By. The. Jingo.

Thursdays are update days! Unless I forget, like I did last night. I realised that it was Thursday at 11.45 pm last night. I suppose I could’ve posted a blog before midnight but it would have been of little value. And there I was thinking that I was doing really well on the New Year’s resolution front!

Still, at least taking my time to post now instead of rushing to post last night means I can bring you a few pictures.

I took half a day’s holiday today to go and collect my new bike, Susie, from Yarm Cycles. She has a bell! This is her, still wrapped up in places, looking teeny tiny next to Muriel. She certainly didn’t seem so teenty tiny once I was trying to get her into the back of Muriel! The Nice Lady from the shop had to come and help. Luckily, Susie’s front wheel is on some sort of quick release mechanism, so it’s easy to remove for situations such as this. Unfortunately, putting the wheel back on once you get to your destination is another matter entirely. I think it would be easier if I had big Man Hands: you have to slip the wheel back between the forks (I think that’s what they’re called!) and squeeze the brakey bits together while you pop the brake cable back into its grippy thing.

(Can you tell I don’t know much about bikes, or the names of their parts? ‘Wheel’ and ’saddle’ are about all I can handle.)

Anyway, I managed to squeeze the brakey bits together, using both hands, but ideally could’ve done with a third hand to pop the cable back into place. I suppose I could’ve used my teeth, if I wanted to end up looking as though I had a mouth full of Scrabble tiles. In the end (and don’t tell Mutti or Keith this, for they may collapse on the spot and never recover) I brought Susie inside the house so that I could sit on the stairs, clamp her front wheel between my knees and fiddle on with her brakes.

Wheel secured and brakes tested, I strapped on my (stunning) bike helmet, tied on my tatty old Converse and set off for a jaunt. I decided to ride to the shop which is a mere 1.6 miles away, withdraw the cash I needed for the weekend, and pedal back. Piece of cake! Only it wasn’t.

I suppose being bike-less for the past four months has really taken its toll. By the time I got to the shop I thought I was going to have to strip off all of my clothes lie down, prone, on the pavement, and call Lassie to go get help. Stoically, though, I remained standing, withdrew my pennies and set off pedalling home. Less Year of Adventure, more Year of the Wheezing Girl.

On the plus side, I did make it up the hill past what I call the Drug Baron’s House (he isn’t really a Drug Baron. At least, I don’t think he is) without swearing overly much, and I did see a few rabbits. Once I got home, though, I could barely make it up the stairs on my wobbly legs.

The reason why I didn’t post last night was because I was knitting these. My friend from work, Katherine, started her maternity leave today and I wanted to make a bunny ear hat I found on the glory that is Ravelry. I made a newborn sized hat first, but wasn’t too keen on in. Topping it with a pom-pom (if you can humiliate kids truly when they’re babies, when can you?) I cast on the 3-6 months hat in pink (Katherine knows she’s having a girl). I finished the hat last night and stayed up to make the bunny ears. I finished them, but I don’t like them. They’re far too pointy!

So, I’m going to have another go using a different ear pattern (there’s more than one, believe it or not) or alternatively think of something else to adorn the hat with. Then I need to get cracking on a day-glo yellow scarf for Lisa’s daughter Kristen, which I’d intended to have finished for tonight. Not going to Arron’s means I’ve missed more than 6 hours of prime train-knitting time, and unfortunately I haven’t mastered knitting whilst on a fast-moving mountain bike.

Yet.

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My interweb is creaking along like a rotten old cartwheel tonight. Chug, chug, chug… Unfortunately, my brain is behaving quite similarly. What to write about…. I’ve had a bit of a scrambly week, and don’t have any particular topic in mind for tonight’s blog effort. I suppose I should’ve titled this “How not to write a blog entry”.

I worked from home today, as Leigh (my manager) and Margaret (my Big Boss, or Leigh’s manager) were facilitating a course held in another building, and I didn’t see much point in trekking into work and sitting on my billy-todd* when I could be doing the same work at home, in the warm!

