tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67804532561970188732024-03-06T00:04:05.949+00:00This Week's RamblesMelancholic MutteringsAdelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02315248671852116539noreply@blogger.comBlogger225125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6780453256197018873.post-22028334716870305932023-12-22T14:21:00.001+00:002023-12-22T14:21:53.069+00:00Halfway through the dark<p> I am not feeling very Christmas-y this year. Maybe less than usual, but it is hard to tell. I still feel like I'm treading water. Intentions to finish a couple of stories I started, to restart daily exercise, to start eating healthy again, all come and go. The sadness and the emptiness and the dark thoughts just keep welling up and I fight them down and go see friends and family and keep making plans in the short term because that's how I keep going. I don't know how much the lack of sunlight is influencing my mood so I don't know if it will get better come spring, which makes it hard to celebrate the solstice. I'm just so very tired. </p><p>But there is new Doctor Who on Christmas Day, so that's something to look forward to. My son is home for a bit and I have two weeks off work. D&D sessions to plan for January, and maybe even dancing on New Year's Eve. Just need to keep swimming. </p>Adelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02315248671852116539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6780453256197018873.post-69907637896442277962023-08-12T21:55:00.002+01:002023-08-12T21:55:40.680+01:00[Fiction] The Demon in the Ladies<p>"I really should have forseen this," Breesha thought to herself as she stared, dismayed, at the small fiend perched on the toilet seat. And she really should have.</p><p>The invitation to attend the Theoretical Infernal Engineering Foundation's Fifth Congress was last-minute, and therefore so was her acceptance. Her work bordered only lightly on that of the TIEF, but she found it interesting from an academic point of view, and her background in aetheretics made her one of the few from her own research group who would be able to follow the engineers' arcane jargon. Yes, she occasionally found their gung-ho enthusiasm for new theories and methods a little too uncautious at times, and yes, they often understated the "theoretical" nature of their work, trying to claim real-world applications with minimal evidence that their technical assumptions hold even in part. But the same could be said of all demonologists, to be frank, and they weren't such a bad bunch to spend time with. So she jumped at the chance of kicking back for a day or two and maybe even learning something.</p><p>But the problem with being a demonologist, even a strictly observational one, is that it is hard to leave the demons at work.</p><p>Not literally, obviously, except for that one time the containment field failed, and many, many, backups and safeguards have been put in place since then. But rather, previous interactions with demons is the highest predictor of encountering another demon, a still currently unexplained fact that means this sort of situation was an occupational hazard for demonologists. </p><p>Breesha dumped her backpack on the floor, took off her glasses and sighed as she cleaned them methodically on her shirt tail. "Right then," she said out loud as she put them back on, "what manner of beastie are you then?"</p><p>The fiend turned to look at her as she spoke, but sadly did not helpfully supply an answer. It just continued to chew on the end of the toilet paper as it stared at her with large, doleful eyes. She tentatively moved closer, bending over to almost eye-level with it as she mentally ran through the basic checklist of Spina's taxonomy. </p><p>"Definitely an imp of some kind," she mused. "Not entirely obvious by size alone, you do get some quite small devils. Probably an emotional manifestation: personal, judging by size of spines and tail. Quite young too." Without thinking, she stood straight and went to grab her backpack and the imp startled, jumping away and clambering onto the stall divider, perching preciariously on top. </p><p>"Ah crud, Anxiety." Breesha paused, but the lack of screams or otherwise from the neighbouring stall confirmed her suspicion they were alone. Avoiding any more sudden movements, she fished out her multi-rune from her bag and quickly thumbed across the smooth stone until her friend Elske's symbol came up and she squeezed the stone tightly as she raised it to her lips and whispered, "got an anxiety manifest in the hotel loos, not sure if I have the right gear with me."</p><p>Now Hilda, Hilda would have known what to do. Breesha felt her loss exquisitely, the pain sudddenly sharper than it had been in months. But before she could become lost in those feelings, she heard Elske's gentle voice in her head, "tell reception, they should be able to help?"</p><p>Of course, that was an eminantly sensible and practical suggestion, but Breesha bristled at the idea that she couldn't handle this herself. She was a professional after all. Not a professional demon hunter exactly, but still.</p><p>The Anxiety Imp crept along the top of the divider until it reached the front of the stalls and peered down at the floor as if in preperation of a jump. Breesha whispered back into her multi-rune, "it could be gone by time they get here, might just try and contain it." Before Elske could respond with any further rational advice, she shoved the stone back into her bag and pulled out the over-sized shawl she kept in there "for emergencies". She has never been entirely clear what type of emergency would require a large knitted wrap, but could definitely say <i>this </i>wasn't what she had in mind. </p><p>Gently lowering her bag to the ground so as to not make any noise which may startle the creature, she unfolded the shawl, stretching it between her hands, and crept closer to the Imp. It was still gazing downwards and didn't appear to be taking any notice of her, so she was both surprised and frustrated when, just as she was about to jump up and attempt to envelope it with the shawl, it suddenly glanced at her, yelped, and jumped a stunning four feet horizontally to the open window and disappeared through it.</p><p>"Why didn't I close the window first?" Breesha wailed out loud as she scrambled towards it, attempting to stand on tiptoes and pull herself up to the narrow recess in order to look out. The tiles were too smooth and the window too high up - the reason she had overlooked it in the first place. "No way I would fit through it anyway," she grumbled and she ran back towards the door, snatching her bag up on the way.</p><p>She barely saw the confused looks from other TIEF attendees and brushed off one "Ah, Dr Faragher-" without even noticing who was speaking. She beelined for the entrance, and once outside, made her way round the side of the building to where the toilets would have been, hoping beyond hope the Imp had not already gone far. This hope was quickly shattered when she rounded the first corner and spotted the distinctive small shape vanishing into the tree line of the hotel's vast gardens. She sighed, hoisted her bag further up her back, and set off at a light jog, waving apologetically at the gardener who shouted at pointed angrily towards the "Keep Off The Lawn" sign. </p><p>Once she reached the wooded area, Breesha quickly realised she'd lost all trace of the demon. She slowed and then stopped and listened carefully. It was surprisingly quiet here, despite still being in the city centre and only meters away from the bustling hotel. But the trees deadened outside sounds, and there were few birds singing at the moment. That, in itself, may be a sign that the imp was nearby. For a while, all she could hear was the sound of her own heart thumping. Then, a rustle. As she turned her head to try and pinpoint the origin of the sound, she heard a quiet gurgling snicker from above. Moving ever so slowly, she turned around and looked up into the trees. The imp was sitting mere feet away watching her closely. It stuck out its tongue and blew a raspberry at her.</p><p>"Oh, that's it!" she snapped, and threw her bag down. Apparently so startled it froze instead of flinching away, the imp just stared at her as she leapt at the tree and scrambled up the branches before pulling herself into a seated position alongside it. She then held out a hand in a conciliatory manner and said softly, "My name is Breesha. I don't want to hurt you, just send you back home." It tilted its head at her, like an inquisitive puppy, then looked down at her hand. Gingerly, it placed its own clawed hand into hers, and hissed and clicked something in its own language she would have been able to translate if she hadn't left her multi-rune in her bag on the ground. </p><p>Patiently she waited until the demon felt comfortable enough to climb onto her, and she clung on tight to it as she jumped down, winding herself slightly but managing not to break anything or sprain her ankle too badly. She murmered comforting sounds at it as she fished out her multi-rune and quickly swiped to the shortcut for banishing rites and squeezed. The necessary arcane symbols shimmered in the air in front of her; she found a stick and copied them into the ground as best she could, one-handed as the imp still clung to her front. She unpeeled its arms from around her and held it firmly in the centre of the improvised circle as she incanted. Finishing off the rite with one drop of blood, easily drawn from her fingertip by the stick, she whispered "Goodbye" to it as it faded from this plane of reality, trying not to notice the look of betrayal on its face. </p><p>She sat on the floor of the woods, in complete quiet, and wondered why she felt sad. As tears started to well up in her eyes, she fought them back, and hurriedly gathered her things and started to walk in what she hoped was the way out. In no mood to go back to the Congress, she resolved to go home, sending Elske a quick update on the way. However, spotting some yellow flowers, she picked one, and headed instead to the cemetary, to place it on Hilda's grave and tell her the whole the story. </p>Adelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02315248671852116539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6780453256197018873.post-34344959166344028942023-08-08T17:33:00.004+01:002023-08-08T18:50:28.116+01:00[Fiction] The Sweet Shop<p> When the sweet shop first opened, all the parents in town grumbled. The kids were obsessed and would nag incessently for pocket money to go and spend there, and surely this would just mean terrible things for all the children's teeth? But as soon as they caved and allowed a visit, they started to come round - it was quaint, really, the rows upon rows of jars of sweets, the old-fashioned scales with genuine weights which made a pleasing clicking sound, the paper bags, just how sweet shops should be. Everyone's favourite sweets were there: jelly beans, rhubarb and custard, half a dozen different flavours of bon-bons - just ask and if they didn't have it then they would by the next time you visited. The owner was a pleasant man, who the kids just seemed to love, and a couple of the neighborhood teens even got weekend jobs there and served customers with none of the usual teenage sullenness. Business was booming, lines outside the shop at opening and rarely half an hour went by without at least one visitor. Overall, everyone agreed it was a wonderful addition to their small town.