Reader, The day started badly, him-indoors is very stressed about his MA work and I can't really help him, which makes me stressed. The house looks like someone has turned upside down and given it a good shake, my fat upper arms dont fit in my blouse and I'm not ready... For any part of the next three days. So I'm up at the crack* upsetting the neighbours with my sewing machines, trying frantically to get ready for my printing session later, while thinking on how to get my new bike to the repair shop at the same time.It's not broken, the gears just need a professional touch and I really want it ready to ride it on Sunday. Of course super-mum comes to the rescue as per, helping me get Jake to the bike shop and then making sure I'm at the Uni in time for my printing slot. Mums rock, she even brought him-indoors pork pies, which means I can tick off "feed husband" from my weekly list of jobs. I arrive super-stressed, but as soon as the smell of the print room hits me I'm as calm as can be, and after a few small battles with the laser printer my days starts to reflect my new found mood. Who needs Prozac when you have ink and rollers, oh baby... By the time I've had a bit of fun with lasers and a very productive snow queen** project meeting. I'm in an amazing mood and the sunshine after the mornings hail reflects this improvement suitably Returning to the boro by train with a small brown leather suitcase off of the 40's*** full of samples and an over-sized portfolio of card I am looking forward to joint birthday meal with Cuddles (that's a person not a activity) dispute the total lack of an opportunity to change or draw on my face. I haven't really had a proper cycle today, just getting Jake to the car, but it's starting to look like that's about all I'll fit in. So to the meal I go, it's a great evening, I spend a lot of time banging on about how I have to be at the rowing club at 8:30 in the morning while simultaneously descending into an ever growing cloud of rum. Here's a bad idea, take a group of rowers, add lashings of rum, what do you have? Pirates, lots of them, with no captain. The plan was to walk home, him-indoors brought frank, so we could try a beer-backie, but that's not going to end well, I think I might have missed the boat somewhat on backies****, in the end Chris takes pity on us and drops us home, leaving poor frank alone in town, so that's tomorrow's rescue mission planned then, free the fixie-one Is it just me or is the floor moving (holds on the the edge of the bed) damn fenland earthquakes *when the day cracks, it is now dawn, not to be mistaken for the cracken, which is very bad news for water dwellers or shot drinkers as it turns out (burp) ** a project for The Scott Polar Museum in Cambridge, yes my job rocks, i know right? *** which always makes me want to run away and join the circus or something equally reckless **** a short history of backies and me: I didn't know what one was till i met my husband, a couple of times when we have been short on bike and long on tired legs we have tried this, but I scream the whole time, which might explain why him-indoors is so deaf, ANYWAY i think the reason this gives me the fear is because you have to learn to do it while you are still a teenage and thus immortal, and why did i not do this as a teen, growing up in Cambridge aka the land of the bike? well Where i grew up every child had their own bike, so there was no need for such things. Silly!