The dressmaker wants to make a few teeny-tiny final adjustments to the dress, and so I'm picking it up on Thursday. I hope she's properly grateful that I'm not too neurotic, and am therefore not pitching a fit about picking up the dress two days before the wedding.
Although her perpetual vagueness has annoyed me no end during the dress production process, I'm so pleased with the final product that all is forgiven. That frivolous train buttons up into the skirt so that I can dance - the best of both worlds.
Work is slowly winding up, and I can't wait to get out of here on Wednesday and devote myself to the state of being-on-holidays. Great hordes of family members are beginning to descend on the city for what I will modestly label the social event of the year, and I am eager to see them all, but particularly the babies with their little chubbsy cheeks. I won't apologise for my favouritism, older relatives. If you look cute while dribbling and making indistinct noises, you get big points in my book. And as The Bride, I will be demanding premium cuddling time with all chubbsy babies in the vicinity, white stainable dress and all.
Monday, June 25
Final days
Thursday, June 21
Hair trial
1. *sings, to a strange version of Angel of Music from Phantom of the Opera* Eight days to go til the wedding... eight days to go til the wedding... my dress may not be finished, but everything else is done, and I'm really past stressing at this staaaaage...
2. Isn't my hair pretty and twirly? I was most pleased with it. (And yes, I can't believe I became the sort of bride to have a hair trial, but there you go. I am a ridiculous caricature of my former self.) My mother's comment was that she liked the hair, but that my posture was awful, which is fair enough - I do have a rather spectacular slump going on in this photo. And I'm pretty sure the visible bra straps were two painful arrows through her heart as well. Prince Valiant thought it looked "a little bit messy, doesn't it?" - honestly, the man has no appreciation for curls.
3. Smoking Lawyer is deliriously happy at her new job, where they have coffee machines, budgets based on time spent working rather than time actually billed, and an in-house counsel with a beanbag in his office. I had lunch with her today, and she made me feel depressed. It is only her fourth day though - here's hoping she's more miserable in a few months time. (Oh, not really. But god, the beanbag thing gave me a big twinge of jealousy - where the hell is she working, Google?)
4. And on that note, only 6 days to go until I'm on holidays. Hell yeah. I'm not terribly busy at the moment, and because I don't have any urgently pressing deadlines, it's very hard to concentrate on work.
5. The Prince has been asked to a relatively important dinner tonight, and as I will be attending I dressed to impress, which for me means a skirt and heels. Halfway through the day my impressive heels were killing me, so I switched to the flats I brought in my bag to give my feet a rest. Hopefully, this will enable me to be able to clack impressively into the restaurant later tonight. The alternative was limping in and collapsing into a chair with a groan of pain, which in my experience is rarely a good start to an evening.
Thursday, June 14
Inner secrets of handshakes
I've been sending off great piles of very dull emails recently, mostly saying, "Just wanting to confirm that blah blah blah", "blah blah" in this case equalling a number of wedding details and payments - mostly payments, thank goodness. I am sick of thinking about details. The florist who is making our bouquets called me today to check exactly what shade of lisianthus I wanted, and did I want berries in the bridesmaids' bouquets? To which I replied, "Whatever you think is best, I really don't mind." She sounded enthusiastic about this - it must be an awful pain trying to do your job with your clients wanting control over every last detail of what you produce.
Speaking of clients - the other day a client who had arrived for a meeting said to me, after shaking my boss's hand, "Do we kiss?" And before I could think of a polite way to say no, kissing your lawyer whom you've met once before is not generally considered de rigueur, he lunged for my hand and smooched at my cheek. Bleh. My little mental entry with his face attached to it has now changed from "pleasant enough" to "mildly creepy". Why is there no socially acceptable way to tell physically intrusive people to back the fuck off? Next time I will stick my hand out first and endeavour to crush his.
