Time to start revising

Well, the funeral is now over. It went as well as could be expected, except that several men in the congregation, led by my father, cried uncontrolably during my eulogy, which was meant to be WITTY and AMUSING! Then everyone from the congregation - all 70 of them (not bad for an old lady of 93) - came back to the house and drank us out of house and home. At one stage, Dad said to his friend Alan "I've got some beer hidden away, if you'd like some.." to which Alan replied "Oh, there's none left -we found it and we drank it". Everything a wake should be!

I'm now back at college, in a slight panic that I'm now 2 weeks behind on my revision. I shall be spending this week with Racine and Flaubert (and a very large French dictionary). Thank goodness I have my knitting to keep me calm!

Woof!

Auntie Pam has got a new dog. It is a rescue dog, part shitsu and part poodle. She has named it Sophie.

Needless to say, sister Sophie is not too happy about about having a shitpoo named after her. We've decided that what we need to do is buy a fat old white labrador and call it Auntie Pam - that'll teach her!

End of an Era

The reason for my recent silence in the world of blogging is that Nan died on Saturday. She was 93, and had a heart attack. It has been a sad few days, organising the funeral, especially with a family of ill people (both the Lawn and Williams households have been stricken by bugs of varying degrees of nastiness). I'm back in Cambridge now, but will be going back to Suffolk for the funeral on Tuesday. It's going to be a very inappropriate affair. We're burying Nan in the morning, in a private commital just for family - and honorary family - members. Then we're having a service of thanksgiving for her life. The funeral will open with the song "Bring me sunshine" and the vicar has promised to skip down the aisle Morcombe and Wise style. We want bright colours and laughter. Which is good, seeing as I usually laugh my arse off at funerals anyway (it's a nervous reaction, and I can't help it - but this time it could get me into serious trouble seeing as I'm reading the eulogy!).

Nan will be missed. She lived with us from the year that I was born and only went into a home when she needed more constant care than my parents could give last year. The last time I saw her she was laughing her arse off because, as she put it "some bugger" had nicked her false teeth! And for those of you who eat my cakes and have to wear my knitted goods, you have her to thank!

The Little Monkeys are Finished!

It's nearly 11 pm and my portfolio of essays is finally ready. This is the first piece of work I've produced here that actually counts for something (it replaces one of the exams so is a form of assessed course-work). I've written about Shakespeare/Jonson and rumpy-pumpy, Sidney's art of imitation and about whether Paradise Lost's Adam and Eve should have divorced (well, I wouldn't I?). I can't wait to hand them in and forget all about them. The past few days have been ... well.. stressful! J, needless to say, has been an angel.

Tomorrow = 10 mile run, hand in essays, pub lunch, revision lessons with Senior Tutor, meeting with Director of Studies, followed by many, many G&Ts. Friday = hangover at work! Delightful!

Oh, it's all gone quiet over here...

The portfolio of essays has to be in on Thursday, hence my absence from blogland. I'm soooo nearly there, and can't wait for them to be submitted so there's nothing more I can do to them. Little monkeys.

Two things that made me giggle today:

1. Showing J my most recent knitting project and him laughing uncontrollably. It turned out he thought that the big multicoloured creation I was knitting was a scarf and that he was going to have to wear it. It wasn't, he won't. But his reaction was funny because he usually manages to keep his real feelings about my knitting under wraps, so he can say encouraging things like "well, that's beautiful, Becky. Whoever gets that will be a very lucky person indeed".

2. rAndy inviting Johnny (barman at Red Bull but also a student at our college, albeit one we don't yet know very well) over to eat with us in the pub, and opening the conversation with the words "Have you picked your balls yet?". (I should point out that it is time to book May ball tickets, but R could really have worded it better! As luck would have it, Johnny misheard him, and thought he said "Can I kick your balls?").

Good news is, we have picked our balls! We're going to Jesus, with a whole load of crazy Irish diplomats and Nicola F-B. Poor Jesus undergrads won't know what hit 'em.

What James has had to put up with This Week

1. Me aching, and whimpering "ouch, ouch, ouch" every time I have to walk downstairs.
2. Me pulling my hear out, swearing and acting like a 2 year old over my portfolio of essays (due in tonight).
3. Me playing Johnny Cash's 'I walk the line' repeatedly - and making him dance around the living room with me whilst listening to it.

He's a hero. He truly deserves to wear his underpants on the outside of his trousers.

Damned hormones!

I'm turning into an emotional wreck. A couple of days ago, I read a short biography of Johnny Cash in Marie-Claire and ended up in floods of tears, because Johnny really loved his wife June, and when she died, he lost is soul-mate and and missed her so much he ended up dying about three months later. Tears, tears and more tears. (And one very confused James.) Then I watched the film, "Walk the Line" about Johnny Cash, and cried again. Last month, I ended up in floods of tears because James told me that when he worked in the supermarket in Sydney, an old man came in and asked if the raw chicken was cooked, because his wife had just died and he had no idea how to cook for himself. Boo bloody hoo - I cried for ages. This is getting ridiculous.

The only comfort I have is that I'm not as bad as a certain other person, who cries when she sees (a) green colanders and (b) crocheted flowers. So I guess there's hope for me yet!

Pushing the Boundaries - or climbing over them

I did the Cambridge Boundary Run half marathon yesterday. The full run was the 23 miles of the Cambridge boundary but there was also a half marathon option for the lightweights. It was the strangest run I've ever done. We were presented with a waterproof map and booklet of directions upon registration and the run involved climbing over gates and fences, crossing a railway line and running through deep and slippery mud and through fields of sheep. I got lost several times, including right at the end, when I nearly took a (very) wrong turn within sight of the finish line. The run took me 2.07 - I usually do the distance in just under two hours but I consider this quite a good time given the circumstances!

James joined me on his bike for the last 5 miles. I don't think he quite knew what he was letting himself in for, and I think the cycling ended up being more difficult than the running, as it entailed hurling his bike over fences and then climbing over himself, only to have to negotiate muddy and bumpy fields. He aches as much as I do today. We've just had a 2 hour afternoon nap.

And now I have to go to a supervision about medieval dream poetry. Why me?

Her Not-So Dark Materials

Look upon my mighty works and bow down and worship me! I am indeed the newly-crowned Queen of Crochet (or a very Happy Hooker).

James, whilst trying to be supportive, has commented that this is the worst colour clash he has ever witnessed. I said that that is only because he wasn't around in the 70s.

I know everyone reading this is going to want this wondrous work of art for themselves, so I propose to send it to the person who sends me the best tribute to it. Note the interesting colour scheme, lack of conformity to defined shape, as well as the didactic message of peace and understanding it so obviously portrays. Yes indeed. I'm off to make a coaster now.