Flibbertygibbet

The world's smallest violin

...is playing for Mr Potato Head.  (Formerly known as XH).

Not going to go into it, but I saw him last night and he tried to nonchalantly throw in what I felt were carefully crafted comments about how hard it all is for him. Breathe in, breathe out.  I can't take issue with the fact that the marriage ended, if he felt that it was never going to work out then that's the way it is.  That doesn't excuse him for starting an affair while he was still married to me and leaving me to draw my own strangulated conclusions about the demise of the marriage without ever communicating anything to me, making me elicit every sad strain of the story out of him. So sympathy is off the menu. 

Moreover I've been musing about moving on, and no I don't mean about buying a new flat because although I hope that's all going through, there are some niggles.  Like the lease specifies that you can't have pets.  I mean, what would I do without my feline paperweights?  It's house-hunting all over again if this can't be overcome.

I've been thinking - no, musing still, because musing suggests the appropriate amount of trepidation and commensurate caution - musing about meeting someone else. 

It's almost like a seven year relationship never happened, mainly because I'm blanking it I suppose but I look back and think how the hell did it all start?  I used to firmly believe that you meet someone when you are happy and least expecting it.  Which was what happened last time, more or less.  A holiday romance that turned into more.  So now I'm relatively-happy-comparatively-speaking and how do I go about meeting someone.  Do I go about it at all? Do I just wait to see who I meet, or who Fate throws into my path.  Or go down the mysinglefriend route, on a campaign.   Get out there, start 'dating'.  Holy crap, I think I am too scared for that. No, I know I am too scared for that.  What about seeing if any friends say 'I know this great guy' - at which point my inner cynic comes roaring to the fore screaming 'Freak! Freak!  Why the hell is he still single?'  And how do you say 'Oh dear god. I like your taste in yarn/restaurants/clothes so sweet dear lord why would you think I'd ever have anything in common with this troglodyte humpbacked  misogynist taxidermist?'  You know, it's not that I want a new relationship.  I think I just want some fun.  Maybe a frisson of excitment...

Gah.  A lot to think about.  Or maybe don't think about it at all.  It will be interesting to see what happens next...

Finally

Finally my solicitor got around to writing to tell me that indeed, my divorce was granted on the 29th of June.  Nice of them to let me know at last.

So in other words...

Hurray!!!

Must sort out the party...

Been offered a job too.  But I am not going to take it because it's on the other side of London and will be even further once I move house - on a good day it would be an hour and a quarter each way and you know what?  Life is too short.  Particularly with the current state of London transport.

There's another potential interview tomorrow and a test to do for another job. Prospects, as they say.

Meanwhile I'm watching a programme about Paris and lusting...it's another one of those places to be reclaimed.  Can't wait!

*Edit - been getting a little bit of odd spam so comment moderation is back on.  Sorry for any confusion - some people though typepad was rejecting their comment!

Time

Passing time:  no work at the moment.  Bah.  The temp agencies tell me that it's "quiet".  Oh, so you're not just ignoring me then.  Will sign up with some more.  My main job at the moment should be finding a job.  Though there are lots of creative opportunities popping up (more news in due course, if any of them pan out) which are very exciting, none of them are potentially very lucrative.  Rather than twiddling my thumbs I'm getting them stuck into clay and fabric and thread, but I'm just so ready to have a proper grown up job again.

Marking time:  I thought to myself this morning - 'Oh, my blogiversary must be soon.'  I realised it was back in May, whoopsie.  So as it seems traditional, I will offer a little anniversary pressie to someone who comments before Monday.  I'm surprised I missed it, and by over a month, but I guess other things have been going on.  But I am eternally grateful to bloggy people and commenters who have made me laugh and given me things to think about, and provided inspiration over the past year.  Mwah, mwah to you all.

Time moves on:  Dates and time were uppermost in my mind this morning and now I realise why - today is the date that the solicitor can go back to the court and apply for the decree absolute (you have to wait six weeks after the decree nisi, which is nothing more than a pain in the arse, let me tell you) and so I should be divorced in the next week or so.  Wow. It's a good thing, just a strange thing.  Paperwork arrived about the new flat.  I have to get myself up to speed on being a house buyer!