Oh! OH! I had a revelation about social behaviour last week. For most of my life, I have wandered around happily accepting that many men have revoltingly limp handshakes. And the other day, when we met a bloke to discuss suit hire, he flopped his hand in and out of mine without actually moving it at all, and I mentioned what a terrible handshake he had to Prince Valiant as we left. He looked surprised. "Oh no," he said, "that's just because you're a woman. He was fine with me." I was aghast. Men use different handshakes with women? I had no idea - and yet this is obviously why so many men I've encountered have that unpleasant dead fish handshake. I had just thought they were all really bad at it, and I always softened off my handshake in response. Honestly, do they have to go through a little mental checklist every time they're introduced to someone? "Suit jacket, wearing pants - argh! High heels! Quick, slacken your hand!" The next person who does that to me is going to get my patented bone-cracking grip in response. (Which is, admittedly, not terribly scary - my hands are not what you'd call enormously strong. But I'll give it my best shot.)
Speaking of clients - the other day a client who had arrived for a meeting said to me, after shaking my boss's hand, "Do we kiss?" And before I could think of a polite way to say no, kissing your lawyer whom you've met once before is not generally considered de rigueur, he lunged for my hand and smooched at my cheek. Bleh. My little mental entry with his face attached to it has now changed from "pleasant enough" to "mildly creepy". Why is there no socially acceptable way to tell physically intrusive people to back the fuck off? Next time I will stick my hand out first and endeavour to crush his.
Oh! OH! I had a revelation about social behaviour last week. For most of my life, I have wandered around happily accepting that many men have revoltingly limp handshakes. And the other day, when we met a bloke to discuss suit hire, he flopped his hand in and out of mine without actually moving it at all, and I mentioned what a terrible handshake he had to Prince Valiant as we left. He looked surprised. "Oh no," he said, "that's just because you're a woman. He was fine with me." I was aghast. Men use different handshakes with women? I had no idea - and yet this is obviously why so many men I've encountered have that unpleasant dead fish handshake. I had just thought they were all really bad at it, and I always softened off my handshake in response. Honestly, do they have to go through a little mental checklist every time they're introduced to someone? "Suit jacket, wearing pants - argh! High heels! Quick, slacken your hand!" The next person who does that to me is going to get my patented bone-cracking grip in response. (Which is, admittedly, not terribly scary - my hands are not what you'd call enormously strong. But I'll give it my best shot.)
Friday, June 8
Myths about the self
I went back to the doctor today to get my blood pressure checked (as it was a little high the last two times and they keep making me go back). I finally got a different doctor, which was good, because the thought of Dr Coping Skills tut-tutting over the results was stressing me out, and probably making my blood pressure higher. This other doctor took my blood pressure, which was 155/81, and said, "Well, that's not so bad - it's a little high, but the bottom number is normal, and we don't usually worry too much about the top number." We sat there for a few minutes, and he told me that he had just been reading in a journal that tea and chocolate were good for your blood pressure, as they encouraged some sort of chemical in the kidney, and I agreed that this was good news. He took my blood pressure again, which was now 144/89. "See, that's a fair bit lower. Oh, but the bottom number's gone up. Oh well. You must just have fairly changeable blood pressure. Never mind, just have it checked again next time you get your pill prescription."
Ha! Take that Dr Coping Skills! I'm coping just fine.
I'm now wondering whether Dr Coping Skills is just super-sensitive to blood pressure issues. I donate blood every three months, and they've never said anything about my blood pressure, but I don't know what the cut-off is. This American site says that they accept anything under 180 systolic (the top number) and under 100 diastolic (bottom number), but I'm not sure if our Red Cross would have the same guidelines. I'll check next time I donate.
