I’ve been absent without a note from my mum. Sorry about that. I’ve been bunking off because I started working part time in the office again. Only two five hour days a week, but I tell you what, I am bloody shattered. I don’t know how people manage to work full time and still be the primary carer* for their child. I’d be dead.
By Thursday night this week I had done so much walking that my arse muscles were aching. What with hiking across Lyttelton to drop the spawn off at pre-school, running frantically for the bus, walking slightly more sedately from the bus stop in town to work, and then repeating the whole shebang in reverse, all the while with my great heavy lap top bag slung over one shoulder giving me an attractive lopsided gait, I walk about six miles on a work day, much of it up hill. I’m aiming to do it in heels soon, just for yucks, and because glamour is pain sweeties.
Since we got back from Scotland I’ve definitely been much more active, so by rights I should be bright eyed and bushy tailed, queen of the perky brigade, nauseatingly chipper, you know, one of those happy idiots. Instead I’m mildly morose and knackered. It must be the season getting to me. Still I remind myself, as I eyeball despairingly the mountain of organic seasonal vegetables wilting in the fridge, before making the beast yet another bowl of porridge for her supper, that things would surely be much bleaker, if I weren’t being insanely vigorous.
That’s a resounding endorsement for walking lots eh? I should give up my day job and become a motivational speaker.
Good stuff that has happened while we’ve been off line:
Winter is over half way done, which is good, because while the clothes are better in winter, (boots, hats, big dramatic coats, scarves, jumpers, wheeeee!) getting up in the dark becomes wearisome, and I am half sick of shadows (and big power bills).
I made a chocolate cake with whiskey soaked raisins in it, which gets better every day. Oh yes. It does. Just went to check that it is still getting better, and you can all rest easy, it’s still on its uphill curve.
We’ve been cooking more stuff without meat. Spicy carrots rock my world. So cheap, so seasonal, so fricking delicious. Also dhal. Dhal is good. Ciaran has invented the most delicious spaghetti with tomato and caper sauce and lots of bread crumbs toasted in butter. He usually puts bacon in it, but it’d be just as good without.
Some beautiful and kind ladies took me for an impromptu birthday tea in the tropical house in the Botanic gardens, which is a great place to have a picnic on a cold, grey winter’s day. The only drawback is that there isn’t really anywhere to sit, so we set up camp rather awkwardly on a slightly wider section of concrete path, where we spread out our table cloth, our thermos, and our cupcakes and got stuck in, while other visitors to the greenhouse passed us by, variously attempting to ignore our presence, looking rather aggrieved at our outrageous behaviour or making smart arse/endearing comments.
I’ve signed up for a fiction writing course at the polytech, and promptly missed the first session, because the toddler was ill, again, but we won’t let such minor details stand between us and our good intentions, which is what I am sincerely hoping the course leader will say when I turn up sheepishly late next week.
I bought the world’s prettiest oilcloth to cover our big table from the depredations of paint wielding toddlers. It’s got flowers and birds and it’s just gorgeous, and it complements my big vase of coral roses. What? Pretty things make me happy. Look…shiny!
There, I’ve counted my blessings and I feel much better. Ain’t that nice? Actual topical writing will commence again soon, but Ciaran’s in Auckland listening to music, so you’ll have to make do with fatuous fluff for the now.
*Isn’t primary carer a repulsive term? I’ve been filling out too many tax forms recently. I mean the person who does the most feeding, washing, entertaining, poo removal and general day to day wrangling for the fruit of their loins.