Into the Fog and Mist

Snow and ice replaced by freezing fog today. We took ourselves off into town to foist more books on the charity shops and play a spot of 'is there anything worth buying in the sales?' And get a hair-do. Me, not Andy. For some reason, my hair has been especially speedy in its growth this last month and a half and, on reviewing the Christmas Day video clips, I was appalled at the way my roots were sparkling in the light of the fluorescent kitchen light. So they needed sorting tout de suite.

As it was, there were plenty of bargains to be had in the sales, namely posh toiletries and titivating fripperies that I wouldn't normally splash the cash on because the splash would be too big. But many half price bargains to be had, so had them I did! I shall be beautifully smooth, soft and scented until June at least.

In the main shopping centre I overheard this conversation outside Hotel Chocolat, the chocolate shop that sells chocolate (the clue is in the name):

Man: Do you think they do coffee in there?
Woman: Well, it's a chocolate shop innit?
Man: Is it?
Woman: I think they do just chocolate...
Man: Really?
Woman: Yeah.
Man: Oh.

I took myself off to Waterstones for some immediate cerebral respite.

Heather has declared all sale shoppers to be the sub-scum plebs of an unevolved human race. Rude, demanding and unreasonable has been the general gist of her post-work reports these last three days where the queues have been long and the tempers have been short. Luckily, my girl is made of stern and resilient stuff. She also has sharp elbows and an equally sharp tongue when required. Even so, she has vowed that tomorrow, her day off, shall be spent in bed doing nothing but watching films and eating Ben and Jerry's. Sounds good to me.

In an attempt to regain his pre-Christmas figure, Andy has decided to move more and sit less. This means that in the evenings every half an hour or so he leaps from the sofa and performs a series of bends and stretches, leaps and bounds around the living room. It is infinitely more entertaining than anything TV can provide.

Two days before Christmas we went to see 'The Phaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaantom of the Operaaaaaaaaaaaaaa' which was very good, especially as one of Heather's uni friends works backstage, so we got a backstage tour after the show. There was a lot of fog and mist in performance, to add atmosphere and possibly hide the workings of the boat on the stage, and I thought the Phantom would have done better wooing Christine if he hadn't revealed the life-size dummy of her wearing a wedding dress that he was keeping in a cage in his underground cave. From that point he was little more than a stalker. But he sang a good song.

And I really liked the way that, in the scene when the chandelier crashes to the ground, two stage-hands rush forward to catch it. Something to do with Health and Safety regulations in British theatre.

But all in all a good night, given more snow was threatened and we could have ended up being stranded in London, or worse, on a train twixt London and home. As it was, the only delay was caused by someone pulling the emergency cord when they got themselves locked in the train's loo.

A case of into the bog and missed? (Dear Lord, that was laboured...)