</p><p>Stacey was the first child to "disappear". She was off school sick one Thursday and just never came back. Her parents also retreated from public life, when they did bump into someone at the bank or supermarket, they made vague statements about an illness: "oh nothing serious," they'd hasten to reassure people, "I'm sure she'll be fine in a week or two." But the weeks went by and still so sign of her. And in those weeks, her classmate Tony and an older child Rebecca also became mysteriously "ill". Rumours started circulating about the nature of their ailments, a water-based infection perhaps, pesticides used at the school, some of the more unkind townsfolk even saying they just didn't want to go to school and the parents were pandering.</p><p>The twins Riley and Sebastien were only four, and their mother was the local doctor, so people started to pay more attention. Their neighbour Mrs Jones whispered all around town that terrible noises and yelling could be heard at all hours from their house, and the gossip got so frantic and so lurid that the police paid them a visit, and then went to the other afflicated children's homes. They were unusually tightlipped about what they found there though.</p><p>Another few months went by and more and more children stopped attending school. Other strange phenomena started to appear as well - gardens were vandalised in the middle of the night, accompanied by such strange and ghastly rackets that no-one dared investigate. The nosy Mrs Jones was found dead in her living room sat by the window, her face contorted in a visage of fright. An unspoken dread had descended on the town and everyone started to go about their lives as quietly and inconspicuously as possible, all knowing something was dreadfully wrong but unable to pinpoint exactly what. </p><p>Inevitably, attention eventually turned to the newcomer, and the only shop in town still getting regular customers. Despite the dwindling numbers of schoolchildren actually going to school, the sweet shop's queues didn't seem any smaller. One evening, a rare meeting of friends in the local pub led to some hushed discussion and as the pints went down "somneone should do something" turned to "we should do something". Bravery fueled by the beers they'd had, the group of four or five parents marched straight to the sweet shop, each hoping by the time they go there someone else would have come up with a plan as to what to do. To their suprise, the lights were on and the door unlocked, despite it being several hours past the posted closing time.</p><p>They walked in, and the proprietor smiled at them from behind the counter. The place was full of children of all ages, talking to each other happily and sharing bags of sweets. But as they took in the unexpected scene, they slowly realised that the children did not look quite...right. Their skin was different, unnatural colours, of reds, purples and greens. Their mouths opened too wide as they laughed and their teeth were pointed. And poking out of every forehead were two small yet perfectly formed horns...</p><p>While most of the group could only gape in horror, one, slightly braver and slighly drunker than the rest, turned to the sweet shop owner and blustered, "Now look here! You need to leave our town, and leave our children alone!"</p><p>The man frowned, looking more hurt than angry, then a slight smile returned to his lips. "Oh, I don't think so. Children?" All the kids in the shop fell silent and looked to him. He leaned forward and in almost a whisper said, "I think it is you who should leave." </p><p>With no visible signal at all, the children attacked. </p>Adelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02315248671852116539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6780453256197018873.post-84409108867070933842023-05-08T10:43:00.000+01:002023-05-08T11:36:37.810+01:00Here, again<p> And I don't know why I let myself believe things could be different, and I don't know why I can't let go of that idea, and I don't know how this can have been going on for <i>so long</i> and I don't know why it matters so much to me after everything else that has happened and, most importantly, I don't know how to stop it. I'm back to just trying to live in the moment, to just do the next thing and not think too hard about the future or why I'm doing any of these things. And listening to lots and lots of podcasts to try and drown out the sounds of my own thoughts. </p>Adelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02315248671852116539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6780453256197018873.post-7544338147381926372023-04-19T18:32:00.002+01:002023-04-19T18:32:41.154+01:00Life updateBeen a while, so thought I'd write a "still here" update.<div><br /></div><div>Metaphor my counsellor came up with this week was being in a small boat on the ocean: bobbing along and not sinking but not really going anywhere other than maybe when the wind or some other force pushes me in a direction for bit, not really under my control and with no real destination in mind. And that's ok for a while but maybe not forever. I still can't think about a direction though, I just burst into tears whenever I do. Learning which guided meditations to avoid...</div><div><br /></div><div>Changed meds to mirtazapine - still not convinced how much that's helping, although the extreme irritability and outbursts of RAGE have thankfully subsided a bit. Increasing the dosage to see how that goes. Still seeing counsellor. Still trying to work, keep on top of housework, exercise, see people etc. Some days that's all straightforward and then I don't know what to do with myself when I suddenly have time, and other days it takes all my mental energy to scrape through the bare minimum. Doesn't seem to matter so much when I don't get "everything" done though. Not sure whether that's a good thing or not. Just can't think about it too much - can't think about anything too much, it all just slips away from my attention. Good for avoiding rumination, less good for...executive function generally. </div><div><br /></div><div>Occasionally picking away at a short story I started many months ago and may even finish one day. But mostly putting creative effort into running D&D with two ongoing campaigns (one mostly weekly and one nearly monthly). Attempts to broaden my cooking repetoire have stalled and just finding things to put in my mouth every day is current goal. Something something "good enough". </div><div><br /></div><div>So there we are. Bobbing along, directionless but afloat.</div>Adelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02315248671852116539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6780453256197018873.post-5887064658339751042022-11-25T12:56:00.004+00:002022-11-25T12:56:55.343+00:00Impossible Futures<p> I saw a glimpse of a possible future once, and for a while I was happy. </p><p>And then when I realised that was just a fantasy my heart broke all over again but I still can't let it go. The fantasies have always been more compelling than reality - how could they not be? - and this one seemed so close, so modest, so <i>achievable</i>. But that's all it is, a fantasy, and I have to try and face reality again without it. </p><p>No wonder I can't stop crying.</p><p>And I can't just turn off the feelings, and I probably could try and do things differently, but maybe it will be enough to just cling on to this one truth, that all it ever was was an impossible future, like so many others I don't mourn because I never believe in them. </p>Adelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02315248671852116539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6780453256197018873.post-65119598826115606842022-10-04T23:06:00.001+01:002022-10-04T23:06:56.037+01:00Another Tuesday, another blog<p> Because there's things I want to say but nobody needs to hear. Because I want to keep smiling and carrying on like it's all ok and then maybe it will be. Because I know the thing to do to break habits and form new ones but just can't make myself do it. Because the only way that has ever stopped this before would be giving up too much. Because there is a disconnect between my feelings and my rational thoughts and the feelings win every time. </p><p>Because I'm tired and I know tomorrow I'll get up and try all over again but right now I really don't want to. </p>Adelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02315248671852116539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6780453256197018873.post-44456395231951079752022-09-27T23:17:00.000+01:002022-09-27T23:17:02.052+01:00I don't know how long I can keep doing this to myself<p> I have an idea in my head of what my life should be like. It's fuzzy, sure, and probably a bit unrealistic, and I know not every day will be perfect, but it's there, it's what I'm supposed to be working towards. And I keep falling back into the same ruts. I try and break free from the negative thinking but reality keeps hitting me in the face. I try and do something different and old instincts take over. I promise myself I'll stop wanting something I can't have and I end up hiding in the toilets crying time and time again. I'm sure every thing I'm writing here I've already expressed before in a blog post, probably more than once. </p><p>I don't know if I lay on the kitchen floor crying over a man, or over my lack of creativity; if it was caused by a blood sugar drop, fluctuating hormones or my own ingrained thought patterns. It largely doesn't matter. Nothing matters. It's hard to believe change is possible when you keep making the same mistakes. When you keep ending up at the same place. But I don't have to believe. I just have to keep repeating the mantra "This Too Shall Pass" and go sleep it off and hope tomorrow is easier. </p>Adelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02315248671852116539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6780453256197018873.post-65288355128950069912022-08-10T19:29:00.001+01:002022-08-10T19:29:10.510+01:00And then she is to darkness<p> Sixteen years. Forty-eight events (give or take). And three rules versions (just).