I’ve spent most of the week moving around the office in a crablike fashion - this seems to be rapidly becoming my default gait - because of all the activities I’ve been getting up to. And no, it’s been nothing rude. My workplace has been offering free sports sessions for staff on weekday lunchtimes, so Leigh and I, being all virtuous, thought we would trip along to the swimming pool for a few midday laps. We haven’t been spending that long in the water, but I’ve been doing twelve lengths, which equates to a quarter of a mile each time I go. I know it’s not going to win me an Olympic gold, but it’s quarter of a mile more than I would swim if I was sat at my desk wasting time on Facebook, eating soup.

Since this occasional foray into lunchtime exercise has left me feeling healthily smug, I accepted Janine’s invitation to join her and two others I used to work with, Cath and Lorraine, for a game of badminton on Monday.

“Badminton?” thought I. “Do I even need to bother changing clothes for that? Do I just wear my work stuff, and change my shoes?” Thinking of my bike riding, and walking, and swimming, and horse riding, I came to the conclusion “Surely it’s not very strenuous. I’ll give it a bash.”

And so, on Monday lunchtime I trotted along to the leisure centre, changed into jogging bottoms, a T-shirt and hoodie, and took my place on the court for a bit of ‘light exercise’.

Oh. My. God.

Less than five minutes into the warm-up game, I tore my hoodie off and tossed it to the side of the court. It wasn’t playing the game that was making me so warm, of course: the sports hall was clearly heated to freakish levels.

Cath, my ex-manager, turned out to be brilliant at badminton. Lorraine and Janine weren’t too shabby, either. I missed the first serve that came my way. And the second, then the third…

“This game,” my brain wheezed to itself, “is ridic. I want a vodka. And a lie down!”

Desperate to save face, I focused on the shuttlecok as it whipped towards me. Fighting the urge to sing Eye Of The Tiger I stuck my tognue between my teeth (aids concentration) stretched my racquet right up, and THWACK!

“Wahey!” my brain corused, “I always knew I was bloody good at this. Bring. It. On!”

And so we played, and I’ll tell you this: badminton is hard work! Perhaps it was because I’m not all that good at it, but I was darting all over, and stretching down, and jumping up, and was all together too hot (because of the heating in the sports hall, remember? Not because I’m unfit). I really enjoyed it, and only caused one accident when I triumphantly made a shot which Cath missed, only for the shuttlecock to connect quite visciously with her left ear. ‘Mortification’ doesn’t describe it.

After the game, Cath spoke wise words. “You’ll ache tomorrow.”

Full of bravado, I boasted of my horse riding. “I could crack walnuts in my thighs! I’ll be fine!”

Needless to say, I was one large, howling ache for the whole of Tuesday. The type of ache which makes you expel air and grit your teeth each time you sit, or stand, or lean slightly off centre. Or if a light breeze blows across your body. That kind of achey! And so I hereby brandish a racquet and say without shame: badminton, you got me! I will see you once more next week, and we shall DUEL!

After three nights of badminton-recovery I can just about sit down without grimmacing. Still, I was happy to spend the day working with my notepad on the sofa instead of sitting rigid at my desk. Working from home meant I was in when the postman came, which meant I was in to receive a mystery package, which I hastily tore open to reveal… seven Cadbury’s Creme Eggs! Woohoo! An ideal gift from a friend who shall remain nameless, to thank me for my support during a recent relationship crisis (quite why people come to me for relationship advice, I don’t know. But still! If I’m getting paid in Creme Eggs, it can only be good!). Despite a note telling me that there was “one Egg a day, for a week” in the box, I felt that my recent efforts on the sporting front justified the consumption of two of the beautiful fondant glories, and each of them went down very well with a piping hot cup of tea =)

On the knitting front… hmmm. I finished Mike’s Science Gloves and have moved on to gifts for Katherine, who is going on maternity leave at the end of next week. I planned on making Blue Sky Alpacas’ newborn-sized Simple Baby Hat pattern and stitching comedy bunny ears to the top, but on completing the hat I decided it was too small to embellish. Scarily small, actually. So I’m just going to make a pale pink pom-pom for that hat, and have cast on another Simple Baby Hat in pale pink, only I’m making the 3-6 months size this time which should be easier to bunnify. I’ll post pictues once it’s complete, of course.

