Just wanted to squirrel this away somewhere, and where better to do that than the blog-thing I keep straying from? It was the thing about goals that drew me in, because that's kind of how I feel about all that talk out there about Setting Big Goals and all of that general inspirational mish-mash that populates the interwebs. There are a few other nuggets of wisdom and interesting views in this video, too. I highly recommend just hitting play and letting the soothing tones of Stephen Fry seep into your brain-space while you go about whatever it is you're going about.  
In other news, I'm currently back in the South West for the first time in just shy of four years, taking one of those holiday-things I've heard people talk about (I booked a chunk of time off work and everything. It's a little bit marvellous, although slightly odd being back here):
The sea! The sea! The sea is a beauteous thing indeed.



I hear Christmas is coming soon. In a fit of domesticated semi-festivity I made magenbrot. I don't know whether I was lured toward this recipe because I have a thing for gingerbread-y things (particularly those of Swiss or German origins), or because the name translates as stomach-bread and I find that amusing.
Me: "Look! Look! I made you some stomach-bread while you were out!"
Passer-by: *look of confusion with mild undertones of horror*

Either way, it's delicious. Recipe here.
And now the present wrapping commences, because despite finally discovering the knack to that mythical art of foraging for the odd gift here and there over the course of a few weeks rather than leaving it all until...today, I have yet to wrap any of them. There's just something about present wrapping and its time-consuming finickiness that frustrates me, and that is probably why I am writing about stomach-bread while giving the odd sideways glance towards a hoard of gifts and a roll of Sellotape. It's mocking me, that Sellotape is, I just know it is.
Very merry happy <insert most applicable winter-celebration-thing here> to all. Here's hoping the Groke doesn't get you.



Pen karma got me the other day.
I have this habit of stabbing Biros into my hair at work. I think it's a waitress thing, stemming from the need to have some sort of writing implement always close to hand. Rather than scrabbling around like an unprofessional eejit, muttering "Just let me find that pen..." under your breath while a customer is rattling off at speed what feels like a hundred modifications to every meal order for a group of twelve, you can just pluck one from the bird's nest on your head.
Usually I'm quite well behaved, de-penning my hair at the end of the day (because functioning pens are rare creatures indeed), but on my way home the other week I found one still lurking there, like a stowaway making a break for freedom. I threw it in my bag, making a mental note to return it next day, thinking if I didn't then it'd burst at some point just to piss me off and punish me for stealing an oh-so-precious cheap Biro.
Turns out mental notes aren't that reliable. I never did return it. Turns out I was also right, because there is was: that inky, tacky mass all over the inside of my bag that can only signify a pen explosion.
Damn you, pen karma, damn you. But then, I suppose it is all my own fault, really, for tempting the wrath of the Gods of Cheap Biros. Lesson learned*.
* And that explains why there are now two more pens hiding out in my bag waiting to be returned to work... Eh, no one's perfect.



It seems I'm having gravity issues in relation to this blog-thing, so to remedy that I declare this a tentative - if slightly botched - attempt at re-establishing some form of anchor.

I keep writing half-things, see, and then stopping; or not stopping but more skipping on to the next, so things get tangled up in each other and all the boundary lines blur into a tangled mass of web-like clutter. There's one about really old dog biscuits; another about a long-dead crow; and something about the awkwardness of buying shoes and why it's an activity I really don't like. And then there are more half-written things, like the one about those imagined conversations you have with people you only half know, and that time the bathroom was duck-egg blue for a couple of weeks and how it connects to my intense dislike of that unsettling shade of white known as Magnolia.

But, for now, all I have is this here half-formed attempt at anchoring, and all this talk of anchoring and lack of gravity makes me think of floating in space and throwing anchors out to the ground below, which in turn reminds me of that Calvino tale from The Complete Cosmicomics. It's the first tale in the book, called The Distance of the Moon. You should read it, and the rest of the book, too, if you feel like it.

Now here's a short Pixar animation for your entertainment. I saw it earlier this year - I think it was being shown with Brave - and immediately it made me think of that Calvino tale. A quick t'interweb search confirms my suspicions that it was indeed influenced by The Distance of the Moon:

While we're at it here's another animation, found while searching for the first one, because you can never have too many animations, particularly ones based on strange tales:

And that's all I've got right now, so I'll be pulling up the anchor again and going for another wee space-swim (really I'm just off to draw a raven-crow bird-thing).



The sunshine lured me down to the river for a post-work walk yesterday, fuelled by out of date Nairn's chocolate chip oat biscuits and Grimes. I'm still on a Grimes kick, and it cannot be helped.
Some days I wish I lived closer to work, so I could walk all the way home rather than just the couple of miles to the next village, or the few more to the town after that.
I did earn myself some genius points, though, by doing that thing where you get on the bus and ask for a single to <insert destination>. And the bus driver looks at you in a confused manner, hesitating as he thinks things through (because <insert destination> is an unfrequented stop, neither here nor there, just somewhere in the middle) before informing you that he's going the other way.
I blame the out of date biscuits.