</p><p>I think I will forever feel like a newbie, but I have to admit, that is a pretty long-lived larp character, especially a one-hit wonder who nevertheless would wander around mass battles, trying to keep an eye on people she loved. She definitely developed over time, from "basically me" to "basically me, but somehow shyer, braver and one of the best healers around". She got unsought recognition from her faction, her group, and her friends, leading to highest tier training, medals, and unexpected romance in that order. </p><p>In a just world, she would have died on the battlefield, having been taken down while trying to save someone else. But, as I often suspected would happen, she just failed to run fast enough one night, was felled with one blow and dragged off to be murderised under the Murder Tree while everyone else was too busy fighting off the rest of the attackers to organise a rescue in time.</p><p>She got a lovely eulogy by the 1IC at muster the next morning, and if her legacy is the Dragons thanking their healers more often than not, then I'll be happy. </p><p>And now I have to work out how to larp and be a different character - someone who is still basically me but in a different way. I didn't quite manage that for the rest of the weekend gone, as I somehow forgot just how shy I am and tried to push myself a bit too much. But I've got a couple of weeks to come up with a plan, as well as get new boots and a less distinctive hat. </p>Adelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02315248671852116539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6780453256197018873.post-32792669529835332812022-07-28T19:00:00.003+01:002022-07-28T19:00:36.134+01:00It took me several years to admit I actually liked larp<p> I said those words (or a version of them) the other night and as my next booked larp event draws closer the brain gremlins have gone on the attack again. Historically, I definitely mostly enjoyed myself whenever I went. There are lots of people I only ever see there (and on Facebook) and I miss them. I like visiting that other world and taking a break from this one, and coming back with stories of some of the ludicrous things people did or said. </p><p>But what do I actually <i>do</i> there, and how much different is it going to be without Jess? </p><p>This might be why I'm repeatedly putting off actually making arrangements to get there. It would be much easier to stay at home and feel like I'm missing out, than cope with all the hassle and possible feeling of extreme loneliness once I get there. </p><p>And it's not like I think I'm actually any <i>good </i>at any of it. I certainly can't do any of the elaborate costumes some do - just don't have the makeup/craft skills or even the right sort of eye to buy elements to put together. I'm still as shy as ever, not really that great at staying in character, can't fight for toffee, can't sing or play an instrument...I just turn up, drink some drinks, listen to other people chat, and hopefully say the right words for the right length of time to be useful without needing too much healing myself. </p><p>But then I have the same sort of reservations about tabletop RPGs. Despite GMing for well over a decade, I don't think I'm any good at it. I certainly struggle with plotting, preparing ahead of time in sufficient detail, and my descriptions are vague. As my son will quickly tell you, I tend to spend a lot of time "um"ing and "er"ing and trailing off sentences....And on the rare occasion I get to play, I suffer a lack of imagination with character creation and actually proactively doing things instead of reacting to situations. And we play D&D pretty much exclusively because while I'm ok learning a new system, teaching one is a whole other kettle of fish. But I still have a (mostly) regular game and people seem to like it? So maybe I'm not that bad.</p><p>And of course, there's my new hobby. I would, charitably, call myself "a bit of a klutz", but thanks to a couple of taster sessions from an enthusiastic colleague, and an offer of a regular lift, I started going to <a href="https://www.ceroc.com/24/131/ceroc-tadcaster?id=108" target="_blank">Ceroc</a> lessons a while back. I...am not terrible? I may even be good? I certainly picked it up faster than I thought I would, and even manage polite conversation most weeks. Contrary to many years of asserting otherwise, it seems I can dance even when sober, even if I still laugh to myself every time at being one of the "ladies". But I think learning to lead is many years of practice off in the future.</p><p>So, I guess I do like larp, I like GMing and I like dancing. It doesn't actually matter how "good" I am at any of them. I just need to keep going. </p>Adelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02315248671852116539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6780453256197018873.post-90193496963329345182022-07-08T18:20:00.001+01:002022-07-08T18:20:09.665+01:00"A named thing is a tamed thing"<p> <a href="https://livingwithlimerence.com/what-is-limerence/" target="_blank">Limerence</a></p><p>I don't know when I first came across the word, but I was re-introduced to it recently and this time I read more and absorbed more and something finally clicked. </p><p><i>I wasn't crazy</i>.</p><p>Since about age thirteen or so, I've been plagued by persistent, all-consuming, crushes. They were torturous, heart-breaking. When I was younger, of course I knew I wasn't going to "grow out of it" - I was <i>in love. </i>Even when I knew there was no realistic chance of a relationship. It drove me mad. As I got older, I naively assumed they would stop when I finally fell "in love" properly, and was in a happy relationship.</p><p>They didn't. </p><p>Which just added an extra layer of guilt to the already heady mix of emotions. Jess was, of course, very understanding, and I gradually learned to accept that I wasn't a terrible person for feeling these things that I had no control over. But not having control over feelings is one thing, not being able to control my fantasies, not being able to resist checking social media or looking at photos - those are definitely things I should be able to avoid doing, right? I'm just weak. Or selfish. I can't really overemphasise how much of a mindf**k it is to want something <b>so much </b>while simultaneously knowing it would be terrible in reality and probably ruin several people's lives.</p><p>Eventually, repeated desperate googling led me to discover there was a word for what I felt, a specific one, not "love" not simply a "crush" but something else. And more importantly, <i>it wasn't just me. </i>Other people felt this way. Enough that a word had been created specifically to describe this feeling that I'd so struggled to adequately explain to everyone before. </p><p>Ok, it's not much of a relief to realise you're not the only idiot that keeps feeling this way, but it did mean I had a different way of framing my feelings. I wasn't repeatedly "falling in love". I was just "limerent". I wasn't betraying Jess in some deep emotional way, it was just brain chemistry. </p><p>And brain chemistry can be fixed, right?</p><p>Unfortunately, the blog title is a lie. Naming something and taming it are two whole different things. It's nice to think that just because I know it's essentially <a href="https://www.huffpost.com/entry/limerence_b_1627089" target="_blank">an addiction</a> I'd be able to get a handle on it, but addictions are hard to break for a reason. And the most obvious thing to try, complete avoidance, just isn't always possible. Sure, for one person, maybe you can just cut them out of your life and hope you eventually stop thinking about them. Maybe. But if I don't know who the next object of infatuation will be? Do I avoid all people? Or even just avoid feelings of attraction? How is that supposed to work?</p><p>It can't, of couse. Unless maybe I became a hermit or so super-practiced at mindfulness that all emotions just wash over me without catching on. But I can set boundaries. I can keep plugging away at trying to improve my overall mental health. </p><p>And, I suppose, I can try counselling and try actually being honest about how much this bothers me, insead of just shying away from the subject because I'm 41 and really should have grown out of this bby now.</p><p>---</p><p>(Title quote from Joanne Harris - <a href="https://smile.amazon.co.uk/Runemarks-Runes-Novels-Joanne-Harris/dp/1473217067/" target="_blank">Runemarks</a>)</p>Adelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02315248671852116539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6780453256197018873.post-13118717631993546552022-06-25T20:36:00.001+01:002022-06-25T20:36:48.606+01:00Vagueblogging<p>I had half a post written and more I wanted to say but I deleted it because it was going nowhere. And I think I mostly just want to acknowledge that I finally decided to be an adult today and Use My Words instead of speculating, fantasising, obsessing and worrying, despite the possibility of Consequences.</p><p>The outcome landed smack bang in the middle of what any reasonable person would expect: no Dreams Fulfilled but no Life Shattered either. </p><p>Turns out honest communication can short-cut a lot of problems. Who knew?