Time to go to the post office.  Baby presents and birthday presents to go in the post.  Have a good weekend, all you lovely folk xx

Ups and downs and ups and down

Yesterday I was bouncy-bouncy jubilant as there were three pieces of good news to report:

a:    that I had booked my trip to New York and Washington
b:    that my decree nisi was due today
c:    that my offer on flat V had been accepted

Today I am a little closer to ground level because

a:    trip is still happening and even better, P is going to be there to play one night as well, but I'm relying on money from
b:    the settlement, which it now turns out is nowhere near my bank account.  I'm furious with XH and his frankly cretinous solicitors.  Mind you, they are all useless bastards.  Sorry, that's just been my experience to date.  They've sent back none of the paperwork which XH says was filed weeks ago and have not replied to chasers from my equally bloody useless representation
c:  there is now a potential problem with my mortgage lender, in that I can't prove last year's income because I haven't filed a tax return yet (it's due but not for another couple of months I think).  It's a bit more difficult to get a self-cert mortgage, plus it's ex-local authority in East London so a lot of lenders are sniffy.  I wish they would pull their heads out of their arses.  Just how many of them have tried to get on to the property ladder recently?  You're looking at £250k for a one bed that isn't ex-local, assuming you can get hold of one. It's incredibly infuriating.

So I'm now on the hunt for an accountant.  My dad would guarantee a mortgage but he's based in another country so that might not work either.  It's a lot to think about.  Please cross your fingers for me that this isn't going to be a stumbling block.  I feel that little flat is destined to be mine.  I just have to keep hoping that. 

And to take my mind off things, Dad's birthday socks are going well.

PS SWAP PEOPLE due to my present crapness, I did manage to buy my fabrics for my partners but I don't have them packaged up yet.  In the spirit of 'it's my party and I'll cry if I want to,' I'm extending all the deadlines by a week.  So get those packages in the post by the 22nd! 

Sveden, you woz robbed

I had a long debrief with my mum this morning about the Eurovision.  We both agreed (as was the consensus last night when I watched it with P, F and C, that Ireland deserved to come last - oh the shame - and that Sweden was robbed.  Watch them and I challenge you to not walk around humming 'Love Grows Where My Rosemary Goes' all day.

I went to the London group sewing Meet Up yesterday.  Zoe, who runs it, is great and we had a mutual bag envy thing going on - so we traded!  One of my Dirty Weekend bags in pink for this beauty:

It's lined with pink gingham, then the chihuahua is stencilled on to a vintage sheet and then she sewed clear vinyl over it.  It rocks!  And it will be perfect for carrying socks to the last days of Tuesday knitting group - as I'm hoping to start working soon, Foyles may be a luxury I have to relinquish soon.  I started socks at the Dove the other day, for my Dad's birthday, in a Lana Grossa colourway that I've now decided is too girly, so it's been removed off the needles to four safety pins and I'm going for something browner.  More Daddyish.

After the Dove, and before Eurovision, C and I went back to Flat W.  Did I mention my offer was accepted?  When we left the agent, I already had a good idea of C's views, as I'd overheard one side of her phone conversation in the car as I was making small talk with the agent, when her hubby was asking what she had thought... we got out of the car and I immediately said 'So you didn't like it then?'  She explained that firstly she didn't think it was well-finished, and pointed out many things I hadn't noticed, and I'd already seen a few, and then came out with the clincher:

"I don't think it's very you".

And that's the key, really, isn't it?  I'm not blank white walls, glossy white kitchen, windowless bathroom: hell, I'm not ground floor.  I am mismatched dining room chairs, cake stands and tea-sets, flowery cushions on squishy sofas with stuffing hanging out.* 

I think I have to admit that I'm slightly more chaos than order.  Perhaps I'd been veering towards a classic trap that women exiting a long-term relationship frequently fall prey to - it's the over-riding desire to get out, out quickly. And was tempted by the first place I saw, which ticked some boxes but had just as many cons and pros. As C said of it: 'that was a ready-meal kitchen'.  The ultimate insult.

So the mogs will have to get used to a balcony rather than the run of a couple of gardens - so goes it.  So I'll have to get my renovation hat (overalls?) on again.  So be it.  C and I are going to see Flat V together tomorrow evening if I can get an appointment, so she can use her x-reay vision on it.  I fear that by tomorrow I'll be seeing more with my heart than my head, the classic trap.  Ironically Flat W was totally a head decision - it just would have been the wrong one. 
Of course it all has to go well and then I'd have to get Flat V for the right price - having done my research, it's on for far, far too much. I walked around there again today, and it felt right. But no getting excited about new kitchens and rugs and lampshades until we get a few stages further on.  Then we can start on about movers and packing and freshly painted white walls.

*For what I aspire to, see the profile on Emily Chalmers in this month's Elle Decoration.  When I is growed up.

PS if you're in the swap, you should have had an email today with your partners' details...

Seriously....