I’m also thinking about what I can knit for the new addition to my family, Susie. Susie is my new mountain bike: an overdue Christmas present from Mutti. The two of us went bike shopping last Saturday, looking for a replacement for my very old, very heavy Raleigh bike. I chose a Giant bike, just one step up from the most basic model, called the Boulder. The reviews I’ve seen have all been positive, so I called the bike shop earlier today and placed an order (I need a 19-inch frame, and they didn’t have any in stock). I’m trying to calculate if I’ll be able to ride my bike to the stables (bearing in mind I may well be bow-legged on the journey home) and if Susie will fit in the back of Muriel when I go to collect her. Lucky my little French bean turns into that trés chic green pickup truck I usually reserve for visits to IKEA! I’m not expecting to collect Susie until next week but I’m very, very excited about it. For now, I’ll just sit here trying to figure out a way to look vaguely attractive in a cycling helmet. Happy times.

PS: I know this has been a long, rambling post. But! My Google Analytics dashboard is showing me that I’m getting rather a lot of visitors. The map at the beginning of this post shows where my UK visitors are coming from. It seems beSottied is quite popular in Italy, Sweden and Portugal, as well as the States! Please don’t be shy, and leave a little comment for me =) Even if it’s a “You use too many commas!” or a “I can’t believe you were wiped out by a game of badminton. What’s the matter with you?!” type message, I do like to hear from you all!

* does anyone else say billy-todd? Mutti, Helen and I have so many words for things, I’m never quite sure whether anyone else says them or not. Anyway, on my billy-todd means on my own.

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Just a short post this morning. I ended it with Arron last night.

I’ve been debating writing anything about it on beSottied, but obviously I’ve mentioned Arron so many times, I can’t just stop talking about him: he deserves more than that.

He didn’t do anything wrong. He couldn’t have done anything more than he did. He called me, emailed, arranged weekends for us, sent flowers. On paper, he was perfect. He is perfect: just not perfect for me. I didn’t feel right: I felt as though I was leading him on, that my heart wasn’t totally in it.

So I finished it, on the phone. I don’t think that was very fair of me after he’s treated me so, so well, but I was meant to be travelling to London for his birthday next week. And going to his party, meeting all his friends, staying with him in the hotel, all the while not sure that it was what I wanted? That wouldn’t have been fair, either.

I feel horrible, and I hardly slept last night. But the point of this post isn’t for you to feel pity for me. I just needed to write it down. I’ve never really split up with anyone before: I dated Arron for longer than I ever dated anyone. I met his family. My family met him, and think that he is great: a ‘lovely young lad’.

I never realised that the person who finishes the relationship feels bad, too. I’m crying, but not for myself: I’m crying for him. Because he was, he is, a good man. He will make another girl, a nicer girl than me, very, very happy. He is loving, and caring, and devoted, and I’m so, so sorry that I hurt him.

In my last post, I briefly mentioned that Laura and I had taken a little jaunt to Edinburgh. I’d booked the tickets because the train company, National Express, was having a first birthday celebration, and the tickets were a snip at £5 each. It was a much shorter train journey than I imagined, too, though we did have to drive up to Newcastle to catch the train.

We spent the day in Edinburgh being cultured, seeing the sights and doing zero shopping. Well. I bought some new Converse, but I had said I was looking for some because my current pair are totally knackered and covered in plum juice (from the tree at my old house. Really, I had those Converse for years and years). Also the new pair were £20 instead of the usual £30, so the purchase made sound economical sense! We also met up with Laura’s cousin, Alison, and her baby, Daisy. I’m sure many of you know that I Don’t Do Kids, but Daisy was very, very cute. Not even I could resist squeezing her little tight-clad foot =)

We went on an open top bus tour, and actually - some might say foolishly - sat on the open top. We were the only ones stupid enough: it was freezing. There was a commentary running throughout the tour, which we tuned in to with headphones. We had wild japes cunningly changing the language on each other’s headphones. Edinburgh: brought to you in French! Zut alors!