</p><p>I would say I wish I'd done this ages ago, but then maybe I actually wouldn't have ended up with another friend and a new hobby, so who's to say what I should or should not have done. But now I'm just hoping I can scratch out that one bit of my mental model of "what I want my life to look like" and free up some time and energy to do other things. Like find a counsellor, or any of the dozen other things I know I should be doing to try and rebuild my life in a hopefully less broken way than it was before. </p>Adelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02315248671852116539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6780453256197018873.post-86446102558811673132022-06-18T22:06:00.000+01:002022-06-18T22:06:21.124+01:00Pride<p> I have complicated feelings about Pride. Beyond the whole "argh, people" thing, I never quite felt like I belonged there. </p><p>A lot of it is internalised biphobia I guess. I've mostly been attracted to men throughout my life, so am I <i>really</i> bi? Is it just a convenient explanation for why I was so unfazed by my partner's transition? Aren't <i>all </i>women a bit bi?</p><p>It's not like I've really suffered much because of my sexuality; my teenage and young adult years were spent just assuming I was straight, and, sure, once Jess came out the microagressions got a bit tiring but that was nothing compared to what she had to go through. What all trans people have to put up with: now possibly more than ever. So when we first started going to Pride, it was because Jess wanted to, and somehow I always felt like I was going to support her, nothing to do with me.</p><p>Today was the first in-person Pride since COVID, and therefore the first since Jess died. There was no way I wasn't going. For her, obviously, but also for me. </p><p>To prove to myself that I could. That I could cope with the people. That I could cope by myself. And that I was allowed to be there: just me, in my pretty subtle <a href="https://shop.critrole.com/products/pride-its-love-that-makes-people-t-shirt" target="_blank">pride top</a>, existing. And I had a good time, in my own quiet way. Met hardly any of the people I know that went, didn't dare attempt bar and didn't feel like queuing forever for food, but I managed the march without issue, I wandered round the knavesmire a bit and found a <a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheEchoesYork/" target="_blank">local cover band</a> that I will probably never get round to hearing play again. </p><p>Now my feet ache quite a lot, and I feel like another milestone, another "first since" has passed. And more importantly, not once did I feel like an imposter who had no right being there.</p>Adelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02315248671852116539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6780453256197018873.post-3473239196666583262022-06-11T15:43:00.001+01:002022-06-11T15:43:34.364+01:00Yes, it's been a while, no I'm not going to address that<p> It's the hope that gets you.</p><p>Maybe this time it will be different. This new drug/dose combo will be sufficient for you to make and maintain the lifestyle changes, and you'll feel great. You'll actually keep up the new habits this time. Ok, the <i>last</i> diet didn't work, but <i>this</i> one will for sure. You're a new, better person now! You're not going to keep making the same mistakes!</p><p>After everything you've been through, surely you've learnt some perspective. You know this won't last forever, so it will be easier to handle. You managed last time you made a phone call, so another will be just fine. You're forty-one now, for gods' sake, you can handle a little disappointment. </p><p>But it's not just about you. Oh no.</p><p>Maybe you read the signs wrong. Maybe they didn't notice you were flirting. Maybe there's still a chance. Surely that couldn't happen <i>here. </i>Surely now people will demand change. Surely someone will do something to stop it.</p><p>And then you find yourself at the bottom of a pit again. Just like before. Habits slip. Health deteriorates. Thoughts stuck in cycles oh so familiar from oh so many years before. It feels like the end of the world. You freeze up. Everything upset is a killer blow. Nothing ever happens. The world keeps getting worse and worse. </p><p>And once you climb back out, you look down into the pit and think, "Well <i>that</i> can't happen again. What can I do to stop it?" </p><p>And you do it.</p><p>And you hope.</p>Adelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02315248671852116539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6780453256197018873.post-2059570383281135732015-09-01T21:37:00.000+01:002015-09-01T21:37:02.780+01:00Gathering 1115AF Caution: this post contains material which may be unsuitable for non-larpers. It contains no news about house-buying, or my attempts at writing. It is mostly a list of good (and not-so-good) things that happened during my weekend in a field.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b><u>Things (Hots, Nots, etc. in no particular order)</u></b></div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Thursday night. First one we've made in a while due to work, and while I never enjoy putting up (or rather, helping put up) a tent in the dark, it was worth it for the silly chat and booze and getting to actually see people.</li>
<li>Hard time in, complete with IC brief and then a big battle straight off. Was cool, even if it did throw everyone off for the rest of the evening and I got tired very, very quickly and went to bed early. </li>
<li>Food, provided for by our wonderful friend, was great as always. </li>
<li>The Boy was pretty well-behaved, if a bit grumbly at times. Amazed once again how confident he is to wander off to vendors by himself and get a drink and make his own way to and fro from kids plot. Next step: getting him to make his own lunches....</li>
<li>He even came on a linear with us, even if he didn't get to do much.</li>
<li>Linear! Didn't go down how it planned, but is always fun to go off with the group (and friends) to try and talk to bad guys, arrest them, and knock them unconscious only if necessary. Because that's how we do things.</li>
<li>Speaking of which, we had a staggering number of members this event. Then one got himself killed, but we were still in double figures, which is just fantastic. And both our squires survived! Despite going face to face with the Big Bad at the end!</li>
<li>Final battle was nice and crunchy but not ludicrous. And yes, Squire Keen II <i>literally skipping </i>off to hit the Big Bad with the newly recovered faction iconic was a great sight.</li>
<li>And I don't think I got knocked out at all in the final fight. Unlike the first one, and several other skirmishes in camp. I'm getting better at watching my back, but no better at dodging or parrying sadly.</li>
<li>Being stuck behind the line on the gate when I know there are people on the ground (and possible, or definitely dying) is getting very frustrating. Not arrogant enough to think I might have saved them, but seriously tempted by Traverse Faction Wards</li>
<li>Tagging along with first one, then the other, crown, after order was given that neither should do anywhere without at least three people. Both have the annoying tendency to wander off when you're looking the other way.</li>
<li>Rain on the last day. Constant rain. Made worse by the nice weather the rest of the weekend. </li>
<li>Last but by no means least: I was given the faction Tier 5 training voucher. Despite pretty much <b>everyone </b>saying this was deserved, I don't think my character will ever accept that she did anything to earn it. Adele is just starting to admit that maybe she doesn't do a shoddy job. Both are pleased as punch about it, though, and looking forward to being able to heal those pesky people with Magical patterns next year...</li>
</ul>
<div>
Again, usual disclaimers that I have probably forgotten things. I do love this crazy hobby my girlfriend dragged me along to.</div>
</div>
Adelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02315248671852116539noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6780453256197018873.post-34342821330301171892015-08-09T21:00:00.000+01:002015-08-09T21:00:16.440+01:00Nine Things About Nine Worlds*cough* *splutter*<br />
<br />
Blimey, lets open a window in here and let some air in, eh?<br />
<br />
*waves metaphorical duster about*<br />
<br />
Ok.<br />
<br />
We just got back from <a href="https://nineworlds.co.uk/" target="_blank">Nine Worlds 2015</a>. It was great fun, and only caused a bit of stress because I slipped into the mindset of "Must Do All The Things!" which is impossible, especially if you need to eat. So a "Nine Things About Nine Worlds" post seemed like a good idea, as a bit of a post-event wind-down.<br />
<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>Staying in the same hotel as the con? Big and clever. Not only is the <a href="http://www.radissonblu-edwardian.com/middlesex-hotel-gb-ub3-5aw/gbedwair/home?mt=e&utm_campaign=Brand_Hotel_Heathrow_UK&utm_medium=cpc&utm_source" target="_blank">Radisson</a> a pretty darn nice place (as you might expect from a 4-star hotel) with an impressive breakfast buffet (cheese for breakfast - it's the way forward), but virtually no travel time means you get to experience much more of the event. Case in point: dragging an already tired 11 year old to <strike>Just A Minute</strike> Only a Moment starting at 10 pm would be impossible if it wasn't just a two minute walk back to our room at the end. </li>
<li>Only a Moment! I've been wanting to see one of <a href="http://www.paulcornell.com/" target="_blank">Paul Cornell</a>'s fabled "Just A Minute"s at a con for some time now and wasn't disappointed. <a href="http://www.joeabercrombie.com/" target="_blank">Joe Abercombie</a> all but walked away with it, but all four panellists were great and even the Boy enjoyed it despite being shattered and not understanding half the topics (or indeed, all the rules). </li>
<li>All the panels and discussions we made it too were pretty good: some better moderated than other, but interesting, well-informed panellists, good humour and audience participation were the order of the day. I never had the courage to ask a question, but the Wife did a fair bit and got some good responses. </li>
<li>We took a stack of books down to get signed and actually got them all signed, despite missing one scheduled session. This is because <a href="http://www.joanne-harris.co.uk/" target="_blank">Joanne Harris</a> is lovely and recognised us from previous day and a book-signing we went to earlier in the year. And possibly Twitter.</li>