I am missing Smoking Lawyer's energy in the workplace. Even though sometimes her "ohmygod, it's a complete disaster!" attitude towards the smallest of problems annoyed the crap out of me, it was a vicarious adrenalin boost, I suppose watching her metaphorically dodgem-car through her days. And I had someone to roll my eyes at and to chat to. I've been a little bored this week, partly because my workload is a bit lighter than usual. Smoking Lawyer's replacement is quiet, and is also very busy trying to catch up with all of the work she's been dumped with. I've been a little lonely, sitting in my corner, with no audience for my occasionally funny comments.
We bought another secondhand bicycle, and have been going for rides after work together, equipped with headlights and all. The air is a very pleasant temperature in these early stages of winter, refreshingly cool on sweaty skin. I was talking with our celebrant yesterday about her hiking hobby, and thinking that perhaps hiking would be more my thing in a temperate climate. I associate hiking with Daintree weather and being unbearably hot and sweaty and I never particularly enjoyed it. But I can imagine liking it better in cool weather. Then she began talking about her karate class (we were waiting for Prince Valiant to arrive), and I began to get mentally enthused about doing that.
Sometimes I think I try to like things/hobbies because I think I should like them - they fit into my romanticised idea of my personality - and not so much because I actually enjoy doing them. Like writing - I've had this thing for years about wanting to be a Writer and write a Novel and so on, and had various attempts at bashing away at stories. But I just don't really like writing. I love reading, and I love stories, and I love the idea of myself as an author. But actual fiction writing? Nah. Just doesn't interest me enough. Blogging feeds my storytelling bug, and not spending time trying to be a Writer leaves me more time to luxuriate in being a Reader, which is much more fun.
Ha! Take that Dr Coping Skills! I'm coping just fine.
I'm now wondering whether Dr Coping Skills is just super-sensitive to blood pressure issues. I donate blood every three months, and they've never said anything about my blood pressure, but I don't know what the cut-off is. This American site says that they accept anything under 180 systolic (the top number) and under 100 diastolic (bottom number), but I'm not sure if our Red Cross would have the same guidelines. I'll check next time I donate.
***
I am missing Smoking Lawyer's energy in the workplace. Even though sometimes her "ohmygod, it's a complete disaster!" attitude towards the smallest of problems annoyed the crap out of me, it was a vicarious adrenalin boost, I suppose watching her metaphorically dodgem-car through her days. And I had someone to roll my eyes at and to chat to. I've been a little bored this week, partly because my workload is a bit lighter than usual. Smoking Lawyer's replacement is quiet, and is also very busy trying to catch up with all of the work she's been dumped with. I've been a little lonely, sitting in my corner, with no audience for my occasionally funny comments.
***
We bought another secondhand bicycle, and have been going for rides after work together, equipped with headlights and all. The air is a very pleasant temperature in these early stages of winter, refreshingly cool on sweaty skin. I was talking with our celebrant yesterday about her hiking hobby, and thinking that perhaps hiking would be more my thing in a temperate climate. I associate hiking with Daintree weather and being unbearably hot and sweaty and I never particularly enjoyed it. But I can imagine liking it better in cool weather. Then she began talking about her karate class (we were waiting for Prince Valiant to arrive), and I began to get mentally enthused about doing that.
Sometimes I think I try to like things/hobbies because I think I should like them - they fit into my romanticised idea of my personality - and not so much because I actually enjoy doing them. Like writing - I've had this thing for years about wanting to be a Writer and write a Novel and so on, and had various attempts at bashing away at stories. But I just don't really like writing. I love reading, and I love stories, and I love the idea of myself as an author. But actual fiction writing? Nah. Just doesn't interest me enough. Blogging feeds my storytelling bug, and not spending time trying to be a Writer leaves me more time to luxuriate in being a Reader, which is much more fun.