We hiked up the hill to Edinburgh Castle and posed for a few shots before it started to absolutely tip down with rain. It was dark, and windy, and a generally grotty afternoon. The type of weather I love, actually, if I’m sat inside in the warm, with my knitting or a good book. When you’re walking the streets of Edinburgh, however, it’s not as much fun!

We went for tea to escape from the rain, and talked about our forthcoming Year of Adventure: Laura is going travelling, we’ve both entered the ballot to take part in the Great North Run, and, when Laura gets back from her travels, we’re going to look at flats to rent in Newcastle.

And so, when we arrived back into Newcastle that night we trotted off to Jesmond to peruse letting agents’ windows. We spotted a few potentials, inclusing one called The Vicarage which we both fell totally in love with. We drove home making plans to refer to ourselves as “The Lawty-Smiths of the Vicarage” (I don’t know how happy my boyfriend will be about this, when he reads it!) and wear nice respectable flowery aprons all day, in the pockets of which we would stealthily conceal bottles of vodka and gin. Most excellent.

Unfortuantely for us, The Vicarage has already been let. Probably a good thing, really, as it could’ve initiated our spiralling descent into drunken housewifely ruin. Nevertheless, I’m here to (annoyingly) encourage you all to embark on your own Year of Adventure. To think I’m just that little bit closer to living in my Happy Flat in Newcastle - knitting cushions like a madwoman and eating nothing but beans so that I can pay the rent - makes me feel Really Rather Good Indeed. If there’s something you’ve always thought about doing: giving blood (well done, Arron!), or knitting cushions like a madwoman, or learning to drive an 18-wheel truck (whatever floats your boat) then why not do it this year? Go on! It’ll get you out of the house, meaning you’ll miss at least one doom-and-gloom “Recession Special” on the BBC!

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Woooooooooooooooooooooooo!

I come to you doing a very merry jig, for I finally submitted the last of my horror essays today. That means my evenings are - for the next few weeks at least - my own once more. I’m not entirely sure how well I’ll have done on the essay front, but I’ve definitely learned a few things:

1. Always write the final word count at the end of your essay, or at least keep a copy of said essay on a memory stick, so that you can check the word count whatever your location. This way, if you realise too late that you need to write your word count onto a submission form, you can do so easily and will not have to sit counting EVERY WORD(!!!) during your train journey.
2. Don’t book train tickets to Edinburgh for the Saturday before said essays are due in. Though you will indeed have a very jolly time, it will inevitably interfere with your usual sleep patterns and Mock the Week viewing.
3. Writing 3,000 words takes a lot longer than you might think, even if you can dash off an 800-word blog entry (with photos) in ten minutes.
4. The feeling when you submit aforementioned leisure-time-wrecking essays is WUNDERBAR.

So WUNDERBAR, in fact, you may well be inspired to write your blog entry two whole days early =) I’ll still be here on Thursday by the way, in my appointed slot! I’ll have photos from Edinburgh and some progress on the knitting front, I should think. Though I have (finally) cast on the second Dashing glove: a belated Christmas present for Mike. This isn’t as bad as it sounds: Mike works away from home (on the Science Boat) for five weeks at a time, and so he and Helen had to celebrate Christmas early this (last?) year, as he was going to be bobbing around in the sea somewhere while we were all tucking into the turkey.

Helen commissioned a pair of Dashings, from knitty.com, for Mike. We chose a ball of blue Rowan Scottish Tweed Aran, and I set to work. Unfortunately, the first glove took much longer then I ever thought it would (it was an ideal train knitting project though, for when I trekked down to Arron’s) and once it was finished I was worried it was going to be too big. Not wanting to slog for hours under the shadow of an impending deadline if the finished product was going to be no good, Helen wrapped the lone glove, and gave it to Mike to see if it fitted. Luckily, it did (I expect the gloves look much better on a muscly Boy Arm as opposed to being all bulky and twisted on my considerably less muscly Girl Arm) and so in celebration of my liberation on the university front, I cast on on 4 mm dpns on Monday night, and haven’t looked back since!

(Apologies for the blurry photo: I took it on my phone’s camera, on a moving train. Not condusive to great photography!)

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