<li>Actually all the authors we spoke to were lovely. As well as the three mentioned above, we bought and has signed <a href="http://snorrikristjansson.com/" target="_blank">Snorri Kristjansson</a>'s first book after seeing him on a panel. And not just the authors - every single person we interacted with was friendly and helpful. I just wish I hadn't had an attack of shy every time I approached someone: just about managed to give away my "Awesome Cosplay" tokens.</li>
<li>We bought other books too - some that we'd been meaning to get for a while as well as those on a whim. With the freebies given away in the goodie bags, we came home with quite a lot of books. Just before moving house. Oh well.</li>
<li><a href="http://genkigear.co.uk/" target="_blank">Genki Gear</a> t-shirts! I splashed out on the convention tee, the Boy got the classic "Hamsters Everywhere Salute You" and the Wife got one of their 10 for 10 - the new "Science Investigates the Unknown". </li>
<li>It's not all positives though: the popularity of some panels meant unless you got there early there was no chance of getting in - resulting in long queues and quite a few disappointments. And having the Boy in tow meant I didn't feel up to running about trying to squeeze into second or third options. </li>
<li>Once again, I tended towards the All The Books track and once again I came away thinking "I should try writing again". And so I will. </li>
</ol>
<div>
Definitely, definitely going again next year. With more flexible plans but hopefully more courage to get involved.</div>
Adelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02315248671852116539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6780453256197018873.post-35341883626930203642014-10-09T22:55:00.003+01:002014-10-09T22:55:50.337+01:00Procrastination and an updateIt's been nearly six months so it's about time I posted something here. I'm still not dead. I'm still working and mostly not hating it. Some days drag and then other fly by and then suddenly it's Friday and I'm wearing the wrong socks or something.<br />
<br />
I've started writing again. Like, today. I'd been trying the "just write what I feel like it" and that worked well for a bit and then I stopped as usual. Now I'm trying to concentrate on just one story and actually carry on with it when I get time. Like during my lunch break at work today. My laptop is just about light enough to not be too much of a hassle to carry to work and back for less than thirty minutes of use. I may not do that too much though. And no doubt I'll lose enthusiasm for this as well. Writing is hard. You need to actually press the keys and everything.<br />
<br />
I haven't been reading much, though did get through a couple of the books we got free from <a href="https://nineworlds.co.uk/" target="_blank">Nine Worlds</a>. Yeah, we went to Nine Worlds this year. We're going next year too. I may end up using all my annual leave on geek activities again and have to call on family and a lovely partner to help entertain and supervise the boy. <a href="https://www.lorientrust.com/" target="_blank">Larp</a> was also good and also something I'm keeping at despite not really doing the things I intended to. Plot is for other people. I'm happy enough drinking cider and angsting about all my friends dying.<br />
<br />
Back into the autumn now and school and uni and stuff. The boy went to <a href="http://www.robinwood.co.uk/activitycentres/dobroydcastle/" target="_blank">Robinwood</a> with his class despite spending most of the summer adamant he didn't want to go. He had a whale of a time and apparently is really good at archery. He sure as heck doesn't get that from me. My better half appears to be even more busy than she was before which I didn't think was physically possible, And might have Freshers' Flu. Occupational hazard.<br />
<br />
It's our anniversary tomorrow. We had a meal out on Monday while boy was away (and over-indulged in both food and wine) but otherwise have no plans to celebrate. I may manage a card, but utterly failed to think about presents. We're travelling down to the deepest South for friends' wedding and their daughter's christening and it was enough of a scramble to get organised for that. I really am no better at planning ahead, although I've been managing to order repeat prescriptions before running out of medication for quite a while now. And I have been on this medicine for quite a while now. I think it's still being useful, despite a few slips. Certainly the one day I missed a pill this month had noticeable effects. Although I have been worried I was starting to withdraw again....I've made a small effort to try and actually pay attention to people, although I'm no better at getting in touch with friends and family who live further away. But that's what Facebook is for, isn't it? And I have been getting grunpy and short-tempered with people. The problem with trying to avoid introspection because that leads to rumination is that you avoid noticing potential problems in your own behaviour. I may be relying too much on other people telling me when something is wrong. Fortunately at least one person in my life is very vocal about when I've been ignoring him and never want to play on the Wii with him. <i>That</i> he probably does get from me.<br />
<br />
<br />Adelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02315248671852116539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6780453256197018873.post-55203540261424865772014-06-15T09:22:00.002+01:002014-06-15T09:22:42.544+01:00[Fiction] A Morning AdventureInspired by fragment of dream just before waking and hastily written up over breakfast.<br />
--<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Daddy left the play pen gate open. He
was grumpy as he was most mornings, but he'd come when he called and
picked him up gently and taken him downstairs. He put him in the pen
then headed straight to the kitchen to let the dogs out – they
barked excitedly when they saw him and drowned out the faint calls
from the front room.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
So he pushed open the gate and stepped
out of the play pen. He followed Daddy to the kitchen and found he
wasn't there and the back door was also wide open. A blast of cold
air came from it; there was a sprinkling of snow on the ground and an
eerie sort of pale light that looked much whiter than daylight
usually did. He picked up his sippy cup that was lying on the floor
under the table and shook it. It was empty.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He headed out into the back garden. He
could hear Daddy and the dogs but couldn't see them, they must have
gone round the side. But something caught his eye in the woods that
started just the other side of the hedge – a glimpse of bright red
moving among the trees. He toddled down the lawn and squeezed through
the hole in the hedge that the dogs kept making.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He'd wandered some way into the woods
before realising he'd lost sight of the red and that he was starting
to get cold. He stopped and looked round for Daddy or Mummy but
couldn't see either of them and was getting ready to start crying
when he saw the red again and was captivated. It was a man, taller
than Daddy, wearing a bright red coat that went all the way below his
knees, and a bright red hat too. The coat and hat had white fur along
the bottom, like Mummy's big coat, and the hat had a ball of white on
top that bobbed up and down as he walked. He was carrying a bag over
his shoulder, and walking alongside him was something that looked
like a horse but with horns, something like a cow's but much bigger
and branching off.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He forgot about crying and went towards
the man and his not-horse, who seemed to slow down just for him to
catch up. When he reached them he was a little scared, the man and
beast were both so big, but they stopped walking and the man turned
and bent down to look at him and smiled. He handed his sippy cup up
to the man, still a bit too shy to say anything, and the man didn't
say anything but put his bag down and took the cup. He put the cup
into the top of his bag and pulled it out again straight away and
handed it back.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He snatched it and drank greedily –
it was full of slightly warm milk which tasted better than anything
he'd had in a long time. The man started walking again, so he stuck
his hand up and the man took it and together they walked through the
woods, the not-horse following behind, snuffling slightly and
breathing warm air down his back. He didn't feel cold any more.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
They left the woods and turned down an
alleyway and onto the main street that he recognised from going into
town with Mummy. The man led him right to his front door and gave it
a slight push – it drifted open just wide enough for him to slip
through. The man let go of his hand and he looked up at him. The man
smiled again and put his bag down, reached into it, and brought out
of piece of toast with butter melted in. He took it, it was still
warm, and bit off a mouthful. He finally felt brave enough to say
“bye-bye” and waved, dropping bits of toast from both hand and
mouth. The man just nodded and turned to walk away.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He went inside and immediately heard
Mummy and Daddy calling for him. He tottered down the hallway –
there was a bang as the front door closed behind him – and went
into the front room. Mummy came in from the kitchen and shouted in
relief. She rushed up to him and picked him up and hugged him and
kissed him. The Daddy appeared in the doorway and exclaimed “Thank
God!” and then frowned. “But where did he get that toast?”</div>
Adelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02315248671852116539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6780453256197018873.post-45412847428235676632014-05-06T16:31:00.001+01:002014-05-06T16:31:39.458+01:00Spring Moot <b>[Warning - this post contains LARP]</b><br />
<br />
First event of the year, and the boy had huge amount of keen because he got to play his new character. Now that he's ten he can take Spellcasting and spent most of the weekend learning how effective Chant of Melee Immunity is. Barely saw him at all as he spent most of time playing with other children in the faction. Did occasionally have to track him down to make sure he ate though.<br />