....thanks to everyone who came over to comment on the last post and I will try to get back to you all!  I just wanted to say that um, I think some of you might have been worried I was going over the edge a bit - I'm not.  It was genuine musings, with a smidgen of crazy thrown in and suddenly with a fresh day and a new perspective there's lots of stuff to keep me busy and away from the sharp implements.

I've made a decision.  I need a holiday.  And the exchange rate is so good that it seems rude to not head over to see Denise, my lovely friend from college, like she suggested.  I was thinking that perhaps it was a little crazy - and then remembered that I have some airmiles... and score!  Enough to take me there and back, plus I can do stop overs en route.  So will definitely be heading to Washington and New York - but the west coast or Chicago or Boston are also possibilities.

So who knows a good hotel in New York then?

Oh and the first reminder - if you want to sign up for the fabric swap, click on the link in the sidebar!

Just which flavour of crazy are you?

Warning - long, long, long post.

Initially this post was mainly to confess how I woke up on Sunday morning and hit the cat across the head.

Well, the night before it was just too much effort to persuade [bad] Shrimp to come out from under the bed when it was time to sleep, so I gave up and left the door open, figuring that she'd sneak out in the night.  Which she did, but of course she could also saunter back in when she felt it was breakfast time the next morning.  Early the next morning.  The current fun game is to pounce on anything that either moves, or shows itself under the (very light summer) duvet and so she kept attacking my feet - you know it's hard to stay still and ignore razor sharp claws for any length of time even if you empirically believe that lack of attention should make her stop.  Eventually I gave in, and dramatically swept the covers back across the king-sized bed to get up.  In the process, I walloped the other poor mog, who'd also crept in but who was peacefully snoozing alongside me on the bed and scared the crap out of myself in the process.  Poor Twiglet. 

But a couple of things have got me a little worried, or a little peeved, or confused.  Or something.

It's mainly wondering how I got to be the incarnation of Crazy Aunt Purl's forthcoming book - "Drunk, Divorced and Covered in Cat Hair: The true life misadventures of a thirty-something who learned to knit after he split".   God I cannot wait to read it. I already know it's going to make me laugh and cry, very very much. 

Lovely Ting said something one day about how it's cute that my blog is all about my cats (she almost undoubtedly didn't say precisely that, but that was what I heard) and that made me think:

- Oh. 
I may be becoming a crazy cat lady.

And then I thought:

- But isn't it a bit early for that? 

and settled back on the sofa, flanked by a cat or two, with my knitting, or more recently, crochet* to watch some tv.

You see, I'm getting very into Grey's Anatomy.  Loving it.  McDreamy, McSteamy, George, the whole lot.  But I must take issue with something that peturbed me greatly.  In the two eps that aired tonight, Meredith is having yet another crisis and so she takes up knitting. Or rather Izzie is knitting something she claims she's going to substitute for Meredith's crap efforts - but Meredith is supposedly knitting a sweater on enormous broomstick needles which looks to actually be a large piece of stocking stitch - a scarf, perhaps - but the point is, the point is, the point is that Meredith takes up knitting because she's becoming celibate after repeatedly screwing up with men.  She's sitting in the bar and the barman tells her she has to stop knitting because she's scaring off the customers.  Then the nurse at McVet's asks her how she's getting on with learning to knit, and when did she give up men.  She's basically knitting to avoid, and indeed distance herself from, any male attention.  Because men stay away from psycho knitter ladies.  Particularly ones with cats.

Now I know that's crazy talk.  But a lightbulb went off in my head.  I realised I may be knitting myself a divorce.  And a security cordon.  I've been thinking a lot about the amount of crafting I've been doing and how important it has been to me over the past turbulent months.  It's been a relief (or, as I mistyped, a "relife") to be able to take time to knit, crochet, dressmake, create, keep my mind and hands occupied and have a tangible object at the end of it.  If I'd been working, while I'd have had a different focus (and also some financial security), I think I might not have handled things 'so well' because I don't know if I would have had anything that I could have literally picked up and said 'Yes, I made this' I have talents.  I can do things. Subtext - I can get through this.  I can sort myself and this mess out.

I've admitted before that crafting has been how I've been keeping myself semi-sane up to now (can you tell that serenity may be about to disappear?) mainly because I've met a lot of wonderful knitterly people and it's been a lifeline, it and the people it's introduced me to have become a regular part of my social life.  Somehow it feels like it's almost cheating because none of these people know XH.  A new life, new start.  That's another reason why I love London - it's big enough to reinvent yourself without even changing your postcode.  I can tell these people I've had a crap time or the divorce is getting me down or whatever, and people are simply sympathetic.  There's no 'poor XH.  We feel for him too." It's unconditional. The support is just for me. Nobody asks 'Are you at fault at all?'

