When last we saw Our Heroine, she was considering a stack of ironing slightly taller than herself. Those who know her will be astonished to hear that she actually got on and did this. (That's enough third person, as though I were not schizoid enough on a good day.) I ironed pretty much every skirt I possess, and was justly proud of myself. Now all I have to do is never wear any of them again, and that should last me for life. Oh, wait, I see a flaw in this plan.
I had one day in at work last week, on the Wednesday and oh. My. God. Yet another crisis came home to roost. The Very Important Flyer that I had been going to check on Thursday, that I hadn't been able to check on Thursday because the designer had done it wrong, and then couldn't check on Friday because the printer hadn't got it back to me, and that I had had to leave for L to check instead because I wasn't going to be there and which I left perfectly clear instructions for ... I don't know what L's idea of proofreading is, but two of the images were printed in the negative, white on black, and she hadn't spotted it. The fallout was tremendous, and is falling still, as everyone runs for cover and blames it on everyone else. Not to join in the trend, but how it is anyone's fault but L's I do not know - how in the world didn't she spot it?! So, even though I was off for the rest of the week, I didn't really enjoy it, or the weekend, because I was plagued by the nagging sense of DOOM, no matter how I tried to take my mind off it.
I was in no mood, by the time I got home, to go anywhere but, of course, I had to pack, say goodbye to the cats, and get a train down to London. P turned up on cue and was shown the ropes - or, more to the point, the cat food and poo bags - given free run of the computer and anything else she might wish, and promised that, next time she came down, I would try to stay awake and cook a proper meal for her instead of falling back on take-out. Or at least make cake. She gave me a lift to the station, which was most welcome; I packed one change of clothes, some underwear, a nightie and a pair of shoes into J's rucksack, added a spongebag and a bottle of water and a book to read (it was a very bad book, I ended up dumping it on the train), went to pick it up, and fell over backwards. I do not know how it managed to be that heavy, unless there are actually lead weights sewn into the lining. However. Caught the train safely although, rather alarmingly, I appeared to be the only person on it - no wonder fares are so bloody high! - and made it safely to L's in Vauxhall, in spite of some uncertainty of being able to find the way again. L is very depressed about her own work situation, and I think appreciated having a sympathetic listener. (I do sympathise, of course, but at the same time, I also sometimes wish I were surrounded by more cheerful and more positive people; the fact that everyone I know is depressed I am sure does not help at all with my own state of mind.)
Managed to get a decent night's sleep on her sofa, although it isn't really very comfortable, and, since I didn't have to leave until around 9.30, had a nice lie-in, and even managed to scribble down notes for a fic for leiascully's anonymous challenge over on LJ - of course, I couldn't type them up until I got home, so whether or not I would be able to read them again was touch and go ... Minor panic at Vauxhall station, as Esher, for some reason, does not show on any of the boards, but, much to my surprise, the man in the ticket booth cheerfully confirmed both the train and the platform. It was a very easy journey, I found the printers' meet-and-greet people with no trouble, and after a few minutes of stilted conversation their car came along and gave the group of us who'd come on that train a lift to Sandown (where we encountered foot and mouth precautions at the entrance, which cast a bit of a blight). Got up to the function room ... and found myself all on my own in a crowd of strangers, not a sign of M and L anywhere to be seen.
Now. Being on my own in a crowd of strangers is my #1 favourite thing in all the world, coming in a narrow squeak ahead of 'dining in restaurants on my own' and 'going into a pub alone'. I wandered over to the window and took great interest in the scenery. Every so often someone strolled along and struck up conversation; the only problem with that is that when I'm nervous, my accent pitches upward by approximately three Viscounts and a Marchioness, and I sound like I'm about to launch the Royal Yacht Britannia. Topics of conversation included the racecourse ("I'd never really absorbed just how big the track must be!"), country roads in England with a visiting American ("Is Oxford far from here?" "Yes, but not by your standards"), and the exact definition of a furlong, which I only got wrong by times 10 (22 yards one chain, ten chains one furlong, eight furlongs one mile ... hey, it's been a long time, don't judge me!). Survived all this, thanks to several sustaining cups of coffee, and sat through a lecture on The Future of the Printed Book - all I have to say on the Future of the Printed Book is that in the 80s I was writing BG fanfic in which people used booktapes, and that now it's the tapes that are obsolete, not the books - and then another one by the visiting Americans (flown in specially! announced the company president, who only a few moments previously had been assuring us that the company was doing all it could to reduce its carbon footprint, bless him). I do not know what the visiting Americans were selling. They had had a very good idea that would do something very useful and that everybody ought to have. That's about all I could make out. M and L arrived mid-lecture, having been stuck on the M25, along with quite a few other delegates, apparently. And then there was Pimms - which is yummy, btw - and then there was lunch.