<br />
I did nothing.<br />
<br />
Well, nothing much. I sat and chatted, sat and enjoyed the sun, sat and enjoyed the shade, etc etc. Occasionally we were attacked and I ran around a bit healing people, hitting the occasional small skaven when our young defenders were all unable to fight, and generally panicking whenever I lost track of Rhapsody. So much like usual. But I did realise I was no longer actually scared when in fights, even at night. After eight years I appear to have finally trained my body to accept that I'm not in real-life danger and the adrenaline gets me moving but doesn't push me into an anxiety attack. So that's something.<br />
<br />
Maybe next event I can actually try and pick up where I left off at end of last year and do something with my characters background.<br />
<br />
<u>Quotes</u><br />
<i>(Surpisingly few that I can remember)</i><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>"I bring you a message from the true ruler of Lantia!" "What's the message?" "By the high power of magic I Mage-" "By my power I strike you Mute!" </li>
<li>"You're too tall to be a gentleman." "I didn't realise there was a height restriction." "There is in this tent."</li>
<li>"Stand up and tell everyone what we did to you last night."</li>
<li>"I offer you my sword, and my last beer. It's been that kind of day."</li>
<li><i>Rhapsody on how to play Angry Dice: </i>"You roll some things, and then someone tells you to roll them again, and you do that for a bit and then they tell you you did really well."</li>
</ul>
Adelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02315248671852116539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6780453256197018873.post-16933899697769167912014-01-30T20:27:00.002+00:002014-01-30T20:27:34.269+00:00[Flash Fiction] Rapunzel<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><i>Written in response to Chuck Wendig's latest <a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2014/01/24/flash-fiction-challenge-fairy-tales-remixed/" target="_blank">Flash Fiction Challenge</a> - I picked Rapunzel because the boy had been watching Tangled a lot, and rolled a 17. Been a while since I read any Lovecraft, not convinced I got the tone right, but this is the first story I've finish in a long <b>long </b>time, so I'm counting this as a win.</i></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><i><br /></i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">------</span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">I
recount my experience here as a bitter warning to a</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">ll</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">
– do not enter the Richardsons' garden! </span></span></span>
<br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">Since
a young boy I was intrigued by what lay beyond those tall, imposing
brick walls, and what secret wonders may be hidden in that tower
that peeked over the top. My parents warned me to stay away and the
one time I was caught trying to scale the wall I was beaten brutally
for my troubles. But other than knowing that the widow Richardson was
a recluse, and a bad-tempered one at that, </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">I</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">
had no inkling of why that estate was so forbidden. </span></span></span>
<br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">As
I grew, though, I pieced together rumours and local legends: some
stories had hints of truth about them while others were clearly the
product of fevered or inebriated imaginations. The facts, as I was
able to gather were few: Mrs Richardson was widowed young and had
</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">lived
alone for many years</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">;
while I was still a babe-in-arms a neighbour of the Richardsons was
caught stealing </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><i><b>V</b></i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><i><b>alerianella
locusta</b></i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">from
the garden to feed his pregnant wife's cravings; the child was sadly
stillborn and the mother committed to an asylum, mad from grief and
claiming the widow had stolen her baby as punishment </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">for
her husband's theft</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">.
The more fanciful elements to the tale, however, were those that kept
my interest </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">going</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">:
the elderly woman was a witch or demon-worshipper; the lush plants
that grew in her garden were fed with the blood of newborn goats; the
</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">neighbours'</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">
baby was given over as payment for not having the thief hanged;
terrible cries could be heard from the tower where the baby girl had
been imprisoned all these years. The last especially </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">struck</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">
me as I had often awakened in the middle of the night sure I had
heard something – but </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">not
sure what</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">On
the eve of my twenty-fifth birthday, after a night of too much brandy
and t</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">oo
much careless talk </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">with
my friends, I made my fateful mistake and bragged that I would steal
away into the walled garden of the Richardsons' estate and find out
what lay within that </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">tower</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">.
My friends </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">initially</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">
laughed, and joked I'd be turned into a toad by the witch who lived
there, </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">but</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">
then grew concerned when they realised I was serious. They tried to
persuade me not to: that I would be caught and </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">imprisoned
or</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">
that I'd surely fall and break my neck as the walls were so tall. But
I could not be dissuaded and, arming myself only with a lantern, I
went straight to the </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">place</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">
that had haunted my dreams my whole life.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">The
climb was straightforward, despite struggling to carry the light, as
the bricks were weathered enough for plentiful hand- and footholds.
As I reached the top, I stood and surveyed the forbidden land. It was
not a disappointment. The gardens were vast, overgrown and verdant;
as I gazed down in wonder at a greater variety of plants than I had
</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">known</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">
existed, I could not make out the far side (and indeed, I realised, I
had no idea how far away the boundary of the estate might be). </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">But
as I looked closer a strange dread crept over me: the exotic foliage
</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">below
</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">seemed
somehow </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><i>too</i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">
alien, almost unreal, and unsettled me when I looked too close.
Still, triumphant in my success I turned my attention to that other
edifice that had caught my imagination from afar – the thin tower
that arose out of the garden.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">I</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">t
was further than I'd anticipated, but the way was mostly clear and I
judged I could get there easily enough, despite the lack of obvious
paths. I used a nearby tree to get down from the top of wall and set
out, walk</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">ing</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">
quickly </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">and</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">
avoiding the denser patches of foliage. </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">T</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">he
lantern cast bizarrely shaped shadows as it swung </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">and
e</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">ven
the more familiar looking vegetation struck me as somewhat sinister.
Yet I strode on, determined now to reach my goal. </span></span></span>
<br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">Just
as I was beginning to fear I had lost my way, I broke out of </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">a
group of trees</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">,
and there before me was the tower. It was even smaller in
circumference than it appeared from afar, barely fifteen foot across.
I walked </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">right
</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">around
the base, pushing past rose bushes and brambles, and discovered there
was no door at all, nor any means of gaining access </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">at
this level</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">,
although I </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">could
just make out</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">
th</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">e</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">familiar
</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">window
</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">near
the top</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">.