Am I immersing myself in crafts to avoid the real world of job-hunting and house-hunting and no-more-Tuesdays-at-Foyles, doing a Meredith and trying to maintain a distance from reality? (Apparently the world out there has men in it too, I'm not sure whether I'm more afraid of men or work.  Men at work.  Working with men.  Not working. No men.  Meeting a new man.)

And then there's the blog too.  A non-knitter, non-blogger friend asked me with that slightly wary look, 'Why do you have a blog?'  and of course the answer is 'It's cheaper than therapy".  I am very grateful to all the wonderful people (the friends from the real world, and the 'imaginary friends' from the virtual world) who have encouraged and supported,  cajoled and pacified me, sent care packages and come out for cocktails. It's been a whole different life for me in the past year but I'm glad to have 'met' new people who've made it that much more interesting - even if some times I wonder 'Why would you care about what I'm saying on this blog? Doesn't my whining drive you mad?  Do you think I'm funny or just in need of medication? Actually, is there anyone out there at all?  Oh god, am I blathering into empty cyberspace??'  I've been thinking about this a lot because of an email I got the other day. I've done a couple of interviews lately, one for an American newspaper's St Patrick's Day edition about Irish crafters, and I was interviewed for a piece in the Guardian about refashioning clothes and dressmaking.  Then I had a rather unexpected request:  if XH and I would like to be in one of the broadsheet supplements, in a feature where two people who have separated both give their side of the story.  I have to admit that I was flattered that I'd been asked, as they are "always looking for interesting and articulate subjects' but I realised that I wasn't interested in having my story told in that way, and I wondered who would want to bare their souls like that and what their motivation would be.

Then I thought about it a little more and realised that while I'm not 100% open, I do talk about this sort of thing on the blog without much caution.  I might not say it in  person to a friend but ironically I'm happy to stick it up here and let it exist as a sort of adjunct to my existence.  A very open secret.  It's like purging your soul to a diary, but crisp white paper , much as I love it, doesn't give you constructive feedback.  There have been a few posts recently in blogland about reading, commenting and lurking.  I'd like to say thanks, again, to everyone who comes to visit here.  Please leave a comment because I'd love to know who you are.  I'm going to make an effort to reply to all my comments - been a bit slow at this recently - and I'd encourage you to leave comments on blogs when you read them - because it's important to make those connections.  For both the reader and the author.

I'll be out of blogland for a while, not expecting to have internet access when I'm in Ireland.  Attending a wedding, seeing some people I haven't seen since my own wedding, gulp.  Gearing myself up for the househunt and the job hunt.  The crunch time really has come.  No more hiding behing the yarn, changes are inevitable.  The decree nisi is due any day now. I'll look forward to seeing what you though of this rambling epistle when I return!  Well done for getting this far...

* I caved and started over. Longer, no mistakes (so far) and up to 'gift' standard.  What was I thinking with the first one?? It's barely a scarf!  It's being ripped. The second one might become a lap rug for me if I've got enough yarn left over.  I love Cotton Angora, btw.

I don't like swearing

**&@!$%

Ok, to be honest, my language can be like a sailor's sometimes. Like I noticed last night when I was knitting that I was using more than my fair share of expletives, and this was before I noticed the mistakes I was making with the sock.  And can I just say - I think I am falling in love with crochet.  Keep watching this space.

Today I was swearing in the county court - swearing the affadavit to accompany my divorce petition. It's the first time I've ever done anything like that, it was strangely emotional and everything is such a learning curve. Afterwards I felt like swearing a lot at 'unnamed woman'. Instead I shed a couple of tears as I walked down the side of the courthouse, said thanks for my huge sunglasses that hide watery eyes, and got on with it.  It's just one more step in the process.  Soon I hope to be looking for a little place to live, just me and the cats, and, as my brother says, 'all your crafty shit'.

I - CAN'T - WAIT. 

Where has it gone?

Where has what gone, I hear you ask.

...This week...
Well, it was partly handed over to a lingering lurgy.  It's almost gone.  The illness and the seven days or howeverlong since I last purged posted.

...My sewing mojo...
I arose this morning, possessed with enthusiasm for getting the machine back out - I seem to have been spending far too much time with two pointy sticks and glorified string, rather than my first - or should I say original - love, which is sewing.  So I started on the wool stash bags this morning, but I seem to have banjaxed the Singer,  to use the technical term.  So I've got to figure out how to get it down the road to 'the little man' which is probably going to involve a taxi as I've no car any more and it weighs roughly the same as I do.

