Me: All okay? Will: No, it's all off. Occo was hit by a meteorite. I discovered that I'm ineliegible to marry you because I'm 15% marsupial. My parents have turned into killer robots. The dead are rising. Me: Fack. Well, this is a good time to tell you that I WAS DEAD ALL ALONG
Photo from the incredible knitted minions Flickr set by cakeyvoice here.
It's this kind of link that I like blogs to be about. I'm clearly in the grip of some sort of hysterical displacement therapy as the wedding day approaches and we've got, ooh, nine days to find a substitute venue, make a new menu, place new orders for champagne and somehow let 100 people know that they've all got to go somewhere else.
I'm currently obsessed with novelty tights and stockings, going as far as ordering lots of different sets from lots of different websites. Though I've done to death the slightly naff suspender tights - I spotted them in an Innovations catalogue and had to burn all four pairs in my underwear drawer before I could feel clean again. I'm not interested in novelty colours or fishnets (though I've got a little over a week of insanity to broaden this nylon-based distraction into a full-blown, Italian weave in bottle green obsession) - I just like the way these hosiery designers have come up with different ways to make stockings sexy but practical without being silly. The line between the three states is finer than 10 denier.
Meanwhile, I have been on a one-day assertiveness training course and was the only person in the group. So it was basically a whole day of one-to-one coaching which at times verged on counselling. Exhausting and left me rather shaken: a whole day of self-affirmation can be really draining. Thanks to the lovely, lovely trainer who was part-therapist, part-professional business coach, part-kindly aunt. If I can convince my employers to pay for it, I'm going to adopt her as my guardian angel and ply her with cakes and tea once a fortnight in exchange for a kind word and reassuring pat on the head.