This blog sucks

Well, look at it. No posts since May. My life is dull, yes, but not that dull. I've done great things since then. I've sung at the Proms. I've moved. I've drunk copious quantities of wine, both white and pink. But not found the time to blog about any of it. Bad LittleMiss.

Blogs that don't suck: BBC News led me yesterday to Random Reality, the blog of an EMT in the London Ambulance Service. And from there I found Nee Naw, a dispatcher with same, and The World Through The Eyes Of An EMT.

I've also read many a book recently, so expect some action on Lilleybooks after the bank holiday.

Which reminds me: it's my first ever August Bank Holiday. I've never lived in England at the end of August before. How very exciting. It would be more exciting if payday were sooner than Thursday, though - a classic case of there being too much month left at the end of the money, unfortunately.

Wittering

No posts for a while. So here's one. This week I have been mostly grappling with InDesign and getting rained on. Every damn evening! Wettest drought I've ever experienced, I'll tell you. (Yes, yes, I'm from the Westascoatland, I don't know jack about droughts.) Also I am waiting to hear when I can move into my new abode - P has bought a house, but hasn't completed yet and therefore doesn't know when he's going to be able to move. Which is, of course, infinitely more annoying for P than for me, but still... This weekend I am off to Glaaaarster for the annual spectacle that is the cheese rolling (and the annual knees-up that is D's birthday), and I am hoping very much for an improvement in the weather. I must do some running as well: my Race for Life is next weekend (Erp!) and I currently don't relish the thought of running five kilometres (a poxy distance, but that's not how it feels). D has promised us sport, but playing touch rugby with a mob of huge boys does not appeal. At all. So I will be out tonight test-driving the new running playlist on my iBrick. (And in other news, I live in anticipation of a real iPod for my upcoming birthday.)

The book reviewing blog will get more posts soon, I promise - it's just that recently I've mainly been reading magazines and Georgette Heyer, and God knows, there's plenty been said about her.

Went to the Museum of London at the weekend with three fellow Scots - which meant that we could take the piss (gently) out of its pompous "LONDON: Centre of the Known Universe!" angle. Still a fantastic museum, though.

Singing lesson last night, and I was enchanted by the suggestion that the way to really get under the skin of Se Tu M'ami was to pretend I was a bit pissed. It worked and all.

I have little else to say. Goodbye for now.

Shameless plug

for my new book reviewing blog, at http://lilleybooks.blogspot.com/.

May is great

Why's that, LittleMissLilley? you say. Well, boys and girls, it's because May is bookended by two bank holidays. Oh yes. And since I've just made the unhappy discovery that NYCoS will use ALL my leave for this year, public holidays are now terribly important to me. Much as I will enjoy it, the absence of anything resembling a restful holiday is fairly depressing. Still, the weather's better here than at home anyway, so it'll be like I'm on holiday all the time. Well, that's what I tell myself.

The weekend was charming. High spots included Dancing Like A Loon (tm) on Saturday night, pie from Pie Minister on Brick Lane on Sunday, and a rowing boat on the Serpentine on Monday. My new pastime, however, is flat hunting. Such fun. Oh no, wait, it isn't. Watch this space for tales of woe.

In other news, I've entered a Race for Life, and if you're feeling munificent you can sponsor me here.

On grindstones...

...and having one's nose returned thereto. I was off all last week, and very nice it was too. I flew north on Good Friday, and on Saturday I went for a run, which was very dull. Then I went riding, and fell off this evil creature, who was in a profoundly silly mood, and shocked some onlookers with my fluency with sweary words. In the evening I met up with some schoolfriends: a night of fun, stupidity and random shooters was enjoyed by all. Sunday was quieter (although not quiet enough for my poor achey head), with church, a hangover-aiding chippy for lunch, and Easter eggs. On Easter Monday I steeled myself to go shopping; to my surprise it wasn't actually that horrendous, but in typical fashion I couldn't find a damn thing I wanted to buy. Tuesday was enlivened chiefly by a visit to Cumbernauld. Everything you've ever heard about Cumbernauld is true. Trust me. Now you don't need to go there yourself; be glad of that.

Wednesday pm, after a wedge of toffee cake (oh yes!) at Ardardan, was taken up by NYCoS rehearsals in the Merchants' Hall (a very handsome place indeed). After a break (during which some of us were introduced to the Spectre of Terrible Service which was to follow us wherever we went) we moved to the recently-refurbished City Hall for an orchestral rehearsal. Following this I ate my own body weight in pasta and garlic bread. It's not clever, but it is big. Bleugh.

