This week, I have mostly been…
Back to work
Yes, after those delectable two weeks of comparatively nada I was back at the coalface this
week. But ya know? It was good to be back. Mostly. No, it really was. If only
to see my lovely workmates and to spend a very comical half-hour telling truly bad
jokes while we worked.
Not sure how it started but here are a few of our gems:
I used to work in a
shoe shop but I got the boot
I used to work in a
bag outlet but they gave me the sack.
I used to work for Heinz but I got canned.
I used to work in
pyrotechnics but I got fired << OK that one, I just made up as I
can’t remember the lead-up. But you get the gist.
The BBC are broadcasting a new adaptation of Jamaica Inn over Easter and I picked up a
battered 1960s Penguin edition:
in a second-hand bookshop on Charing
Cross Road last winter so it seemed timely to choose
it as my second book of 2014. I love Rebecca –
and I’m also loving Jamaica Inn. No
one writes Westcountry suspense like du Maurier . The innkeeper
of Jamaica ,
Joss Merlyn, the antagonist, is a beast and a bully (and very possibly a
murderer) but I’m quite enjoying his brother, Jem…
The heroine, Mary , sent to
the inn after her mother’s death to live with her downtrodden aunt Patience,
could do with a little bit more gumption but she’s still fairly fearless.
Causing myself untold
damage
***WARNING: CONTAINS MODERATELY
GRIM INJURY PHOTOS***
OK, so strictly this should have gone on last week’s Summary
but I was still in shock and not sure how the injury would pan out so…
Yep. Last Sunday evening, in my mission to cook and bake more, I set about making a
batch of carrot and coriander soup for lunches during the week.
It was all
going so well.
I chopped the veg. Fried the onions, made stock, put the
carrots and coriander in for the requisite time to simmer.
Here’s where I went wrong: impatient as I am, the stick
blender wasn’t gouging and liquidifying the carrots quite as quickly as I might have hoped. So I
assembled the jug blender. All good. I even put the lid on properly.
And then I
lifted up the jug. And something was clearly amiss with the assembly of the blender, as the entire contents
spilled out from the bottom of the jug, all over my kitchen surfaces (yes, all
of them…) and over my arm. Boiling-hot soup ON MY ARM.
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| {via here} |
Ow does not begin
to cover it.
Now, common sense would decree that one sticks one’s
scalding flesh under cold water for at
least ten minutes.
But I had one of those dilemmas: see to poor, seared flesh… or
clean the kitchen?
I cleaned up the kitchen.
I did intermittently hold my arm under the cold tap and
later spray it with Burn-Eze so it didn’t blister. But come the next day, it
did look a little bit like this (brace yourselves):
I’ve spent most of this week disgusting people with the scar,
following various friends’ advice, and then smearing the arm with Sudocrem and
lavender. And it’s improving, it really is. (Again, brace yourselves...):
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| {the void is where my watch was...} |
I’m a disaster area (especially when it comes to sharp
things and hot things). Miraculously I’ve only landed myself in hospital twice with
injuries: the first time I was five and I fell out of a tree at my cousins’
house on Mother’s Day (sorry, Mummy). The second time was twelve years ago when
I sliced into my left index finger with a scalpel at work.
My body is testament to the fact I should just not touch things that might hurt me.
About nine years ago I assembled a cheap set of shelves from
Argos (admittedly under the
influence of Cointreau) one New Year’s Eve. Some months later they collapsed and a vase fell from the
shelves and broke on my head.
Later that year, very possibly, I forget, I scalded the tip of my nose trying to steam my face. I
looked like Rudolph for a good few days.
Two days before I was due to be a bridesmaid for my cousin
in 2006, I sat back against the bulb of a clip light attached to the headboard
of my bed and burned my shoulder. Can’t tell you how alluring exposed, burnt flesh … isn’t.
About two years ago I sliced my finger and thumb at work while
cutting a bagel.
And last week I knackered my knee on soft play equipment.
But never mind. It’s all part and parcel of being human, and
making inadvertent contact with solids (and liquids).
Right?
Urgh.
Moving on. Here is a Minion singing a bit of the Fox Song to help you unsee those photos:
Rewatching | Stepping Out
This rather excellent film from 1991 about an amateur tap dance class has still (I mean, what the chuff, still?!) not been released on DVD. And I had a hankering to watch it.
So I rigged up an old video player (y'know, an actual player of videotapes you have to, like, actually rewind and stuff) to revisit the wonder that is Liza Minnelli as tap teacher Mavis Turner coaching her mixed bag of adult amateurs to variety-show greatness. The film also stars Shelley Winters, Bill Irwin, Ellen Greene and Jane Krakowski.
It did not disappoint. Oftentimes you can rewatch a film you loved as a child or teenager and the lustre is lost. Admittedly some of the performances and lines are a little cheesy now (step forward, Mavis' grunting muso boyfriend Patrick -- "it's great you got a hobby, but this is REAL LIFE!") but it's a sweet film that Paramount should definitely release on DVD. DEFINITELY. Especially since my videotape's a bit wibbly with overuse. And Liza is genuinely brilliant.
Found on the interweb
this week
Life lessons learned from playing The Sims (all of which are WRONG!)
And finally ... a bucket of sloths.
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