In the words of Calvin and Hobbes: The Days Are Just Packed

My word. Less than 24 hours in London? Really? Really.

A Variety Festival in a gorgeous old theatre which has stood the test of time for over 100 years and is having a resurgence? Oh indeedy.

The simple pleasures of a bike loaded up with gubbins to go tromping around with? That too.

Whether it's a day, a week or a month being referred to, it's been absolutely EPIC. Today I found myself chatting with a chap called Bart for the journey between KX and just beyond Doncaster. I learnt something about Pontefract. I was alerted to exactly how many power stations there are in Yorkshire. We traded stories about Bolivia (he didn't get pounced on by a puma. I won by a country mile). We talked bikes and train stations and the route to Aberdeen. And just generally had a bit of a natter.

London was both productive and thought provoking. Movement, albeit not as fast as I'd like, but movement all the same.

And the Variety Festival in Morecambe was outstandingly brilliant. *Outstandingly* so. Good times.

Marvellous Marvellousness

What a wonderous few days. I'm not normally a fan of being in London. In fact, as Adam will testify, I have been known to sit on the steps of the Tate (among other locations) and berate the very existence of London and my state of being in it. And yet something has shifted and I have been having a most marvellous time. Which is ace.

So, how is this so? What is it that is making London marvellous? So many things: so let's begin at the beginning.

Interestingly, the beginning is quite some time ago. Reading The Metro on my way to work one morning I discovered that an actor I have a bit of a thing for, Zach Braff, had brought a new play he'd written and director, and was now starring in, to the UK. Exciting stuff. More exciting: it was on in Manchester. Less exciting: it was fully booked. More exciting: it was playing (for considerably longer) in London. I could see Zach in real life! Yippee! Now, the most logical time to do this was over the Easter weekend given other commitments and places-to-be but for the past few years I've spent the Easter weekend in Nottingham avec joinees at Good Good Friday. I'd already been pondering whether to go this year or not and this seemed like an incredibly good reason to go for a change. The plan was taking shape and I then managed to convince two marvellous female friends to join the theatre-going. It was all looking very good.

Next up: to bike, or not to bike. I love cycling in London. More so than most other places I know. I can't quite explain it but I find something incredibly “I'm alive” about cycling in London and I've many happy memories of blatting around London by bike. However. On recent visits when I've had my bike with me it's often caused minor traumas (especially when interfacing with buses that seem to take objection to folding bikes – how anyone can take objection to Billy my Brompton is entirely beyond me, but there yo ugo) and when spending time with friends actually the act of travelling together can very much form part of the social experience. Except when I've got my bike and scat off on my own. The flip side is that when I don't have my bike I really miss the cycling and do everything I can to avoid the tube (buses all the way).

So, I'd been toying with to bike or not to bike and eventually reached a not to bike conclusion. And, again, this seems to have turned out to be the best option. I'm slightly terrified by how much pay-as-you-go-Oyster cash has disappeared in my hops here and there around the capital (oh, for my bicycle!) but I've also managed to fit in a fair amount of walking around. I've found places I wouldn't otherwise have found (Harley Road community gardens being my favourite: BRILLIANT community garden between Vauxhall and Oval, with a magic door that takes you through to Bonnington Square. Love it!), I've got to enjoy the sunshine, I've got a bit of exercise (which seems rather lacking in my life at the moment) and I've got to spend some time “communing with London”. Not entirely sure how better to describe that last one – but there's something very real about transporting oneself around London (on foot or by bike) and the walking I've done has provided that. And, of course, the walking has been aided by prior bike-street-knowledge. So I have been using “that part of my brain”, even if I haven't actually had a bicycle with me. Ah, bikes in London...

From the outset, the trip was rather beautiful – I left Yorkshire in glorious sunshine, with clear blue skies and lush green fields – except up high where the snow from the previous day was shining brilliantly. The blue of the sky, the green of the fields and the pure white of the snow, all set off by the sunshine, was stunning. Reaching London I'd arranged with rendez-vous number one (my friend, Emily) to meet at Old Street and had decided to walk round from King's Cross.

Spirits high, daylight still holding on, I wandering through the London streets drinking in the sheer London-ness of it all and, particularly as I reached Old Street, really enjoying the beautiful old buildings (which, for other reasons, I ended up dragging Emily to look at). So much history. So much lived and so much living. I also discovered the bit of water (I can't remember the name of it, but basically I think it's where the canal opens out a bit) which I had no idea was there. Sneaky.

Thursday evening saw a trip into Hoxton (walking there I was assured that “Tigger MacGregor is better than a dead rat” - something that may even be considered an insult but was actually a compliment in a rather odd way – you had to be there) which resulted in finding a £20 note on the street which rather merrily bought an Indian takeaway for dinner by the time we'd traversed London down to Richmond (a journey that included the Waterloo and City line which is always fun). A wonderful evening of chattering with Emily was had and a wonderous nights' sleep before pineapple juice and hot cross buns with home made jam for breakfast. Wonderous.

