales deeply*

Ahhhh. Life is good.

Homeward Bound

I'm here to bring you the Good News. The Second Coming is imminent. The End (of my American imprisonment) is nigh!

We just heard from the honorary British Consul, and he says that my visa will arrive in the next couple of days and that i can book my plane ticket for Friday week. I don't know how he got a 10 week process shortened to less than 3, but I'm not looking a gift-bulldog in the mouth.

There is a light at the end of the tunnel. It is not a train. Life is good.

When the Cat's Away...

Going to Bristol this weekend. Pirate is going to B'ham for an archery competition, so he's dropping me of in Brizzle on the way. I'm going to spend two nights with my ex-partner (sculling partner), and run around and do Crimbo shopping and go to the gym and see my supervisor and lots of friends and get drunk a few times. w00t.
See yous Monday.

A Pirate's Wedding, Part III: Walking the Plank

Walking to the church was almost the best part. I was with my dad and my amazing awesome wonderful friends, who were the best bridesmaids in the universe. (Seriously.) The sky was blue, it was a crisp, early autumn day, the kind that make September your favorite month of the year. Though I never would have admitted it before hand (I would have said that the weather didn't matter so long as, at the end of the day, i was married), it was exactly the kind of day I'd always wanted for my wedding, since I was a little girl.

We crossed the street, I with my dress tucked up around my knees, and headed for the church. We approached the church from the south door, through the garden. If you know St. Mary Redcliffe, you know what a pretty walk it is. Walking down that cobbled path towards the 14th c. gothic church I felt like an absolute queen. It was impossible not to let a few tears slip through. I knew that when I saw my Pirate waiting for me I would either get it under control or lose it completely, but I had no idea which and I was terrified. Not terrified of getting married, you understand, just of totally losing my composure in front of a hundred guests, friends, and family. And video camera.

(Oh, the video arrived today! Hurrah!)

We stopped in the porch of the south door to give everyone a chance to take their places. (Mom insisted on waiting for me at the church door and wouldn't sit down until I'd arrived, and then insisted on being shown to her seat by one of the groomsmen. Nothing like making things more complicated than they need to be, is there?)

The Cake attached my train, which she'd been carrying for me, the groomsman went to give the musicians their cue, and the round and vibrant notes of Holst's 'Jupiter' filled the church from the corner where the brass quintet was sitting next to the giant organ.*

And that's all I remember with much coherence. After that it all becomes a bit of a blur. We sang "Simple Gifts," the old Shaker hymn about love and happiness. Pirate's brother played the violin while we sang "This Is The Day." They sang "Eternal Father Strong To Save" while we signed the register, which is good because it meant I didn't have to sing about "those in peril on the sea," which is the last line of every verse of that song. Ugh. (Pirate really wanted it.)

We had two readings, the one from Corinthians that everyone uses, and one from the Song of Songs about the difference between love and jealousy, which had a neat line about "deep waters cannot quench love," which I thought was quite apt.

Oh, how could I forget the sermon??? Poor Rev. Wendy had no idea what she'd done. She launched into this metaphor of marriage as baking a cake, and needing all the right ingredients etc. Poor woman had absolutely NO CLUE that I'd made our wedding cake, or about the dozens of hours of practice and all the drama that went along with it. I got such a case of the giggles that Pirate at one point even took my hand and squeezed it in that "get control of yourself" gesture. My mom and bridesmaids were absolutely wetting themselves in the front pew. The verger, John, who runs a very tight ship, was utterly scandalized by our behavior until we explained to him afterwards what all the giggling had been about.

And I remember keeling before the altar, barely able to keep myself from sliding off the kneeler, which was too high and made very slippery by all the sating and chiffon between it and my knees. I took Pirate's hand and he held me up so I wouldn't slide off.

I remember spending a lot of time looking at Rev. Wendy's vestments, which were clearly all hand embroidered and centuries old. They depicted scenes from Christ's life, and were very medieval in style.

And I remember listening to Pirate say his vows. Unlike the rehearsal the night before, where we whispered them in practice and didn't look at each other, he looked me straight in the eyes and said in full voice

I, The Pirate, take thee, Chaucer's Bitch, to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.

The exchange of rings was even better...

With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.

I love the line "With my body I thee worship." It's so beautiful and so potent. I like the fact that the C of E recognizes and exults the physical, as well as the emotional and intellectual, aspects of marriage.

