Grrrowl. I really hate the M25. And not just a mild dislike, either. I hate it with a deep, passionate and unquenchable loathing. Two hours and nine minutes it was supposed to take, for my partner and I to get to Colchester. TWO hours and NINE minutes - according to the AA and RAC websites anyway. To my whiskery reckoning, that's four hours and eighteen minutes of driving. So I was understandably less than impressed when the journey actually took four and a half hours to get there and three and a half hours to get back, all because of the road"works" on the M25. AND I didn't get my beefburger (we didn't have time to stop).
Did you notice my use of the word "works" just then? Don't be deceived. Perusal of a dictionary informs me that the term "work" is defined as "exertion or effort directed to produce or accomplish something" or "productive or operative activity". I saw none of these things as we crawled inexorably past in my little green Corsa. What I did see were vast areas of lurid plastic cones and unattended machinery, like some godforsaken modern-day Stonehenge. The corresponding neanderthals supposed to be labouring around them were, in fact, grouped around a caravan watching something on a television screen. I would particularly enjoy five minutes alone in a locked room with whichever suited gentleman in parliament is responsible for all this. My time is too precious to waste on the M25. We are travelling back to Essex on Saturday, for my partner's costume fitting, but we will NOT be patronising the M25 again. We shall seek an alternative route and avoid cones at all costs.
The people that I met in Essex were really very nice. They were most helpful and my partner has chosen a beautiful dress for her Jane Austen. It is white cheesecloth with raised white spots on the skirt and a braid of dark blue, light blue and cream ribbon under the bust. My partner's costume (as Cassandra Austen) is being stitched as we speak - it is to be in brown silk (which is going to be the underdress), with a green/beige muslin over the top. She is also having a cream-coloured linen coat. Lovely.
We are now getting perilously close to performance time (it starts 22 March) and my partner is becoming jittery. She was interviewed by a gentleman from the main local newspaper the other day, for a profile that they are writing on her. I have no doubt that it is really ME that he is wanting to write about, and he is merely using her as a conduit. She did mention this blog, however, and the piece will be accompanied by a flattering photograph of her. I am mystified as to why they would want a snap of her and not me. Bizarre.
My partner's parents are both very ill and in bed with heavy colds. Their coughs and whimperings disturb my slumbers. I bear no grudge, however, and am doing my utmost to speed their recovery. My first plan is to prise open the fridge and all their cupboards and consume their food. Once my appetite is sated, I will wander upstairs and steal their pillows, that I may doze in comfort. That should help. Sometimes, my selfless consideration of others surprises even me.
A few days ago, my partner and I ventured out late at night to see the full eclipse of the moon (it was on Saturday, at around 11.45pm). It was most beautiful - the moon turned a nice burnt-orange colour and it wasn't too cold as we stood on our front lawn. I lifted my leg against a rose bush for a late-night pee. Alas, one of the closer stems was masked by the reduced moonlight and I speared my willie on its unforgiving thorn. I dashed indoors to get my poor 'Little Jasper' some comfort and that was the end of our amateur astronomy.