Guess who got a new scanner?

Me, wheeee!!!! I am really chuffed with my latest acquisition – my first ever scanner, and what a beauty it is too!! Admittedly, I am somewhat behind the times on this technological front, but in my defence, I have never needed to scan anything up until now – indeed have never used a scanner up until now. And I’m normally much more on the ball with such electronic innovations, having championed both the mobile phone and the Minidisc in the mid-90s (“MP3s? They’ll never catch on; are you seriously expected to cart your PC around to listen to music?” – a somewhat Betamax moment from me, I think you’ll agree).

Anyway, the purpose of my scanner is to copy graphs, tables, diagrams and a whole host of scintillating information. But I actually think it’s much more fun to preserve old film pics for posterity. Behold!

Fashion forward in 1981 – See that turtle in the background (with the doll on him)? He’s still in my bedroom today! Don’t live anywhere without Turtle.

Dad, Andrew and I, c. 1984 – I hated that sofa – it would be another 22 years before my mum got rid of it!

Mum and I, c 1985 – This is my favourite photo of my mum and I. Look what a chunkster I was

Such fun!

The other thing I have been enjoying greatly is the ‘Manga Me’ game, which has taken the Flickr world by storm. I love it, and am particularly impressed with how much mine actually looks like me! Whenever I draw cartoons, this is exactly how I depict myself!

John’s, on the other hand, looks somewhat less grumpy than he is in real life

You really must have a go, and be sure to share the results!

Dusting oneself down…

…and starting again.

After the disappointments of this week, I did feel like doing little more than moping, sleeping and maxing out on the carbohydrate front (including bottled beer). However, what one earth would this achieve, other than being an exercise in self-pity? Somehow, we have managed to dust ourselves down and face the future, and *try* to make the most of the situation we’re in. We’ve got an open viewing on our house this weekend, which should raise some interest, although we could have done without our Chancellor’s typical dithering over the issue of Stamp Duty.

I’ve probably not really explicated this in previous posts, but this house move *isn’t* something that’s been ill-conceived and rushed into, in the same way that John returning to Uni to study medicine is not a recent development. It has seriously taken 5 years of financial, time, relationship and emotional pressures to reach the point we’re at now. At the risk of sounding melodramatic, we’ve faced ridiculous obstacles at every turn; it took, for example, the spectre of the Grim Reaper to galvanise John’s parents into helping out. But now, whilst the situation may not be ideal, he is in a position where he can go back; indeed, having handed his notice in, there is no going back, as they say!

Trying times can bring out the amateur philosopher in all of us. I keep on telling myself that ‘all things happen for a reason’, along with other trite sentiments. Obviously I am not the world’s greatest philosopher! One email received, however, sums everything up perfectly, whilst instilling a sense of hope that cuts through the dark clouds that hang over us all too often. At the end of last week, John forwarded me this email, received from a colleague:

“I often think that quotes from literary figures and famous philosophers are well cheesy whenstuck over someone’s desk at work, but I was talking with L this morning about me going back to study medicine, and she thought that our trials and tribulations rang true in this quote from Goethe:

‘Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back- Concerning all acts of initiative and creation, there is one elementary truth that ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one’s favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamed would have come his way. Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Begin it now.’

Slightly cheesy, but I think there’s lots of truth in it. X”

Let’s hope so.

Feeling glum :(

24 hours ago, we’d sold our house. Today it’s back up for sale again. The buyer simply changed his mind. I feel like crying. I can’t muster any optimism at the moment, but am putting a brave (ish) face on things as John is also very stressed about the situation. What has happened to this country?

Christian the Lion

I got sent this video via email today and just wanted to share it. Personally, I think the cheesy soundtrack and sickly tagline at the end are somewhat unnecessary, but the contents of the video itself are awesome! Enjoy

Doctor and the Medics

Hello? Is anybody there? I don’t blame you if you’ve given up on me, and decamped – I’d almost given up on me too! I can’t believe that it’s nearly two months since I last posted, and I certainly can’t believe what has happened over the past couple of months. As some of you may already know, life’s roller coaster has proven to be an incredibly white-knuckle experience in recent times, and I actually don’t think it’s possible to describe everything that’s gone on in one short post without downplaying the enormity of what John and I have experienced. I think bullet points may help with this.