I did have to restrain myself so that I didn't giggle when it was my turn to say "and with all my worldly goods I thee endow." I was thinking both of all the carloads of crap that the poor man spend so many hours hauling, driving, and unpacking for me. I was also thinking of my huge student debt. Friggin what worldly goods? I'm poorer than a churchmouse. (Except for the dozens of houseplants and suitcases full of rowing apparel.)

And then it was over. Suddenly they were playing the Ode To Joy and we were walking out. I looked up and there were all these smiling faces, all these friends and family that I love so much were beaming at us.

At the back of the church we ducked into a side chapel and hid so the bridesmaids could shoo the guests outside. That was our fist chance to be alone together as husband and wife. I turned to the Pirate to demand a proper kiss (the one during the service being heavily laced with Social Propriety), and saw that he was crying. It was the first and only time I have ever seen a tear roll down his cheek.



That's all for now, but there's more coming. I have lots to tell you about the reception and things, which was great fun. And there are photos coming, I promise!!! xoxoxo


*Hehehe. I said 'giant organ.' Geddit? Organ?? Oh, never mind.

WE'RE MARRIED!!!!!

Hi all! I'm sorry I haven't been able to blog. As you know, I moved out of my flat last Wednesday week. The days leading up to the wedding were manic, despite my best efforts at preparation and organization. (Remind me to tell you about baking the cake.)

The wedding last Friday we beautiful. After 4 months of rain and grey and utterly shit weather, the sun broke through and we we had absolutely spectacular weather. My bridesmaids were fantastic, and as we walked to the church with all our flowers, me on my father's arm, I felt like a queen. (Looked like one, too. Might as well be honest.)

The service was lovely. Even the minister said it was the nicest wedding she'd ever presided. The light was blazing in through the stained glass, and all the church was aglow with autum flowers and amber light. I will post photos as soon as I have some. I, obviously, wasn't taking pictures, so I don't have any off my own camera to upload.

The reception was a blast, and by 11 pm the dancing was getting very silly indeed. I got thrown from person to person during Cotton-eyed Joe until I passed out, and Pirate's sea-faring friends did some very inappropriate things with his mother. Oh, and I have to tell you about the paper airplanes!

During dinner Pirate began writing his speech (nothing like a little preparation, is there?). He had a pad of paper, which promptly got confiscated by his mates for paper airplanes, which were thrown all over the room. There were dozens of them going back and forth, landing in people's food, the candles, hitting people in the head, etc. It was a great laugh. Then when it was time for speeches, when Pirate stood up the entire room threw all their paper airplanes at him, as well as a few napkins and anything else they could lay hands on. It was absolutely hilarious. Despite having the air of complete spontenaity, we found out later that my dad had orchestrated the whole thing during dinner with a particularly effective game of 'telephone'!

Anyway, now that i'm back online I'll have lots more stories to tell, and hopefully some pictures soon.

Married life is great! xoxooxoxox

Short Human

One of my teammates just announced she's pregnant, so I had this printed up for her at the T-shirt place up the road.
Well what the hell else do you get a knocked-up rower??? (Someone better get me one of these when I start spawning, that's all I'm saying.)

Pirate's Awesome Match at Lord's

Pirate played a cricket match at Lord's recently. It was quite the red letter day. (For the Yanks who don't know, Lord's is the most prestigious cricket ground in England.)

He opened the bowling and took 2 wickets, more than anyone else on his side, but not until the opposition had racked up 165 runs with their opening partnership. Ouch.
During lunch the crowd (yes, there was a crowd of about 3,500 people. We were all seated in the Grand Stand, where I took these photos from, so looking across the pitch all you see are empty seats, but that's because all the spectators were behind me) was entertained by a very good band.


At teatime the players were introduced to Princess Anne (that's her in the yellow dress. I was too lazy to paste an arrow in for you). I asked Pirate what he said to her and he told me that she enquired about his job, which he described for her. Then she went on to feign interest in the next player.

Finally Pirate got to bat. When he came on to the pitch it was looking dire for his side, as they had lost a lot of wickets quite quickly and gotten few runs. The team and the crowd were getting despondent. Then he came out and smashed a 4 off the first ball and the crowd cheered. He continued hitting 4s until he had taken the team from a position of almost certain defeat to a likely draw. At one point the crowd was even chanting his name! Pi-rat! Pi-rat! Pi-rat!
When he was eventually bowled they put his photo up on all the big scoreboards. He is even awesomer than I am. The end.

