[sobs]

I have written half a post, half a lengthy post, twice now only for the laptop to either decide to delete all of it while I'm typing, in response to a particular unknown-to-me key, rather like a twisted version of Password, or to suddenly lose all battery power and just shut the fuck down rather than Hibernate so that I lose EVERYFUCKINGTHING ALL FUCKING OVER AGAIN, right after I manage to replace the first loss.

Bastard thing. We hates it.

You know, what I wrote last time about my Majorca holiday was so completely and wonderfully spot-on for what I wanted to say, that replacing it with something else really depresses me right now. So I'll settle for the moment for telling you that while there we went to a water park, and while at the water park I had my photo taken. I liked this photo, and had absolutely no money left to buy a print with, and so you can imagine what my reaction was to finding out that Steve had surreptitiously bought the print while I was changing back into street clothes again.

Many thanks, love. :)



... ah, cute fluffy owl negates bad feelings of laptop badness... nice Hedwig. Yeah, I'm aware that I look odd, but fluffy owl makes everything good.

[sigh]

I'll edit this post later in the week to include better details, but I really can't rewrite the same thing for the third time. So, onward...

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Donegal
This was a seriously good time. We spent a lot of time on the beach, a lot of time listening to music (sadly, we never did bring along a mic for karaoke :P) and a lot of time just generally spending time.

The bikes that my da fitted out for us worked pretty well, apart from the tendency of Cez's bike to lose its chain all the way off the cog and into places where it could get horribly, forcefully stuck. This would have been a lot more dealable if it hadn't started doing it so far from home... however, on the bright side, wrenching a chain free from inter-cog space - using brute strength in a way that actually kind of hurts just to keep your hand in position - gives an amazing surge of good feeling for each tiny length of chain you manage to extricate.

The day we spent several hours biking was also the only day there was significant rain. What can you say: Murphy was an Irishman; his laws are in full force down South.

Body-boarding was pretty good, although I think only Blaise and I got into the zone of "Aahhh! Massive, bone-crushing-breaker-force wave coming this way! QUICK RUN CLOSER WE'RE GOING TO MISS IT LET'S JUMP INTO THE WAVE YAYYYYBLARRGHGLARGUGHGH OMG IT TOTALLY KNOCKED ME UNDER AND TURNED ME OVER THREE TIMES DUDE THAT WAS AWESOME!!"

This may be because the others don't appreciate the foolishly simple joys of such an activity, or because they have a stronger survival instinct. Time will tell.

Also, I am never going more than 10 minutes' walk from the caravan, especially towards a pub, without a large torch to hand ever again.

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Recently
I have been shopping and returning somewhat to my Goth/rock style roots. I found some rather nice new items and have discovered in the process that I've (apparently) recently dropped a dress size. Huzzah!

This would be a lot nicer if all the items labelled in the S/M/L system didn't choose to put M as size 10. Perhaps this is unfair of me, but isn't the most common female size these days around a 14? It was always most delightful for me to hunt through rails of clothes hoping to spot an XL, and seeing things I really liked were only in XS to M because apparently all the women shopping there were other shamefully-huge size-14s looking to clothe their extra-large asses. I mean really, what the hell? I've currently got the best damn figure I'm likely to have in my life - T & A and no scary amounts of flab and actually rather nice legs, thank you - and somehow I'm still just a weeee bit bigger than is allowed? Wrgh.

It might be nice to reassess the system so that "medium" actually reflects the weight distribution curve of women in the UK; after all, calling someone "large" is a relative judgement based on what we consider the normal (i.e. most commonly seen) size. At the same time, I kind of dread the day we shift to American sizing (basically, the UK 8-10-12 etc. system would shift down one size so that an 8 would then be called a 6, a 10 an 8 and so on - effectively making everyone "a size smaller" until they get used to the new system) since it would be highly likely that the spread of obesity (no pun intended) might be a factor.

However, it would also mean that all those women who tut and whinge about a shop's clothes in "their" size being "tighter than they should be" would actually wear clothes in the next size up, which might fit them without a fight...

Yeah, I've been one of those women. I apologise for any whingeing you may have been subjected to. :)

Anyway.

I also own a new hat. Black trilby hats rock; the fact that they're one of the few kinds of hat that actually suit me does not detract from their rockability.

I hereby christen my hat "Twilby", and will use Twilby to vigorously beat the prepubescent authors of any silly comments about how fat gurlz sux hurr hurr.

I mean it.

Twilby has a buckle.