Tuesday, June 5
Books Read in May
Wedding Photography: Getting Perfect Results Every Time by Ian Gee
The Art of Wedding Photography: Professional Techniques with Style by Bambi Cantrell
You Drive Me Crazy: Love Poems for Real Life ed. Mary Essleman and Elizabeth Velez Poems and Readings for Weddings ed. Julia Watson
Essential Poems (To Fall in Love With) ed. Daisy Goodwin
Spirit Gate by Kate Elliott (unfinished)
The Well of Lost Plots by Jasper Fforde (unfinished)
The Weavers of Saramyr by Chris Wooding (unfinished)
Lions of Al-Rassan by Guy Gavriel KaySpirit Gate by Kate Elliott (unfinished)
The Well of Lost Plots by Jasper Fforde (unfinished)
The Weavers of Saramyr by Chris Wooding (unfinished)
Sailing to Sarantium by Guy Gavriel Kay
Lord of Emperors by Guy Gavriel Kay
Jinx High by Mercedes Lackey
Next by Michael Crichton
The Devil Wears Prada by Lauren WeisbergerSolitaire by Kelley Eskridge
Making it Up by Penelope Lively
Atonement by Ian McEwan
Break No Bones by Kathy Reichs
A decent chunk of my reading last month was wedding related - the two wedding photography books, and three books of wedding/love poems and readings. My mother and uncle are taking our photographs, so I wanted to take a look at a couple of how-to books for some ideas on groupings and posing. These two books were both fairly hackneyed and old fashioned - I now know how to pose with a bouquet, but that was almost the only piece of useful information I gleaned from their pages. There was no mention of digital cameras - they both assumed you were shooting with film, which meant that a lot of their advice was useless.
I enjoyed the books of poems more, although I found Julia Watson's collection the most useful, as it was geared towards weddings. I was trying to choose readings to be used during the ceremony, but in fact I found the ones we're almost decided on online, rather than through these books. They were still useful little volumes to browse through, though.
There were three started-but-unfinished books in May. I picked up The Weavers of Saramyr from the library because of its pretty cover and intriguing blurb. However, it was so terribly written that I began dog-earing pages that had particularly awful examples of clunky prose, and decided that I just couldn't continue with it. And the perspective kept leaping in and out of characters' heads in a distracting way, which made the whole thing worse. I gave up on Spirit Gate because there were too many characters in it, and the story wasn't interesting enough to keep me involved. The Well of Lost Plots was an unsuccessful attempt to get more into Jasper Fforde's work. I read and quite liked The Eyre Affair, but couldn't find the sequel at the library so settled for number three in the trilogy. That was a mistake - a lot of things seemed to have happened in between, and very confusing things kept happening. I think if I give Fforde another go, I'll try go read those books in order.
I had a bit of a Guy Gavriel Kay binge last month, due to the easy convenience of books already in my bookshelf - the library seemed to be having a barren spell. I read a total of six, but must confess to skimming a little through the Fionavar trilogy as I became increasingly irritated with the rather overblown style he used in those books (some of his earliest). He becomes more subtle and effective as he goes along, with Lions of Al-Rassan being my favourite of the books I read. (And ooh, they're making a movie ! Fun.) Sailing to Sarantium and Lord of Emperors are a duology, if that's the right word - they follow on from each other. I remember doing a class in history on whatever Roman Emporer these books are based on (the one with the wife that people wrote used to be a prostitute and do stage shows), and thinking, o h, that's where he got all that stuff from. I am always mildly disappointed when people base their fantasy novels very firmly in historical events - it's less fun, because I'm wondering what's historically accurate, and I'd really much rather be reading something that touts itself as historical fiction. And I think Kay could probably have done a lot of what he did with these books within the constraints of historical fiction and I probably would have enjoyed them more.
And in the basket labelled "Trash - May" goes the following books - Jinx High, which was one of Mercedes Lackey's first books, I think, and was really quite terrible, The Devil Wears Prada (which was actually quite fun to read, but the heroine irritated me enormously - I couldn't figure out whose side we were supposed to be on, her's, or her concerned family's) and Next, which is a terrible Crichton novel about genetic stuff. All sorts of genetic stuff along with, I suspect, little scientific basis and no actual characters, just ciphers that race around going "Argh! Genetic manipulation! Argh!"