- I have passed my PhD. I am Dr Fliss, yay!
- I have started a new post *miles* away from where I live, which isn’t actually an issue because of the powers of the internet and the possibility of home-working.
- John’s mum has had cancer. She discovered a lump in her breast, and two months (yes, it took that long for the NHS to get its act together) later had a mastectomy. The mastectomy worked and now she needs tablets for five years. (Obviously, it’s not been as straight forward as this bullet point implies, but in the interests of simplicity…)
- John has just handed his notice in – so long civil service! He’s going to train to be a doctor as salary from said new post is paying for our living costs – for SIX YEARS! Hence the title of the post (Again, this has been a convoluted journey – five years from the inception of the idea, to getting his place and to *finally* being financially able to take it up.)
- We are still selling our house. The housing market is dire and we’ve had to hack money off our asking price in a somewhat scary manner – the phrase ‘monopoly money’ says it all at the moment.
- We have found some properties we like in Sheffield, and would like to buy one asap.

Okay, I feel better for getting all that off my chest! I am sure that over coming posts I will talk a bit more about this all, but I just wanted to get it all out of the way so that I can resume normal blogging, in particular about craftiness and Blythe-iness!

Talking of which, say hello to the latest addition – Bettina Batfink. I’ll tell you more about her in my next post

The random and the weird

Very recently the lovely Gail tagged me to reveal 7 random andweird facts about myself. You may have noticed the paucity on my blog of late – I had, but I just felt out of steam after finishing my thesis. So, this task to me seemed the perfect way to ease myself back into things. It also mean that I (in part) honoured the tag that Nin gave me absolutely yonks ago (see, I hadn’t forgotten – I was just useless!). I know I have made a similar post before, but believe me when I say that you couldn’t fit all the random and/or weird stuff about me in a whole series of posts!

Right. Here goes.

1. My middle name is Mary. This has always amused me greatly. I don’t know why – perhaps it’s the idea I was named after the Virgin Mary, which is soooo not the case, lol lol lol!!!!
2. Continuing on the Mary theme, I was most upset when I was forced to play Mary on the play group nativity (circa 1983). I wanted to be an angel because they got tinfoil wings, but was denied on the grounds that I didn’t have blonde hair and we all know that angels are fair. So with my dark brown hair, the only role left for me was the down-trodden, heavily pregnant mother of our Lord. Something tells me that such hair colour- based discrimination wouldn’t hold up in this day and age.
3. Resultantly, I have never been satisfied with my hair colour lot, and have tried very colour under the sun, including pink, purple, yellow, black, red, orange… I must dig out the old photos some day!
4. At the moment I am a fetching shade of peroxide, but as a teenager I thought that ‘bleached hair’ was literally… um… bleached. So I set to pouring a bottle of Domestos on my barnet, but instead of a golden blonde, I was left with a stinky, frizzy mess and sore skin and eyes!
5. I also have the scars of other hair-dying incidents gone awry. After a hot night sleeping on a friend’s sofa, I was mortified to discover that my purple hair dye had sweated all down my face, neck and shoulders. I couldn’t get it off! So I … err… used a brillo pad and *scrubbed*! It didn’t at first, but after about a minute, the raw agony set in! The skin on my neck is still darkened from scarring.
6. But in the scheme of things, these are junior scars. I’ve mentioned the one on my stomach before, but have I ever mentioned the giant chicken pox scar buried in my cleavage, or the 6 inch scar on my shins from falling in a bucket of bricks?
7. Perhaps this is where my near-phobic dislike of having my shins touched comes from.

Right, the rules state that I am meant to tag 7 people, but in the spirit of being random, I am not doing that! Plus, writing this post has thoroughly drained my creative energy, so I’m off for a nice cup of tea and a sit down

I’m back! Did you miss me?

