Harriet you idiot!

Trip Start May 27, 2010
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77
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Trip End Aug 31, 2011


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Flag of United Kingdom  , England,
Monday, November 21, 2011

I uncovered an immense source of frustration during the week, when walking down the street to look at a ceramic rabbit in a gift shop.  I wanted to see how much it was selling for.  It was way too expensive for my liking, but it was a piece of art.  Maybe one day I will be rich enough to buy art.  Anyway, that's beside the point.  On the way down the street, struggling through the crowds of people hanging about to sample the sights, sounds and smells of the Christmas markets, I was accosted by three people.  On the way back I was accosted by two, one being the same girl that approached me earlier.  I told her I was in a hurry the first time and that no, I didn't have time to stop and talk to her about starving children in Africa or whatever the hell she wanted to talk to me about.  She recognised me when I was walking along, doing my best impression of a stressed person in a rush, and she made a bee line for me.  I said "I was in a hurry then, and I'm in a hurry now".  Maybe these people find me approachable.  Or maybe just a victim, walking alone.  I need to find a new route to get down the street, because every time I take that walk, I am approached by these people who are trying to heal the world and make it a better place.  Sure, they're doing something positive and trying to make a difference in the world, I get that.  But they would be making a huge difference to my world if they just buggared off.  They prey on people walking alone, and pretend to be all friendly and want to be your best friend.  Sorry, I don't want to be your best friend, and nor do I want to sponsor a dying tree in India. 

I guess there can be positives to being approached by these street workers, if you can call them that.  I'll never forget the time I was working in Sydney, eons ago, and was standing in the mall having a ciggie.  A guy came over to me and started chatting to me about the Wilderness Society and what great work they do, and then proceeded to ask me for a donation.  I said to him that I couldn't give him any money because I didn't know where my next pay packet was coming from - I had literally just been told the office I was working in was closing and so I won't have a job anymore.  He spent the next little while chatting to me and I believe he was just being genuinely nice.  I had to trust this anyway - he could've been trying to hit on me I suppose, or just pretending to be interested in my sob story so that I would be interested in his.  Back to the dying trees. 

I got mail every day of the week and each day I was excited to go home to see what the postman had delivered. Some engagement cards from home, including a lovely hand-made card from Mum and a gorgeous candle from Jacci which I don't think I have the heart to burn, and some other items of post including some tights that I'd ordered from Australia. Extravagant, I know, but I'm sick to death of buying tights that don't fit. They're either too short, too long, too tight or too loose. I can't get it right. In reality, I think the fact that I've been in denial for 12 months about the size of my body and have hence been buying the wrong size hasn't helped any. Trying to squeeze tall legs into medium tights probably isn't ideal. Nonetheless, I knew that Leona Edmiston tights have always been good to me, and so I ordered a couple of pairs online and had them delivered. They cost me a bomb when converted to GBP, but at least they fit, and should hopefully get me through the winter.

Phil went away to Budapest with the boys for his stag weekend. They left early Friday morning and I was worried that it was going to be a repeat of the weekend bender he had when he went to Dublin, which ruined him for days afterwards. He'd been off work sick the whole week, having come down with a case of man flu (you know, that flu that's way worse than any others?), and so the concern was that it was going to hamper his weekend. Hamper it did not, for they still all managed two big nights on the Hungarian booze, and all had a great time. Captain Condom even made an appearance, albeit only for a little while. I was disappointed that the boys didn't dress him up in the Bruno outfit they'd planned, but they were sympathetic and decided that it was far too cold to let a man run around town in such a skimpy costume. I think he was grateful for that!

I spent the weekend mostly at home, getting some odd jobs done, spending money I don't have and watching a number of rubbish movies. There's just nothing decent around at the moment. It's quite depressing really. I bought myself a lovely faux fur coat and ordered another that will keep me warm as I commute to work in the horrid English winter. I wrote some Christmas cards and addressed some envelopes to send out some invitations and, being the super-organised person that I am, they are now all ready a month early. What ever will I do to fill in time over the next month!

I also found inspiration at work earlier in the week when a girl had made some whoopee pies. They were great. I had three. Over two days. I figure that's not too bad. So I thought "hey, I'm going to make some of those" and with a puff of smoke, Harriet Homemaker appeared in my kitchen with a Betty Crocker packet mix under her arm. Harriet, the idiot, only divided the biscuit batter into 10 parts, instead of 20, meaning that instead of 10 biscuits joined together with frosting, there were only 5. I realised after I'd put them into the oven, when it was too late to pull them out and split them up. Oops! I spent an hour making these things and only ended up with 5! Two I sent around to Phil's mum to have for afternoon tea with her mum, the other three I kept for when Philo came home from his weekend away. Embarrassingly, I only had one and a half to offer him. Thankfully there's another packet in the cupboard for next time I feel like unleashing Harriet in the kitchen. What an idiot.
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