Kelley Eskridge's Solitaire was a really excellent novel. I'm hesitant to classify it as sci-fi - it's set in the future, and involves a sort of virtual reality prison (the only 'sci-fi' part, really) and is a wonderful story of loyalties and love and personal identity. The political situation confused me a little at first, but I eventually got the hang of it (it's not terribly complicated, I was just being a bit dense). A very enjoyabe read - annoyingly, it is the author's debut novel, and she has not been published since.
Making it Up was recommended by Mum, and I really enjoyed it. It's a collection of short stories, based on the author wondering "what if?" about various points in her life. What if her family had moved to this country instead of that, what if she'd pursued her early interest in archeology? (I have made it sound as if the stories revolve around the Penelope Lively character, which they don't - sometimes, she is the central character, bearing other names, and presumably, other personality traits, and sometimes she is merely mentioned by her imagined descendants.) A lovely little collection - I particularly enjoyed reading the little notes which prefaced each story about her inspiration for it.
I picked up Ian McEwan's Atonement after several people saying last month that they liked it better than Saturday, only to realise that I had actually read it before. I thought the cover seemed familiar. I am ever more rapidly turning into my father. And yes, it is excellent, isn't it? Although I do find those books that make me shout "what are you DOING?" at the characters a little exhausting.
I realise that there's nothing wrong with having a formula, especially if it's a successful one - but Kathy Reichs formula of ending every chapter on a cliffhanger (e.g. "She turned, and I saw immediately that there was something terribly wrong" or "I finally knew what had killed Daniel") became incredibly annoying by the end of the book. It was just like watching a TV show. Apart from that stylistic irritation, Break No Bones was a pretty cool story, lots of bodies for Reichs' heroine, Tempe Brennan, to examine, and while the final solution to the mystery was, to my eyes, fairly unrealistic, it was enjoyable all the same.
This month, I'm reading Lois McMaster Bujold, an excellent and new-to-me SF/fantasy author, Joanne Harris' latest book (Lollipop Shoes, the Chocolat sequel), Louise Erdrich, who I suppose would be in the category of magic realism, and a few mysteries I saw recommended on Bookgirl's Nightstand - Still Life and Jar City.
A decent chunk of my reading last month was wedding related - the two wedding photography books, and three books of wedding/love poems and readings. My mother and uncle are taking our photographs, so I wanted to take a look at a couple of how-to books for some ideas on groupings and posing. These two books were both fairly hackneyed and old fashioned - I now know how to pose with a bouquet, but that was almost the only piece of useful information I gleaned from their pages. There was no mention of digital cameras - they both assumed you were shooting with film, which meant that a lot of their advice was useless.
I enjoyed the books of poems more, although I found Julia Watson's collection the most useful, as it was geared towards weddings. I was trying to choose readings to be used during the ceremony, but in fact I found the ones we're almost decided on online, rather than through these books. They were still useful little volumes to browse through, though.
There were three started-but-unfinished books in May. I picked up The Weavers of Saramyr from the library because of its pretty cover and intriguing blurb. However, it was so terribly written that I began dog-earing pages that had particularly awful examples of clunky prose, and decided that I just couldn't continue with it. And the perspective kept leaping in and out of characters' heads in a distracting way, which made the whole thing worse. I gave up on Spirit Gate because there were too many characters in it, and the story wasn't interesting enough to keep me involved. The Well of Lost Plots was an unsuccessful attempt to get more into Jasper Fforde's work. I read and quite liked The Eyre Affair, but couldn't find the sequel at the library so settled for number three in the trilogy. That was a mistake - a lot of things seemed to have happened in between, and very confusing things kept happening. I think if I give Fforde another go, I'll try go read those books in order.