The early part of Thursday K and I spent in the Gallery of Modern Art in Glasgow (really not that great), lunch in the Lab off Buchanan Street (highly recommended) and the shops. Oh, the shops. Then back to the City Hall for rehearsals, M&S sandwiches (this is not just a sandwich: this is a posh sandwich in a recycled cardboard box) and the concert. A review can be found here.

Aberdeen on Friday, via a private prescription from A (the success of which excited both of us far too much) and Sainsbury's for bus provisions. I hate coach travel. Even in company with fun people I hate coach travel. And I especially hate it when you think "Gosh, we've been on this bus for ages, and I'm sick of it: surely we'll get there soon" and then you pass a sign which says "Aberdeen 87" and then start screaming uncontrollably. All in all we only spent about 3 hours in the damn place, but that was enough time to get harrassed by a tartan-clad tramp on Union Street, who had serious problems accepting the concept of a non-English speaker ("Ah conny bleeve yus only speak Jairman.") - fair enough, you might say, since I was definitely pretending, but never mind - and tried to give us Buckie ("Yis gurruls drink wine?") at which point we ran away. I know some people who I know, like and respect are deeply attached to the place, but I really don't understand why.

Returned to Ingerland on Saturday, after a day which T and I spent wandering round the West End, making nachos (drooling again at the thought) and visiting IKEA and Braehead very very quickly; both were hellish. Yesterday I went to Portsmouth for my godmother's silver wedding celebrations, and on the way home was suitably chastened by the sight of returning London Marathoners who could barely get off the train. Today I am back at work. Ho hum.

On a different note...

Easter might not be about chocolate rabbits, but that doesn't mean that this isn't bloody funny.

Hoppity hop

Nearly Easter. Nearly chocolate-munching time. Nearly time off work. Nearly time to drink again. (And yes, I am tasting phantom gin just thinking about that. Oh dear.)

And more to the point, nearly time to commemorate the death and resurrection of Jesus. A point which I think is getting increasingly lost. In the last few years I've got increasingly irritated with the gross commerciality of Christmas - whether it's suddenly got worse or it's jsut me ageing I don't know - and now it seems like there's increasing pressure on Easter in the same direction. Ten years ago nobody sent secular Easter cards - now they're all over the place, bunny-, lamb- and chicken-covered. Some shops are even trying to persuade parents that Easter is another occasion when children need to be bought toys. Magazines are full of recipes for 'that big Easter family lunch', complete with yellow and white themed centrepieces. But there's never any mention of Our Lord bursting from the spiced tomb. God so loving the world that he gave his only begotten Son is not really going to be a keynote sentiment in the average experience of the coming weekend. And frankly, I find this deeply annoying. If you want a spring holiday, fair enough. But there are two perfectly good May Bank Holidays. There's the Queen's actual birthday (that this small-r republican should be advocating celebrating that!). There's the weekend the clocks go forward. Can you not just leave the single most important event of the Christian year to the Christians, and stop trying to pretend that it's actually about chocolate rabbits and daffodils? Because it isn't. It's about Jesus. And He's not fluffy, or cute, or comfortable.

Run, Lilley, Run!

A couple of posts back I mentioned my purchase of a pair of scarily expensive running shoes. Well, money has succeeded where all more sensible concerns failed (I am a Scot, after all) and driven out to exercise. I've got even less fit since I stopped riding on moving south, so it was about time something was done. I've now started the programme detailed in this book, and so far, so good. I feel tremendously pleased with myself. Currently I am trying to badger a friend into running a Race for Life with me - watch this space.

Spring is springing, the weather is improving, and I need a new coat. And, of course, the threatened hosepipe ban is getting ever nearer. Any Scottish readers I might have will probably be surprised and frightened to hear that sometimes it goes for THREE or even FOUR days without raining, and when it does rain, it's only ever vertical! 'Tis not God's way, say I. In all seriousness, however, a drought in England's wet season is deeply disturbing, and I can't help feeling that it's symptomatic of a greater malaise. Not to mention, of course, the ODPM's plan to build thousands of new houses on land that is either a) in the area currently affected by water shortages or b) vulnerable to flooding. Where's the happy medium?

I'm enjoying looking at the spring sunshine as I write this, but I'd better enjoy it while I can, since we're allegedly moving to the basement any day now. On the plus side, no stairs; on the minus, no windows. Well.

Anyway, back to the grindstone.