Oops, it’s Wednesday again already...

So that's a whole week passing by without a whole lot to say. I dunno. Blog lethargy has set in for a whole bunch of people, I guess, including me.

It's not that I've totally done nothing, but it's fair to say I've done nothing much (though we did meet up with some new peeps on the weekend; see here for deets). I didn't even get started on that short video project I mentioned last time. I intend to, though. Maybe today. But first I have to go shopping for a new car. Yeah... bummer.

Yesterday, Red and I looked out the window and saw it was a glorious day, so we decided not to work. That's the raddest thing about working from home. If it's a quiet week and the weather is nice, you can just skip work. We headed out to the seaside -- Broadstairs, to be precise.

We wandered the lovely streets, set foot on the sand briefly, wandered some more, went and ate a pizza at a nice little Italian restaurant, wandered some more, went and had tea and cake at a delightful little café, wandered some more, and then headed back home, stopping off for a sit down on the beach at Whitstable en route.


Once there, we plonked ourselves down, kicked off our shoes, and just sat in a shady spot watching the sea retreating from the shore. Just chillaxing, y'know?

By the time we got back home it was just after 6pm, and we found a card saying that the postman had been unable to deliver a package cos it was too big for our slot. Red said she had an idea that it might be from Captain Karen...

The rest of the early evening passed uneventfully, until the music and singing next door alerted us to a birthday in the house. Fuck. And on it went until after 1am. Tossers.

Anyways... At 8:15 this morning I headed down to the sorting office to collect the parcel, and it was from Karen!

I rushed back home, the missus grabbed the scissors, and we cut our way into our box o' goodies. And what goodies they were! Maple Leaf cream-filled cookies, saskatoon jam (look out breakfast time!), and a book called How to Be a Canadian, which may be pretty timely since we heard Canada is looking for emigrants and we might just look into that...


Thank you, lovely Captain for your lovely gifts. As ever, they are much appreciated and will be put to good use, of that you can be sure!

Well, that's all the news that's fit to print for another day, so catch you on the flipside, guys 'n' gals.

Smells like the beach

I say it a lot recently, but I really don't know where the time goes. I don't have time to blog; I don't have time to work (!); I don't have time to watch movies or write reviews. And I have had very little time to visit all my blogpals, so MASSIVE APOLOGIES to you all, but I'm trying to make good.

Anyway... today I will work. I have a lot to do. The frustrating thing about work is that some clients piss you about. And when you get pissed about and screwed over, it makes you feel like not working on people's jobs, y'know? But I've got to, so I will.

I must say, though, I feel a bit queasy. Last night I had Indian food for the first time since my food-poisoning episode. And we ate it with some Prosecco (Italian sparkling wine; Champagne and Prosecco go great with Indian, in case you don't know). This was also the first alcohol to have passed my lips in more than a week. I feel delicate. Not ill; not relapse stylee. Just "maybe I shouldn't have done it"-ish. But you gotta get back on the horse sometime, right? So I saddled up, baby...!

What a great weekend it was, though, here in the southeast of England. Red said to me on Friday night, "Let's go to Whitstable tomorrow, since it's going to be so lovely." I agreed. We often go to Whitstable on a weekend for a constitutional stroll to get some blood moving through our veins. What she meant -- and what I didn't fully realize until we got there (don't ask why; I'm an idiot. And it led to some degree of upset) -- was to spend the whole day. Like going for a day at the seaside. Despite my being ill prepared, we made the most of a bad lot and enjoyed it while we were there.


Since Sunday was due to be nice, we made a pact to do it again properly the next day. In the United States they have a great term that we don't seem to use here in the UK: "do-over". I'm a big fan of the do-over. Something goes wrong, hell, let's have a do-over, and this time we'll get it right. And get it right we did on Sunday!


We took the parasol from the garden, a couple of bath towels, appropriate head gear (Red's Yankees baseball cap and my trusty tattoo-style bandanna, instead of the shirt I used on Saturday, seen in the pic at top), swimwear, and just enough money to buy lunch, and off we set. We didn't take the camera because we wanted to spend some time in the water. It's a shame in hindsight, because it is nice having photos of when you're being dorks! It was a fun day out.

Whitstable's beach is a pebbly beach, and it is painful as hell walking to and from the sea. It's also amazing how shallow and deep the water gets. During the mid-morning we commented how safe it is for children, since you have to walk for miles in the water to get even your ankles wet; but after lunch it was impossible to touch the seafloor after just a few feet.

I had ice cream! And I wore my black Chuck Taylors in the sea (picture by Red below). I had no other footwear, and the pebbles were slaying me, man. Red says, "You can't not come in just because it's painful. Put your shoes on." She was right. (It's not just that it was painful. I have got the most sensitive soles of feet in Christendom, I swear. My feet cannot be touched. I will accidentally kick you in the face if you touch my feet. Accidentally, mind.)


So, two days on the beach. And I got a little burned, but only really around my feet, so that's okay.

On Friday I guess I must have worked some. I also watched the previous week's episode of The Shield in preparation for that night's. I love The Shield. And I finished reading my book (more on that soon). We also laughed about the dorks we made of ourselves with Eamonn at The Globe. I dunno what else...

Oh yeah, and here are some pics I promised from The Globe.


Desdemona and Othello alive and well and gettin' jiggy with it at the curtain call.


The stage at The Globe.


Eamonn humouring two adoring fans -- i.e., Red and me. (He's much more smiley over here at Red's blog.)


An autographed programme.