(off)road-trip!

Tomorrow I am going to bicycle from Brizzle to Devizes and back! It will be over 80 miles round-trip. I am very excited. I will follow National Cycle Route 4 along the Avon from Bristol to Bath and then along the Kennet and Avon Canal from Bath to Devizes.

The weather will be beautiful, there will be aquaducts and kingfishers and shady beach forests and ice cream, and best off all there will be Ziggy!

News on Monday.

Good Day, Sunshine!

What an amazing day it's been! I was going to write about the bloody awful day I had on Sunday at Pirate's cricket game, where the people at the Arundel Castle cricket ground were so unbelievably rude to me that by lunch time I was sitting by myself in the car, in tears, and wouldn't come sit at the table. Never in my life have I been treated so badly by complete strangers. So now I would like to proclaim loudly to all who hear that the Duke of Norfolk's 11 are the biggest, snottiest, nastiest, most condescending collection of stuck-up, aristocratic pricks I have ever met, and they can all go rot. To be fair it wasn't the players who were awful, it was all their hangers-on and the staff in the clubhouse. Cunts, the lot of them.

Some of what was said to me was so horrible it was funny, but to convey the true spirit I would have to type in an accent, which I suck at, so instead I'm going to tell you why today was so wonderful instead.

It started off with another mess of wedding reply cards, which are always fun. I haven't enjoyed going to the box to get my mail this much since I was 10 years old and expecting birthday cards with cheques in them.

Today I received a very, very formal acceptance from Pirate's great aunt Peer, who is the family aristocrat. I could barely make out her handwriting as it creaked off the personalized stationery, but lo and behold she's coming. No-one expected her to. Isn't that lovely? Yay for aged and decrepit relatives who do the unexpected!

We also got our first wedding gift today! Yay! It's the solid, Michigan maple, 3" thick, end-grain chopping board I asked for. It's 4 square feet. Proper chopping board. Very generous. (Now who will get me the knives to go with it, I wonder?)

Then I got an email from an old friend from High School that I haven't heard from in, like, geological time. He saw the announcement in the news letter and sent an email to the last known account he had for me, which still feeds in to my current account. We spent the day emailing back and forth, it turns out he's moving to Germany shortly, and would like to come and visit me over the summer, so I asked him to come to the wedding, and he said 'yes'! Whoopie! I haven't seen him in over 10 years. Amazing.

And last but not least (and this is the real cherry on the cake), the Hairy Man* I.M.'d me. We haven't communicated in almost 2 years. He took the breakup pretty hard, and I've never stopped worrying about him and wondering what he's up to. It's been a bit of a loose thread that I was never able to tie off. I tried to get in touch a couple times, but he ignored me, and so I left him in peace. And then tonight he Skyped me, right out of the blue. He's living with his new girlfriend, which makes me very happy. I wish them both well, and I hope it works out for him.

Oh, and a gift I ordered for the Pirate from Amazon arrived, so I'll be able to give that to him when he comes over on Friday.

Yay! Happiness abounds! (As does stress, but we don't think about that.)


*If you're new around here and you want to read more about the Hairy Man, click the 'hairy man' category on the sidebar. It's all there.

FREE JEWELRY!!!

I'm not making this up. All you pay is shipping and handling, which is not expensive.

The US site.

The international site.

There's no limit and no strings. Get involved, bitches.

Weeeeeee are the Chaaaam-peeyons, my Frie-ends

I was waiting to get some photos to put up with this post, but I finally decided that some things you simply Need To Know, immidiately, and so you will have to visualize this for yourself.

Henley Women's Regatta this weekend was a cracking success, the best I've ever had.*

Sal and I arrived on Friday afternoon, set up camp, rigged the boat, and hit the water. It was good to do a practice run, become familiar with the course and the circulation pattern (it was my steering that killed us at Reading, if you recall) and calm the nerves. The night was grey, humid, and drizzling. Everyone was walking around ashen-faced and focused on their own little world. Dozens of people scooted about like doozers, busily, but not energetically, minding their own business, not talking to anyone.

It was quiet, almost eerie. From the bank I heard the soft, rythmic swish-chunk of crews going down the river, a few seagulls, and metal clanking against metal as people unwrapped riggers and dropped them on the grass. There wasn't even the shrill shout of an amplified dwarf (sorry, "coxwain") to break the tension. Most of the crews practicing were coxless crews (who were, naturally, more nervous about the steering and circulation).