I had a bit of a Guy Gavriel Kay binge last month, due to the easy convenience of books already in my bookshelf - the library seemed to be having a barren spell. I read a total of six, but must confess to skimming a little through the Fionavar trilogy as I became increasingly irritated with the rather overblown style he used in those books (some of his earliest). He becomes more subtle and effective as he goes along, with Lions of Al-Rassan being my favourite of the books I read. (And ooh, they're making a movie ! Fun.) Sailing to Sarantium and Lord of Emperors are a duology, if that's the right word - they follow on from each other. I remember doing a class in history on whatever Roman Emporer these books are based on (the one with the wife that people wrote used to be a prostitute and do stage shows), and thinking, o h, that's where he got all that stuff from. I am always mildly disappointed when people base their fantasy novels very firmly in historical events - it's less fun, because I'm wondering what's historically accurate, and I'd really much rather be reading something that touts itself as historical fiction. And I think Kay could probably have done a lot of what he did with these books within the constraints of historical fiction and I probably would have enjoyed them more.
And in the basket labelled "Trash - May" goes the following books - Jinx High, which was one of Mercedes Lackey's first books, I think, and was really quite terrible, The Devil Wears Prada (which was actually quite fun to read, but the heroine irritated me enormously - I couldn't figure out whose side we were supposed to be on, her's, or her concerned family's) and Next, which is a terrible Crichton novel about genetic stuff. All sorts of genetic stuff along with, I suspect, little scientific basis and no actual characters, just ciphers that race around going "Argh! Genetic manipulation! Argh!"
Kelley Eskridge's Solitaire was a really excellent novel. I'm hesitant to classify it as sci-fi - it's set in the future, and involves a sort of virtual reality prison (the only 'sci-fi' part, really) and is a wonderful story of loyalties and love and personal identity. The political situation confused me a little at first, but I eventually got the hang of it (it's not terribly complicated, I was just being a bit dense). A very enjoyabe read - annoyingly, it is the author's debut novel, and she has not been published since.
Making it Up was recommended by Mum, and I really enjoyed it. It's a collection of short stories, based on the author wondering "what if?" about various points in her life. What if her family had moved to this country instead of that, what if she'd pursued her early interest in archeology? (I have made it sound as if the stories revolve around the Penelope Lively character, which they don't - sometimes, she is the central character, bearing other names, and presumably, other personality traits, and sometimes she is merely mentioned by her imagined descendants.) A lovely little collection - I particularly enjoyed reading the little notes which prefaced each story about her inspiration for it.
I picked up Ian McEwan's Atonement after several people saying last month that they liked it better than Saturday, only to realise that I had actually read it before. I thought the cover seemed familiar. I am ever more rapidly turning into my father. And yes, it is excellent, isn't it? Although I do find those books that make me shout "what are you DOING?" at the characters a little exhausting.
I realise that there's nothing wrong with having a formula, especially if it's a successful one - but Kathy Reichs formula of ending every chapter on a cliffhanger (e.g. "She turned, and I saw immediately that there was something terribly wrong" or "I finally knew what had killed Daniel") became incredibly annoying by the end of the book. It was just like watching a TV show. Apart from that stylistic irritation, Break No Bones was a pretty cool story, lots of bodies for Reichs' heroine, Tempe Brennan, to examine, and while the final solution to the mystery was, to my eyes, fairly unrealistic, it was enjoyable all the same.
This month, I'm reading Lois McMaster Bujold, an excellent and new-to-me SF/fantasy author, Joanne Harris' latest book (Lollipop Shoes, the Chocolat sequel), Louise Erdrich, who I suppose would be in the category of magic realism, and a few mysteries I saw recommended on Bookgirl's Nightstand - Still Life and Jar City.
