Hooray, Hoorah, it's decom tommorrow!!!! We are hosting a fashion show, I am wearing feathers and postcards, Turtle is a See Monsta, Beave and Pepski are in our spare cabin and it's all going to be completely spiffing!!!

Yip Yip let the year begin....I'm gonna get Pie and Mashed.

A toast in advance to absent blinky kings. Dougal we love ya, I hope Western Australia is coping alright and look forward to creating pube cats with you and your good lady when you get back.

Going to MESStival tonight in Brizzol. A grand reunion for all of us who have flogged flavoured air, nitrous or ephedrine over the summer to stupid punters with too much cash and not enough consumer savvy.

Innit?

I am well tired.

I lay in bed last night after a 12 hour shift with two taxing functions couching my day:

1) Breakfast with member of the Treasury.

2) Private view of homeless people's art.

As my eyelids drooped closed, I tried to ignore the persistent metronome-like drip in the engine room. However, being the type of girl who is naturally para as fuck, this was in no way possible. I pulled on Turtle's wolf coat, some boots and summoned my husband. We clambered along the gunnels in the rain and used our mobile phones to verify the fact that yes, the engine room was in fact 3 inches deep in standing water.

We needs us a bilge pump and we needs it fast.

Here I sit at my desk, doing seating plans and imagining my vintage dress collection at the bottom of the Grand Union Canal.

Posh job + boat dwelling = Well tired & sketchy.

Yesterday was such a perfect day that we jokingly said we should not bother having kids. To be honest, I think I meant it. At the moment, there is only room in this marriage for two…well, three if you count the boat. (Which we do)

I was so happy at having been randomly blessed with the perfect Sunday that I shall record it here for prosperity, and when I am sleep deprived, haggard, wearing mis-matching crocs (God help me!), covered in Play-Doh and chained by the boob to a small demanding blob, I shall look back on this entry (if I have time to go online) and smile wistfully at what once used to be.

Start with a lazy lie-in whilst the rain patters on your cabin window and the kettle whistles on the hob.
Venture out to pick up the papers (ie send husband out). Read for a while by the fire. Drink coffee.
Take boat out on short, blustery cruise. Execute successful pump out. Smash into lock on way home due to high winds. Just enough of an adventure to make you feel happy to be safely moored up again.
Batten down the hatches.
Do some satisfying DIY that involves electric terminals, wiring and a bandsaw.
Have a cup of tea.
Stoke the fire up.
Hand wash scarves.
Make and then eat home-made chicken noodle soup for lunch.
Get sewing machine out and raise hem on exquisite 1940s tobacco silk cocktail dress.
Try dress on and get excited. Try fascinator on with it and hop around the boat with joy.
Stoke the fire up.
Drink wine.
Eat roast lamb with red wine gravy, mashed potatoes and red cabbage.
Watch Casablanca.
Cry.
Eat apple crumble and custard.
Work on plans for musical using Nina Simone hits with husband. ©
Go to bed and fall asleep immediately.

You can’t get more perfect than that on a winter’s Sunday. A message to the haggard depressed me from the fresh zesty me: Never mind, there’s always retirement to look forward to!

Over and out.

Yay yay yay yay yay! I am doing this on NYE. With dear dear burners. Invitation extended to those who are willing/able to indulge in some Steampunk sorcery and insane tea drinking.

Boomshanka.