Hello blogging world! Well, I am back and – phew! – what a hectic and surprising month this has turned out to be, with even more twists are turns in store for the immediate future! I’ll try as much as I can to fill you in without boring the pants off you. First of all, I finished the final draft of my thesis. I’d like to pay great respect to my poor laptop for carrying the burden of the whole 86,000 word endeavour (excluding references and bibliography!). The beast got handed in to my supervisors on Tuesday, and in my mind I had set aside three weeks for them to read it, and three weeks to make any amendments deemed necessary. So, imagine my fall-of-the-seat surprise when an email pops up on Thursday saying that not only had they read it, but it was excellent and that it was ready to hand in, apart from a couple of minor changes. I took minor to mean a couple of weeks’ work, but no! Apparently, the changes should take no longer than a day!!!!! So, err, that’s that and I’m on my way to Sheffield on Thursday to get it bound and handed in! I have also found out that out of my cohort of 20, I am the third person to submit, which is rather good. Actually, to be completely honest, I am annoyed that I am not the first. I know that being so competitive isn’t attractive, but that’s the way I am. I like to be first! I like to win! So, I have rationalised to myself that I would have been first had I not also took some time out to renovate two houses over the period of my PhD; indeed had I not done this, I would have actually finished my PhD in under 3 years. So not only would I have been first to hand in, but I would have equalled the Department record, which makes me a winner on two fronts! I told you my competitiveness was downright ugly

And, errr, talking of renovating houses, itchy feet has struck again! Yes, despite the stresses of last year’s move to Leeds, it’s time to up sticks again, and move onto pastures new once more. Pastures new being Sheffield. The place I lived in for ten years, loved, ended up loathing, and have recently come to a new understanding with . I don’t really want to say any more at this stage, because there’s actually quite a lot riding on this move that isn’t about floor space and money, and if I say it now, and it doesn’t come off, the disappointment will be too raw and deep to relay here. The stress levels are already high, made worse by the fact that it is all completely out of my controlling hands (the other aspect of my competitive nature), and I once again only have the sage words of Russell Grant for solace. Whilst I don’t want to say much more for now, I will however just say that there are no babies involved though

Amongst all of this, I have still managed to find time for a spot of light crafting. I am in the midst of making a pair of these socks, but it’s soooooo slow! I’ve heard how most people get bored by the second sock, but for me, tedium has set in halfway through the first ankle! But, I don’t give up (tenacity being a good aspect of competitiveness) – no socks are beating me! So, I’ll keep you posted on that one! I’ve also been bitten by the Blythe crochet dress bug, which also bit Rima a couple of weeks ago with wonderfully creative results. It started in March with these (I don’t think I shared these before).

I then moved onto creating another new pattern, with even prettier results.

Indeed, the feedback to this dress was so lovely, that I started to make a few for sale on a commission basis, where each panel is in a colour handpicked by the buyer. (Further details are here, plug plug ). So far, it’s been wonderfully fun, and I have got to try out some amazing colour combinations such as these.

Indeed, the shop as a whole is doing rather nicely! It’s always a pleasure to make special clothes for special girls, and even better when you’re able to see the results of your labour being worn and enjoyed.

(THANK YOU TO EVERYONE FOR SHARING YOUR PICTURES WITH ME – FULL CREDITS AVAILABLE HERE).

Birthdays, Blythes and Breathing Difficulties (!)

Yep, it was my birthday this week.  I reached the grand old age of 28 and spent the weekend mourning the loss of my youth! As my family live relatively (in terms of time and money for me) far away, I took the opportunity to visit them for the day. I don’t see them as much as I should, to be honest. But that’s life, and maybe one day some things will change.

Here’s a photo of me and my Dad. I only have about three photos of us together from the past 15 years. I can’t see that much of a family resemblance (thank God, lol!).

I also managed to get a photo or to of the runaground boat off the Fylde coast. You can learn all about it news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/lancashire/7229956.stm>here; try not to read the company name as Seastuck like I do every time!