Undaunted, </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">I
tested the strength of the almost rope-like vines that twisted up the
tower, and, satisfied, started to haul myself up. I made a surprising
distance in a short space of time, and although the vine I was
climbing seemed to weaken and split into a fine stringy substance, I
was soon within a few feet of </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">the
window's ledge. </span></span></span>
<br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">I
swung the lantern up onto the windowsill, and as I hauled myself up I
got my first good l</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">oo</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">k
at what I had </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">been
climbing:</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">far
from the “plant” I presumed, it</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">
was golden, </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">tangled,
and dirty, </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">and</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">
unmistakably human hair. </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">And
r</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">ather
than growing from the ground up</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">wards</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">,
I realised, it was falling </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><i>out</i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">
from the window</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">,
</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">down
in matted plaits </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">stuck
to the wall with rain and </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">that
</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">had
com</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">e
undone </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">in
places</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">.
</span></span></span>
<br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">With
</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">equal
</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">horror
and awe, I looked up into the room </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">and
</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">followed
the trail of golden hair to its origin – and beheld such a
monstrous and impossible creature that I fear words alone can never
describe </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">it.</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">
</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">I</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">t
seemed to be composed entirely of hair: although the shape underneath
was at least partly human. </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">T</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">wo
thick tendrils </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">reached
out towards me as a</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">
low moaning noise emanated from it. </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">A</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">s
the hair beneath me undulated, I recoiled quickly in terror, sick in
the stomach and crazed in my mind, forgetting that I was perched
perilously on such a high and narrow ledge.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><br /></span></span></span>
<br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">I
fell, screaming, and passed out. I remember nothing from then until
the next morning, </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">when
I woke at home with the permanent scars I now bear. </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;">How
I managed to make my way back out of the garden, scratched and
blinded by the thorns of the bushes that presumably broke my fall, I
will never know.</span></span></span>Adelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02315248671852116539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6780453256197018873.post-70197564747457931092014-01-24T13:35:00.002+00:002014-01-24T13:35:12.369+00:00A Positive Customer Service ExperienceWhen the boy begged us to buy the <a href="http://www.firesidegames.com/thewizardstower.html" target="_blank">Wizard's Tower expansion</a> for Castle Panic, we were a bit disappointed that many of the monster tokens had been misprinted (and at least one was bent as well):<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUCJyTO4XHxmNHqlhAoZtF4IqnwXQI8FuKdcWB5Rul_STrXoK1bNDx2lgTUHSbUiHXz7MenUbAZggmMwonXj1WGSF4JiP-Sx2eJf3qwxgIKmWW5Y_QAMygoWmut2vRHEFrJIfRbcuVVfvi/s1600/2014-01-24+12.43.24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUCJyTO4XHxmNHqlhAoZtF4IqnwXQI8FuKdcWB5Rul_STrXoK1bNDx2lgTUHSbUiHXz7MenUbAZggmMwonXj1WGSF4JiP-Sx2eJf3qwxgIKmWW5Y_QAMygoWmut2vRHEFrJIfRbcuVVfvi/s1600/2014-01-24+12.43.24.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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So the next day I searched Fireside Games website for contact details and filled in the "missing/damaged game pieces" form they have, offering to provide photos as proof. The boy was a little disappointed we didn't get a response straight away, but it was a Sunday. The next evening I got a nice email from Kris (Customer Service Representative) apologising and promising to send a new set of tokens. Boy was over the moon. I warned him it might take a while as it was coming from the States.</div>
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That was eleven days ago. Today the new tokens came and the boy immediately started sorting them out:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6EuNHbdpA_Hoi9ThguceavE8bEvnrtqrMjzFBahyphenhypheniNSzhID18W22_TeYRcCz1qJF0X-d9cZOwDWPmRtLwDmfEPlCG_O3hhoNCRKzWJ5oICIGgi9PyBJHAgw_xAQweJ4MR3mgrmeLLrrlB/s1600/2014-01-24+12.44.02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6EuNHbdpA_Hoi9ThguceavE8bEvnrtqrMjzFBahyphenhypheniNSzhID18W22_TeYRcCz1qJF0X-d9cZOwDWPmRtLwDmfEPlCG_O3hhoNCRKzWJ5oICIGgi9PyBJHAgw_xAQweJ4MR3mgrmeLLrrlB/s1600/2014-01-24+12.44.02.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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We also got some bonuses. A Catapult Coaster that also allows Knights and Swordsmen to hit flying creatures, a bookmark that also slays tarred monsters (called "Feather", naturally" and....</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhDveWoDiZqSyCSYX3T3kTkYmw9CJ1FmO_t7ogdGt0UJ_qzXfKyw7YhX9wp4yUKL25fPdOucvRGsID38f3QK11XPeNZzzteR3WCKrTgPWSiCf7d_aUE3lG9wIqst_WxATMXe5_RpljvHNg/s1600/2014-01-24+12.44.20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhDveWoDiZqSyCSYX3T3kTkYmw9CJ1FmO_t7ogdGt0UJ_qzXfKyw7YhX9wp4yUKL25fPdOucvRGsID38f3QK11XPeNZzzteR3WCKrTgPWSiCf7d_aUE3lG9wIqst_WxATMXe5_RpljvHNg/s1600/2014-01-24+12.44.20.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Yep, that's an Any Colour Hero. The very card the boy said "wouldn't it be cool if we had..." last time we were playing the game.<br />
<br />
So yeah, we're happy, <i>and</i> have more stuff to help us try and beat this horrendously hard expansion to an otherwise easy game. Thank you very much <a href="http://www.firesidegames.com/" target="_blank">Fireside Games</a> (and Kris in particular)!Adelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02315248671852116539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6780453256197018873.post-89253159634566857782014-01-10T00:02:00.000+00:002014-01-10T00:02:46.530+00:00Post-Pub BloggageI never did come up with a new year's resolution, not properly.<br />
<br />
Have spent last two days agonising over my appraisal form - that thing that I've never had to do before because I've never been in a job long enough to need to. It was sort-of optional, but as the aim seems to be to make me a permanent member of staff rather than an agency worker, it seemed like a good idea. The main aim should be "personal development". I still have no idea what I want from this job. Still being there 14 months on is about as good as I'd hoped for. Still. I've filled it in. Mostly. And resisted putting "build a rocket-ship to Mars" as a personal objective for the next twelve months.<br />
<br />
Pubbed tonight. Talked about larp and....nudity, apparently. And work. It may have been preying on my mind. Life outside work has been mostly happening at a blur - tiredness kicks in and then there's trying to get the housework done. Social life happens out of habit. It's been three days that the boy has been back at school and already I feel like I never see him. So my plans of blogging, or writing, or learning to code, or even just using my compute a bit smarter...they have to fit in somewhere. But I haven't even found time to do the ironing.<br />
<br />
Have watched first two episodes of new series of Sherlock though. I loved them, flaws and all. I think I stopped expecting intriguing mysteries at some point last series, and have just been enjoying the characters. Critical faculties turned off, and just going with the flow, seems to be the best way to enjoy most telly (and films) anyway. And life, I suppose.<br />
<br />
This was just a ramble, as befits the blog title I suppose. And a distraction from the inevitable post-pub blues, at least long enough for me to get sleepy enough to go to bed. As it's nearly tomorrow, that's where I should be heading.<br />
<br />
So long, folks.Adelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02315248671852116539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6780453256197018873.post-76833577729733481302013-12-31T19:21:00.001+00:002013-12-31T19:21:14.683+00:00Another year, another blog postPrevious new year resolutions have lasted about as long as my resolutions made at other times of year. So I've half a mind to not make any this time round. But I have already delegated responsibility of cleaning and tidying the boy's room to the boy himself, and I have another reason to believe I might actually do better at the perennial "blog more often" promise: a new laptop.<br />
<br />
