‘Tis the season to be toasty…

It is a truth universally acknowledged that time flies. Especially when you’re having fun, and sometimes even when you’re not. And how, indeed, the hours and days have sped by since my last post! I simply don’t know where they’ve gone, or even how they have travelled. Crazy.

Anyway, here I am, back again, and feeling – with, I confess, some considerable smugness – the benefits of my hot water bottle (it’s cold in London today) in its lovely, new, hand-knitted cover:

Lovely, stripy cosiness. I do love a hot water bottle to snuggle up with.

Lovely, stripy cosiness. I do love a hot water bottle to snuggle up with.

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A shedload of yarn

This time next week, we’ll have been cosily ensconced in our holiday cottage in Purbeck, Dorset, for two whole days. Our long-awaited break is almost upon us – and not a moment too soon! On Friday, having made the third and final of three enormous work-related deadlines, I went for a walk to release some adrenaline. After ten minutes, my body reacted – suddenly and decidedly – to the relief and it was all I could do to convince one foot to follow the other until I got back home. ‘The fatigue is come upon me’, cried the Lady of Crouch End – or, at least, she would have done, had she had sufficient strength for more than a whimper.
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Getting into a flap!

Monstrously enormous excitement (and some trepidation)! I may be saved from having to accept the role of Thirteenth Doctor should Peter Capaldi ever decide he’s had enough. And, let’s face it, previous incumbents have all moved on eventually (or we’d still be on Doctor Number One), so it’s quite likely that Capaldi, too, will at some point pass on the trick of piloting the TARDIS to another. It’s a shame, really, that I may no longer be available, as I look so very fetching in the scarf Continue reading

When is a scarf not a scarf?

When it’s a humongous cover for a bolster cushion, naturally.

It all started in the late summer of 2012 when I developed terrible and apparently interminable back and neck pain. Goodness knows what triggered this. Suspects at the time – none of whom were then or have since been brought adequately to justice – included a poor understanding of what to do with my neck at yoga (I was then but a mere novice, squeaky in my shiny newness), my inexcusably poor posture while seated at my desk during office hours, and my inconvenient habit of sleeping on my front. Continue reading