I have got to say that, although there were a lot of other elements to the day, my abiding impression of it is oh my god, the food. I have never seen so much food in my life. There were pastries with the coffee - I didn't have one, because I'd got breakfast in Tesco on my way to the station, but they were there; lunch was three courses, and just when you thought it was safely over they brought out enough cheese to feed an army of mouses; and only a couple of hours after that there were sandwiches and not just sandwiches but also more cake than you could throw a damn stick at, if that's your idea of a good time. Torn between 'Well, it would be rude not to' and 'If I do, I'll be sick' I opted (for once) for abstention, but oh, lord, the waste. I do hope that either the printers took home doggie bags for all the people who didn't get to come, or that the restaurant staff ate the leftovers behind the scenes.
In the afternoon there was, of course, the racing. I'd expected to be bored - I never watch racing on the TV, and when Mummy has it on, as she often does when we're round there, the best one can say about it is that it saves trying to think of conversation - but it turns out to be quite different live; just seeing the horses is a thrill. I didn't do any betting, being both cautious and poor, but it was just as enjoyable without a personal stake. I did a lot of walking, in between the stands at one end and the parade ring at the other (it was the first time I have ever seen a jockey up close and, frankly, I am scared; they seem to come in only two kinds, 12-year-old boys and 40-year-old men of exactly the same body type but bearing a strong resemblance to the Winged Monkeys in The Wizard of Oz), and, in fact, wandered all over - they have an awfully frightening statue there of the Queen Mum, but just her face; it was a beautiful sunny day, perfect and green and quintessentially English, and it would have been absolute paradise if not for the nagging fear in my stomach over the ongoing work crisis. But I tried to quench this by, eg, referring to the first race as the Catfood Special. Listen to these descriptions: 'Just limited promise'; 'Some modest signs of ability'; 'Very nearly leading'; 'Half-sister to a speedy winner'; 'It takes imagination to envisage her winning'. Poor, poor, pretty horsies!
I actually did nearly bet on one race, on the sole grounds that the horse I fancied really was incredibly pretty; but she only came in second, so I guess it's as well I didn't.
It all wound up eventually, and I made my way home, with rather more difficulty than the other direction - the courtesy bus to the station took ages to arrive. Got back to L's and collapsed, rather. We had been planning to go to the Indian that night, but I was still so full it would have been a waste, so I suggested that I come back to the flat after I'd had a wander round London, and we should go to the Indian on Friday instead. And so we did.
'Wander round London' is literally what I did on Friday; got a Travelcard, went into town, and pretty much rode around on buses all day, from the centre to Hackney in one direction, and then out to Chelsea in the other. I had a few strolls here and there - along the South Bank, and then along Victoria Embankment - but my feet were still pretty tired from the previous day. The closest I got to tourism was that I thought of looking at Westminster Abbey, because I never have. But, as it turns out, I never shall now, they're charging a £10 entrance fee. Stuff that for a bunch of dead people ... says the woman who blew nearly £50 in Lush in the King's Road ...
We had a lovely meal at the Indian, although I was still a bit over-stuffed, and didn't manage to eat the filling to my dosa. And then home, and very glad I was to get back to my own bed, and my own computer, and my loving pussycats. Phoebe had quite obviously missed me and was quite upset, so I was glad to be able to stay in bed for most of Saturday and give her lots of cuddles.
After that, everything went back to normal pretty fast. I typed up the fic I'd written at L's place on Saturday morning and posted it to the challenge - which has a lot of excellent fic up, including a House fic that's as good as anything I've ever read (I don't really watch House, but never mind), and I'm glad to see that there are several Sports Night authors on there who are not me. I'm only sorry that the challenge isn't getting more recognition. I tried my best to pimp it, but people are too busy with the Fandom That Eats All Other Fandoms, may it rot in hell, to pay attention to anything outside of that.
And so it goes. I actually managed to write a second fic for the challenge on Sunday, so at least I'm doing my bit, even if nobody else is interested.
It was weeJosh's birthday at the weekend and so, being an utter saddo, I left a card for him over on his MySpace ... and noticed in passing that his status has gone from 'single' to 'in a relationship'. Quite unrelatedly, I'm sure, he has also lost the 'straight' tag, but I suspect that this is merely an accident and does not mean that Ethan has come up to scratch, more's the pity.
And now ... back at work, tired as ever, unhappy as ever, bored as ever, lonely as ever ... But all this proves that I can have a nice time, and I am not depressed. All I need is something to bloody well do!