...My Jitterbug joy...
More news on the almost-completed socks will be posted tomorrow.  They have been a learning experience, that's true.  That's the most positive thing I can find to say about them.  I'm hoping to look on them in the bright light of morning and rediscover some enthusiasm for them.  Even the tiniest little bit.  No holding your breath there in the back.

...My career prospects...
Actually, I don't want a career as such, unless it's flexible enough to let me still attend knititng group on Tuesday mornings.  Joking, God of Work Opportunities - though it's typical that you'd start listening just when I start mucking about...I didn't get the job that I'd interviewed for, because they want someone who's got more financial experience which is perfectly fair.  The interviewer recommended me to a recruiter though, who's  putting me forward for some stuff which is flattering.  We'll see what happens. 

...My head...
Well, I know where that's gone, right up my--
I know it's time to get out of the schlump and see what other opportunities are going to present themselves this week.  I think getting that no on the job dented my confidence more than I'd thought it would, even though I'm not entirely broken hearted about this job itself, but it would have given me some security, focus, independence, and money of course too.   I was this close (you know how close, thumb and forefinger a mini-milimetre apart) to just booking a flight and going home to my mum.  In fact I still may do that, but later on this month and for slightly different reasons.  And having arranged for someone to look after the cats before I go.  March is always a noteworthy month for me  - the anniversary of when XH and I first met, which will naturally be bittersweet this year; St Patrick's Day, which normally passes in a blur of me watching people from all other nationalities celebrating my national holiday, which amuses me; my parents' wedding anniversary and my birthday.  Three years ago on my 30th birthday XH took me to NYC and proposed.  I never know whether to celebrate my birthday or not and this year it's going to be an even more difficult decision. 

My lovely Irish mammy says 'What's for you won't go by you.'  which can be interpreted as 'things work out the way that they are supposed to.' In this case I think I have to trust that I'll make the right decisions about marking all of March's anniversaries and dates this year.   Mums do always know best.   

Welcome to my world

Firstly, hello to the so very many people who've found their way over here from Rebecca's lovely blog, come on in.  Don't be scared now (or at the end of this lengthy post).

Having slightly underestimated the time I'd need to do The Freelancing Job From Hell this week, there hasn't been much extra time for blogging - or knitting.  I mean, WTF...

I'm trying very hard to justify two things today:   (1) going to Knitflicks at the Ritzy.  I've never managed to make it and it's starting to have a Brigadoon feeling to it.  Does it really exist?  (2)  heading out here for a couple of these tonight.

So what's stopping me?  Put simply, time and money.  Firstly, the FJFH is still ongoing.  The joy of it is, of course, that doing the freelancing is what pays for the fun stuff, but payday is a long way off and the scarlet numbers of my bank account are weighing ever heavier on my conscience.  Plus you don't get paid until you're finished (and you've invoiced.  And waited a month.  And mentally and in reality spent the money thrice over).

I'm also feeling the need to declutter a little (also known as "making room for more, newer stuff" ). Yesterday I spent more money found some storage solutions at our favourite Scandi retailer.    Small storage, medium storage.  Let me introduce you to a corner of my house. 

The top of the sideboard.   A couple of gifts to be delivered,  but mostly everything is in its place.

But wait - what's that?
Yeah, look, down there, what's that in the corner?

Is it...could it be... yes, it's a basket regurgitating some of the fabric staaaaaash!  Dammit, it's time to get that sort of stuff cleared up.  Particularly as every once in a while, one of the mogs thinks "ooh, I'll just feck some of this stuff out and have a little snooze in here.  Ahhhhh, comfeeeeeeeeeeee"...

Now you might think that I'm overreacting a little.  (Moi? as my heroine would say)  But when you turn around you get the fuller picture (cue 'Reeh-Reeh-Reeh' horror flick music)

Two sewing machines, a laptop, 'real' work, accumulated clutter... it's kind of got to stop.  Once the FJFH is done, all of this has to go away.  Hey, I have the Ikea boxes to do it!  Well, once I've assembled them.  Damn, hope XH didn't take his toolbox when he moved out.  (Unlikely.)

Then I can be getting along with the WIPs*!  Here's a couple of blurry previews to intrigue you.

Plus there's the haul from my brother's escapades in Boulder!


He chose a lot of fabrics with a black background because "babies see contrast".  He's too bloody clever.  His best friend is about to become a dad soon so that's where a lot of these fabrics will be going, into a quilt for Eric's baby. 

Ok, time to knuckle down to the work for the day.  I'm going to try to shuffle enough stuff around to go out tonight, as the architect of tonight's amusement is off to forrin' parts for the foreseeable future - this can be a bon voyage drink...

* oh, and finding a real job too