Normal service will be resumed…

as soon as possible:

(or what passes for normal round here, anyway)…

Had first op.

Er, evidently: I don’t get people to do me up like that just because. There are all sorts of weird fetishes out there, I believe, but cotton wool, cling bandage – I thought they said ‘clean’ in the theatre when it was requested, and said ‘I certainly hope so, no dirty bandages, please’, ho ho ho – and what appears to be parcel tape doesn’t float my boat.

Multiple A1 pulley release, aka trigger finger release.

Possibly acquired through intemperate wool handling from an early age:

(That’s Eely – and no, I don’t know why either, and this is the far north of Scotland, not East Anglia. She was somewhat confused and thought she was a sheepdog. Used to drive the dogs demented. And I know she’s a bit too big to still have been having a bottle, but she was a pet, not just a pet lamb.)

Actually, trigger nonsense really acquired through exerting my usual qualities of restraint and moderation. Great Plying Marathon. All you new spinners out there: you need to take a break. And more frequently than every hour, too.

So in the meanwhile, and in the best intermission tradition (I seem to remember the old Arts Cinema in Cambridge having fine intervals, even if they were ironic, but I may have got my arty cinemas muddled), here is a lovely late sunset:

over Llyn Tegid, near Bala, last week, and some primroses

from my garden, this afternoon. (Usually when I am forced into idleness it rains – can’t quite believe my luck with this June-in-late-March stuff that’s happening in the UK right now.)

Feel free to add your own cheesy music.

Something rather more sensible will follow soon…


6 thoughts on “Normal service will be resumed…

    1. kate Post author

      Am awaiting the right hand op with dread (the photo was taken in a mirror – it’s the left – but it’s amazing how fast you can one-finger type when you’re getting REALLY FRUSTRATED, grrrrrrrrrr. Hands, who needs ’em? Errrrrr)…

    1. kate Post author

      Hanging. Eyeing up knitting needles, placed temptingly on top of heap of almost-finished sweater back. I must not knit. I must not knit. I must not knit.


    1. kate Post author

      Get thee behind me!

      (Am saving myself for Wonderwool. No, I’m not; I’m not buying anything at Wonderwool, I almost forgot…)


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