Pirate arrived in The Big Car, despite the weather. I mean, what better place to show off a classic Aston than Henley-on-Toffs?

Saturday we awoke at stupid o'clock, it being the soltice and the sun having come up at 3 am or something rediculous, the busy old fool. Pirate insisted no sex before competition. Grrr. So i scarfed some Nutrigrain bars (blueberry, in case you're interested), woke Sal up, and proceeded to pace nervously. We had time to kill.

We went through the registration and final equipment check, and then set off. Pirate and Sal's hubby -- let's call him 'SalMan' -- dutifully took our wellies at the pontoon and promised to bring them back to us after the race.

After a light warm up in a light drizzle we heard our number and got attached to the stake boat.

"Are you ready? Attention... GO!"

And go we did. Our start was a bit untidy, but strong. We were against Tyne United Rowing Club, a new organization and complete unknown. We had no idea what to expect from them. By the time we reached the end of Temple Island we were already leaving them comfortably behind. After a couple hundred meters, when it bacame apparent they didn't stand a prayer of catching us, Sal called half pressure and we took the rate down to 27 to conserve energy for the next round. We kept TURC a comfortable 2 lengths off our stern, which would give us plenty of time to respond if they made a push, and basically paddled down the course.

It wasn't a satisfying victory of a race well-fought, but it gave us the confidence boost we needed. It was, after all, the first thing of any kind we've won all season. Not bad to get your first victory in a Henley heat, eh?

After some malt loaf and Lucozade and a short rest it was back in for the second round, in which karma bit us in the butts.

We got Durham.

Those fucking lilac lycras. They instill terror into the hearts of all who see them. (Except Leander, with their baby-ass pink lycras. They do not fear the lilac.)

And basically Durham did to us what we did to Tyne United. Except instead of sitting pretty and conserving energy, Durham thrashed themselves all the way to the line. So did we, to be fair, but their auto-thrashing was much more effective than ours, and when they crossed the finish line they were so far ahead of us we didn't even hear the horn go off. *weeps*

They did go on to win gold in the final, though, so fair enough. We clearly got beat by the best. The coach from Exeter with the tiny tent said that they were GB under-23's, which makes them insufferable little upstarts as well as very good scullers.

Despite all that we didn't feel bad at all. Actually, we rowed a good race. It was genuinely our best performace ever. Once it became obvious (after about 4 strokes) that they were gone and we were never going to catch them, the pressure was off and we just set out to race the clock and do our best as we went past the crowds. Our start was messy, to be sure. The water was really bouncy and choppy from all the motorboat action, but after we got through that we settled into a strong rhythm at 30 spm, kept the ratio good and the lenght long and never deviated for the rest of the course. We were genuinely please with how we rowed. Durham were just better. (Jesus suffering fuck were they fast.)

The advantage to being knocked out Saturday afternoon and not advancing to Sunday is that you can start drinking a day earlier.

I'm starting to sober up now. I went on a bit of a 3-day bender, and polished off, well, it doesn't really bear listing, does it? But there was mead in there somewhere. By god was there mead. Mmm. *licks lips*

Now I'm back at work, life has resumed to normal (whatever the fuck that means), and for once, I have really happy memory of Henley. Nice to end on a high note.

Sal and I will keep going through the summer, but with a bit less intensity. We'll traing a couple times a week, go to some smally little local regattas and come home with lots of pots and medals. We're big fish, now. We gonna clean up some small ponds.




* Unlike 4 years ago where I was sabotaged by my coach and caught a fatal crab on the 4th stroke, or 2 years ago when all the women on the team quit and I was forced to do a 4+ with some enthusiastic and well-meaning novices who just weren't up to the senior level of competition.

We have a house!11!!

Pirate just phone from the office. He never phones from the office. This was the first time ever.

He wanted to tell me he'd just received the paperwork and we've been allocated a house. He couldn't wait until he got home to tell me. (All together now: "Awwww!")

We'll be living in Torpoint, just on the west side of the river from Plymouth.

View Larger Map
It's close to Pirate's work, a short walk to the ferry, and (and this is the really nice bit) it will be ...

...quiet.

No ambulances every 15 seconds, no screaming drunk people, no stepping over pools of vomit on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday mornings. Few cars, more birds. Lovely.

A house. A home. Our home. My first home with another person. My first home with my Pirate. Yarr. I can't wait.