Damn catarrh. One day, my mouth will cease to taste as if something has died in it. But not this day.
Correct spelling is important. So is basic courtesy. In many circumstances, correct spelling is a basic courtesy, but it is not the only one.
I have accepted that it is unlikely – for which read impossible unless I find a lot of efficiency and some extra hours in the day – that I shall finish making my green jacket by Thursday night for Vienna. This is a pity, but accepting it is the sensible thing. Happily, I have also discovered that the difficult lining actually irons rather well if done through wallpaper. I have decided that I am going to take my big black coat to Vienna, as it is a lot less bulky than my short coat. As I have also decided not to bother with the extra boots that would be required to take a daytime skirt, I am just going to have to make black/brown work.
Ah, NSAIDS, how we love thee! At least when taken at higher dose than the actual prescription, with paracetamol as necessary, and remembering to eat. I ould have to double my dose to reach the maximum, but I don't have to do that to acquire a stomach ache. Grr.
Youngest Sister spent much of yesterday evening chatting to Harriet Walter, making my failure to realize the woman was on a panel at the local cinema the other week even more culpable. Although I assume that the public trouser-changing is not the usual act.
I have been reading Trent’s Last Case by E C Bentley. It very much of its time, would make a fine 90 minute ITV drama, and I suspect that Lord Peter Wimsey would agree with the young hero’s methods. Moreover the lovelorn Trent makes Wimsey in full romantic angst look like a model of self-restraint.
I really, really need to put in some serious hours on my yuletide fic. I have some very nice character stuff, but could do with a plot.
Christmas shopping; let's not go there.