About moving the cheese

Yesterday I was somewhere between denial and rage and not ready for this new movement of the cheese. Fuck my bastard luck. Another day spent reading dodgy statistics and wallowing in various blogs. It all felt like what I imagine freefall to be like: the only sense of movement is the whistling of the air in your ears and the ground spiraling towards you, fields visible, then individual trees, then the crops or blades of grass and all along you have known what grows in the fields but when you’re looking from afar, it’s all so easy to ignore... A new adventure, but I am not ready to see it as such – when I started the 'old' adventure, I was unmarried and young. Now I have a family and this makes it all so much more difficult to come to terms with. And yet, talking about it helps so much, and so does having the family.

I woke today so much more ready for the adventure, so much readier to step out.

Fancy schmancy dress

From left to right, we have myself dressed as, well... dressed as different things to different people; my sister, Igor, dressed as a "princess" - she wore trainers, all the better to dance on, but still managed to sprain her ankle badly enough to need a week off work, all within 20 minutes of turning up; Thanassi, square bob spongepants, apparently a hit with the youngsters, and K as a painter, although the rasta wig is a little incongruous with the rest of the outfit.

Such was our attire at the annual carnival fancy dress party at the club. We did have a good time.