I forgot to take some of my mum when I saw her later; I must remember next time. Mum took us out for a nice meal to celebrate my birthday, apart from the mortal embarrassment that she caused me when she went to the toilet. She’d flicked her paper napkin into the candle without realising (read ‘paying attention to her surroundings’) and it set alight. No-one noticed for a good thirty seconds and then I grabbed it and had to throw a perfectly good pint of lager on it to stem the flames. Needless to say, everyone stared at us and I wished the ground could swallow me up!Embarrassments aside, birthdays = pressies, woot! Here’s my little haul. Lots of cards is one of the benefits of having a divorced family

That mug tree thingy is an Easter tree from my Mum (you hang those eggs on it, which unfortunately are not edible), which is strangely kitsch and I like it a lot. I also got a couple of craft books. On the recommendation of several of you, I decided to go with the Reader’s Digest sewing book. I did consider the Dorling Kindersley one, but it reminded me of school to much, and TBH I didn’t like school all that much. I also got a cool crochet book, which got slated on AmazonUK for being in American-English, but this suits me as I learned to crochet out of The Happy Hooker. There’s also a copy of Vogue Knitting on its way to me I was also spoilt financially and got some lovely money of the paper variety, which I spent on tickets to see Paul Weller in May and for a semi-final match of the Darts World Championship in June. YAY!!!! Both are in Blackpool, so perhaps I could take advantage of the ready-made opportunity to get some more photos? Oh, and the eagle eyed amongst you may have noticed a new addition, amongst the detritus, to my expanding plastic family. Yup, lovely Johnny treated me to a Mrs Retro Mamma.

So, without further ado, let me introduce you to Gwendolina Custardina! She’s a little nervous here are this is a pre-op photo, and she’s had to don her surgical gown and slippers.

Why? Her hair! It’s like a matted brillo pad that’s been used several times over! Here’s the site of the surgical intervention. We attempted to disconnect the intermingled follicles and introduce heightened verticality (i.e. wash her hair in fabric softener and comb straight).

And here she is mid-op.

And how is the patient now, I hear you cry? Well it was touch and go. There were some hairy (arf!) moments, not least when I had to pour a kettle of boiled water over it to make it all lie flat. But here she is now, and as we haven’t the time for a real photoshoot, this one taken using my laptop will have to suffice. As silky as a silkworm covered in silk!

And the breathlessness. Yeah, had another asthma attack when I went running. It wasn’t major, but I’ve been generally short of breath so decided to go to the doctors. Now on a course of steroids, whose list of attractive side-effects include stomach ulcers with bleeding or perforation; wasting of the upper arm and leg muscles; thinning of the skin; hormonal imbalance; foetal abnormalities; and glaucoma. I assume that such symptoms will not occur from a five day course, but it was rather kind of the drug company to let me know! So reassuring

Remembering our soldiers

The Art Fund is launching a campaign to persuade the Royal Mail to honour our war dead through a series of stamps.

Now, politics aside regarding the rights and wrongs of the Iraq War, nearly 200 young men and women from the UK have died in this conflict. They did not engineer this war. They did not choose this war. But they gave their life to serve this country, and should be honoured, rather than their memory conflated with the political controversies that surround it.

If you would like to sign the petition, the link is here:

www.artfund.org/queenandcountry/index.php

My hair in someone else’s hands

For the past ten years, the same person has cut and coloured my hair.  I am protective about my hair.  Indeed for the first six months of living in Leeds, I’ve still trekked back to Sheffield to have my barnet dealt with, which is no mean feat when public transport takes around 4 hours.   At present and for the foreseeable, however, I simply don’t have 4 hours to while away on a trundling train going through the less salubrious parts of South Yorkshire (of which there are many).  So, the time has come to take the plunge, move onto pastures new, as a change is as good as a rest (insert your own cliches, ad naseum).  I have found somewhere in Leeds that looks pretty good; it has won salon of the year a couple of times, so who am I to argue with the voting public.  It’s pretty pricey, so I’m having my hair cut with a junior, erk!  I’m sure it ill be okay; what on earth could go wrong with a pair of scissors and a bottle of peroxide?