I caved and bought a <a href="http://www.pcpro.co.uk/reviews/laptops/383779/samsung-ativ-book-9-lite" target="_blank">Samsung ATIV Book 9 Lite</a> (non-touchscreen version). I used money from Christmas and savings and while it's only a bit bigger than my SO's netbook, I find it quite a bit easier to type on. And it's not full of her stuff, which is a bonus. It's pretty swish, even with Windows 8, which I will probably ditch as soon as I dare. So now I have no excuse of "someone else in on the computer" or "I can't get inspired sitting at the desk".<br />
<br />
I might actually start writing again. No promises.<br />
<br />
Overall, 2013 has been...ok. Job is going well, and I'm still in the same job I started the year in which is a first. Everyone seems to want me there permanently, but the budget says No. I'm less worried about this than I probably should be. Speaking of which, I seem to be less worried about most things than I used to be. I don't know whether to blame tiredness, new positive attitude, or the medicine I'm on, but whatever it is, it's probably actually a good thing. The boy hit double digits and is continuing to impress everyone with how considerate and intelligent he is. We're doing something right apparently.<br />
<br />
My beloved <i>did</i> get a permanent job, as everyone is impressed by a mathematician, even if she has a biology PhD. She also graduated, which means we're Dr & Dr, and I can't keep making fun of her for not having a doctorate. But I can keep calling her a biologist, so there's that. We actually made it to Dublin as well, after saying for years we would go. May have to do more travel in future.<br />
<br />
Some close friends got engaged, and their wedding may be the thing I am looking forward to most in 2014 - not least because we actually get to go, having missed most of our friends' weddings due to being too far away. They also bought a house, which is cool and scary, and got us looking at house prices. Yeah. That's not happening anytime soon.<br />
<br />
So I have some regrets, as always, and some hope for the future, but no real plans. That's not a bad place to be.Adelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02315248671852116539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6780453256197018873.post-62773848980699636912013-12-28T18:25:00.000+00:002013-12-28T18:25:17.255+00:00Another Seven Things UpdateA quick update to prove I'm not dead and to catch up on my <a href="http://adeletaylor.blogspot.co.uk/2013/01/seven-things.html" target="_blank">Seven Things</a> before I make any more resolutions for 2014....<br />
<ol>
<li><b> <b>Learn how to play the violin. </b></b>What violin? *blows dust off strange shaped case in corner* Oh.<b> </b></li>
<li><b>Start Family Game Afternoon. </b>I did. It stopped. We still play games occasionally, and especially over Christmas, but not on a weekly basis. Ah well.</li>
<li><b>Stop being afraid. </b>I think I've actually been doing ok on this. Sometimes it all gets too much and I have to get someone else to make a phone call but mostly I just blunder through. </li>
<li><b>Take a <del>vacation</del> holiday to Dublin.</b><a href="http://adeletaylor.blogspot.co.uk/2013/08/what-i-did-on-my-holidays-part-one.html" target="_blank">We went, it was great</a>.</li>
<li><b>Find a better place for my money. </b>There is no better place. Even under the mattress runs the risk of it being stolen, and let's face it, interest rates are going to stay low for quite some time, so unless I want to take on more risk there's little chance of gain. </li>
<li><b>Try fish fingers and custard. </b>This probably isn't going to happen. I don't like custard anyway...</li>
<li><b>Be more involved.</b> Again, I've...not. I've been withdrawing again, which makes me wonder if it is at least partially seasonal, and not really got back into Twitter or Facebook or blogging like I hoped I might. I may yet still give in and declare this blog dead, although I'd like to keep at least some of the posts. Far too many of them are moaning about how I don't blog though, which is the worst kind of meta-angst imaginable....</li>
</ol>
So, that was 2013. Will do a proper run down of the year later, if I remember. And then for next year? We'll see. Adelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02315248671852116539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6780453256197018873.post-63002502173946670242013-08-10T21:38:00.001+01:002013-08-10T21:38:26.135+01:00What I Did On My Holidays Part Two: LockoThe day after <a href="http://adeletaylor.blogspot.co.uk/2013/08/what-i-did-on-my-holidays-part-one.html" target="_blank">getting back from Ireland</a>, we paid a quick visit to our pet degus who were holidaying at friends' house, repacked, and headed Derby-wards. Specifically, we went to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Locko_Park" target="_blank">Locko Park</a>.<br />
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The Spring Moot is the smallest of the four main <a href="http://www.lorientrust.com/" target="_blank">Lorien Trust</a> events, so despite going on the Thursday, we were still only away for four days. The benefit of going early though is getting to put tent up at leisure and getting to spend time drinking with friends and chatting instead of running around scared trying not to get hit. Or whatever it is the rest of them do while I'm going that.<br />
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After a night of Apple Sourz and throwing ice cubes at people, we actually went to bed fairly early and got a decent night's sleep. I was awake the next morning, only some hours after the boy got up, and we went to get breakfast at "the marketplace". There was a coffee van, so that was me sorted, especially when we discovered he sold cakes too.<br />
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At some point that morning I hit a slump, probably when more people were arriving and putting up tents and I was failing to help. I never really recovered from this, although the oppressive heat didn't help too much either. I'll try and remember what happened though, apologies if I got it all hideously wrong.<br />
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Shortly after time in we had word that the annoying illusion demon lord that had been repeatedly attacking our lands had taken one of our islands. This made us realise that we hadn't seen any of the scouts that had been sent to look into the situation on that island. This was especially troubling for my character (Rhiann) as amongst those that had gone were several friends, including the one cooking for us all weekend. A transport group did come back in, not looking happy, and with people missing. Was relieved to discover the member of my group (Order of Celestial) had been sent out earlier (out of character reason: the player arrived late), then felt very guilty as it turned out four characters had died. Everyone was a bit stunned by this, and it mostly wiped out my memory of the rest of the evening. Other than a void gate opening in a neighbouring faction camp and another character dying in the ensuing fight.<br />
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Saturday breakfast was enlivened by the young Ben Hunter, friend of Striker (my boy's character), turning on the High Scout and asking "Why did you leave my adoptive mother to die?" Arms folded, the lot. The lad is turning into a great little role-player. Later in the day everyone rushed to see the "big thing with wings" that had walked out of the ritual circle: turned out to be the Archon of Good who is now cured of being a Balrog and walked about a bit scaring the bejeebus out of the not-so-good characters on the field and putting a very big smile on the face of Seraphim: one of our faction who'd done a lot to help this come about. Things get fuzzy here. At some point some bad people turned up and had a heart-stopping moment when word got back to camp that apparently Seraphim had been "dismissed" (effectively insta-killed). I ran further than I've ran in a long time in an effort to catch up with Rhapsody (J's character) but it turned out to be a false alarm. I also discovered I'm hideously unfit, and really can't run very far, even if it's all downhill. <br />
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I then got embroiled in the ongoing battle for a bit, before managing to drag Rhapsody back up to camp so we could have dinner. We mostly then sat in a tent being out-of-character as at least two people had left in-character due to threat of dismissal and the rest of us were just knackered and hungry. This dragged on into night, J went to bed and others were considering it when the bells went off at the ritual circle (this is not a Good Thing generally). Some people raced down to be big shiny heroes, me and Ryn hung around at the camp gate before hesitantly deciding to try and see what was happening (it sounded like a big fight). Part way there we ran into someone else who was trying to get away from big fight who convinced us wading in would be foolish and we went back to camp. Eventually everyone else came back too and I went to bed. <br />
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Sunday I got up late (I think) and started packing early and then there was a bit fight. It was a bit vague, as final battles tend to be, but we were watching a ritual for the beginning of it which probably didn't help. I only fell over a few times (by being hit, not by just being clumsy) - once while trying to get to Rhapsody who was lying behind a couple of monsters, at least one of whom, unsurprisingly, noticed me run past them and whacked me on the back. Won't catch me doing that again in a hurry. Stupid me. We were all a bit spread out and there were worries that we might run out of healing power, but it turned out to be ok. I honestly can't remember what else might have happened.<br />
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After scorching hot weather all weekend, it naturally started raining just as everyone was trying to take down their tents. I mostly hid in ours and packed, J got soaked doing most of the loading into the car. The boy fell asleep listening to Muse while hiding in car from rain. I helped take down our tent once it had mostly stopped and then went and dozed in car too while J helped other people. We did our usual post-event meet-up at the nearby <a href="http://www.tobycarvery.co.uk/chaddesdenderby/" target="_blank">Toby Carvery</a> - chatted with friends we didn't get to see much of at the event, and drank lots of lots of Pepsi Max. J drove us back home as the boy and I both fell asleep. She really is a star (but then it is her fault we go to these things in the first place).Adelehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02315248671852116539noreply@blogger.com0