Friday, June 1
Bread breaking out
"Crap!" screamed the man in the van, screeching to a halt next to the set of traffic lights where Smoking Lawyer and I were waiting to cross the road. (In fact, he said something a little ruder than crap.) He shouted it again, and then leapt out of the van into the road, where three pallets of bread rolls had hurled themselves suicidally out of his van door (which had swung open as he turned the corner) and were now rolling around in front of a stream of traffic. He ran back towards the scene of the crime and began grabbing the bread and stuffing it back onto the pallets. Cars slowly moved around him. One of them ran over a french stick. I tried not to break into an hysterical bout of giggles (I didn't think the man would take it well), while Smoking Lawyer looked at him dolefully. "At least someone's having a worse day than me," she said. Sometimes, I think it would be good for Smoking Lawyer to occasionally practice being a little less self absorbed. (Not that I was being any more compassionate, I suppose, what with the laughing and all.)
Prince Valiant is spending the day careering around in a golf cart while drinking beer, all in the name of client relations, I believe, or possibly workplace bonding. He got given a special t-shirt and everything, and there's going to be prizes at the end of the day. I think it's terribly unfair. No-one's ever taken me out to play golf on a workday. Granted, I'm fairly awful at golf, so it wouldn't be a very impressive way to network. Prince Valiant isn't very good at golf either, but from the cheerful phone call I got at lunch wondering whether I would mind being the driver for our trip to the Gold Coast to pick up a second-hand bicycle, I'm guessing that he's having a good time anyway. "There's beer!" he said happily. "And I'm driving the golf cart."
As the majority of the wedding arrangements have now been settled, my brain has picked on the only thing left I have to fret about, and has been merrily forcing me to dream various scenarios revolving around my wedding dress. In the last dream, the dressmaker had shortened the skirt to knee length (although it was still a big ballgown skirt), and had stuck yellow and blue shells all over the bodice, along with a few feathers, until the whole dress looked like a piece of wearable art. I explained to her frantically that I hadn't wanted shells, and she demonstrated how they could be taken off, as they were attached to the bodice on little hooks. As I woke up, I was musing that perhaps the shells would be alright if we could spraying them white.
The second fitting (complete with, I hope, finished hemlines and boning in the bodice) is tomorrow, which should put a stop to such dream nonsense. I have bought my shoes (white ballet flats), so I am hoping to be able to glide around in an approximation of the complete effect. The PhD Student is coming along to ooh and aah, and to show me her bridesmaid's outfit. This is the fun part of wedding planning - all the lovely clothes.
***
Prince Valiant is spending the day careering around in a golf cart while drinking beer, all in the name of client relations, I believe, or possibly workplace bonding. He got given a special t-shirt and everything, and there's going to be prizes at the end of the day. I think it's terribly unfair. No-one's ever taken me out to play golf on a workday. Granted, I'm fairly awful at golf, so it wouldn't be a very impressive way to network. Prince Valiant isn't very good at golf either, but from the cheerful phone call I got at lunch wondering whether I would mind being the driver for our trip to the Gold Coast to pick up a second-hand bicycle, I'm guessing that he's having a good time anyway. "There's beer!" he said happily. "And I'm driving the golf cart."
***
As the majority of the wedding arrangements have now been settled, my brain has picked on the only thing left I have to fret about, and has been merrily forcing me to dream various scenarios revolving around my wedding dress. In the last dream, the dressmaker had shortened the skirt to knee length (although it was still a big ballgown skirt), and had stuck yellow and blue shells all over the bodice, along with a few feathers, until the whole dress looked like a piece of wearable art. I explained to her frantically that I hadn't wanted shells, and she demonstrated how they could be taken off, as they were attached to the bodice on little hooks. As I woke up, I was musing that perhaps the shells would be alright if we could spraying them white.
The second fitting (complete with, I hope, finished hemlines and boning in the bodice) is tomorrow, which should put a stop to such dream nonsense. I have bought my shoes (white ballet flats), so I am hoping to be able to glide around in an approximation of the complete effect. The PhD Student is coming along to ooh and aah, and to show me her bridesmaid's outfit. This is the fun part of wedding planning - all the lovely clothes.
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