Up to Brixton on Friday morning for a very functional visit to my flat (including sorting through a big pile of post, the lion's share of which was immediately passed on for recycling or back to the post box for returning to sender) before a wander north (again in fabulous sunshine) to meet my friend Pippa for lunch. Our original plan of visiting the Bonnington Cafe was somewhat scuppered by it being closed for refurbishment, but was rescued by the Harley Road Community Garden. Ace. Again, a wonderful catch up before we both wandered off (initially together before going our separate ways).

Finding myself with a couple of hours spare I found and paused at the Vauxhall City Farm, ambled up to Trafalgar Square to the National Gallery (which I'd somehow never been inside before) and reminded myself that I really am much more of a fan of modern art than anything else. On the basis of that re-realisation (although the building's rather lovely, and the mosaics in the main hall fascinating. I do love floor mosaics) I next went into St Martin's In the Fields, another building I've often been outside but never entered. Not what I expected at all on the inside but I was lucky enough to have stumbled upon an orchestra rehearsing and, although intermittently interrupted, the sound of the instruments in that space was absolutely divine. Later some singers joined the rehearsal but somehow, the instruments alone captured me emotionally in a way the music of the singers with them just didn't. Fascinating stuff.

Shortly after I met Harriet and Alys (who had not met before but, by all accounts, got on rather well) and off to the theatre we went. What caused it (probably many things) I don't exactly know, but we were a merry group of giggly girlies who were rather over-excited and somehow managed to enjoy the theatre experience in a way I don't ever remember doing before. The play was disappointing in some aspects but definitely worth a visit and convincing the others that our post-theatre drinks should be had at my eternally loved Porcupine just by Leicester Square tube was delightful. The pub is always somehow disappointing but it's got a picture of a golden porcupine on its sign. And for that, I shall forgive it almost anything.

A night in Putney and then today I made the most of my Southbank membership (purchased primarily so I could go in the members' bar. Brilliant) with a visit to the Hayward Gallery with Adam. I'd never been to the Hayward before and was very impressed with both exhibitions that were on – but must confess my heart was most definitely won over entirely by the David Shrigley exhibition, the Geller (first name forgotten) being an interesting second billing but without the attachment of Shrigley's. I didn't really know David Shrigley's work before today but have fallen in love with it's simple brilliance. Highlights included the exhibit out on the roof, probably the first seen as you got to the level the exhibtion was on, which was a simple set of metal letters stating “Look at this”. Mesmerising. The Headless Drummer saw a black and white stick-man animation drumming. And yet somehow made me laugh wonderfully. Fimo creatures in many colours of what you find between the fridge and the cooker. New Friends animation seeing Mr Square turned into Mr Round and yet somehow enjoying his new celebrity. A hole in the dividing walls which I desperately wanted to crawl through – so both Adam and I did. A whole selection of black on white word-cartoon-type images, many of which seemed to be perfect for a series of “postcards to send your recent ex.” This offering doesn't yet exist and neither does the postcard book of a more general selection of these pictures but I have imagined them...so they may come into existence at some point.

Generally brilliant is my assessment of the Hayward. And I look forward to coming again soon. Me being such a Londoner and all.

The afternoon was spent with what I shall from henceforth think of as “The Extended Jones Brothers”. This afternoon I was with but 2 of the 3 Joneses, but also included two other “Extended Jones Brothers” - one I'd met before, another I hadn't. After food on the Southbank we set off for the Science Museum and after a brief panic that there was a ridiculously huge queue to get in (it was, in fact, for a special exhibition for the Natural History Museum. We think) we spent the afternoon ambling around the aforementioned Science Museum. My favourite thing about The Extended Jones Brothers is that they're all intelligent, articulate and fun. Both serious and lighthearted conversations were had (including my eternal response for when something is awesome and my brain is having a holiday and so doesn't want to engage the actual facts behind it: “Magic and joy. All you need to know. Explains everything.”) and a particular highlight was a conversation about what makes a fear a fear and not simply a dislike. Discovered I really don't have a fear of operations per se (one picked out by another in the group). But that I did have issues with something else – which I now can't remember.

Late afternoon Jo and Elliot joined us (hurrah!) and as The Extended Jones Brothers headed to Dagenham for texmex (not my food of choice at the best time) we wended our way to Maoz in Soho. Hurrah for Maoz. Still digesting my marvellous meal. Still loving Maoz. (They do falafel. And a salad bar. And chips. And cold drinks. That's it. And they do it very well.) South for them and North for me as I met Kieran for a brief catch up as he crossed London to Victoria – and a bonus hello with another-Adam and another-Emily as they'd been on the same train.

And with that I jumped on a number 2 bus and came back to the flat.

I've had a brilliant couple of days. Absolutely brilliant. And tomorrow I get to be up early (which is always wonderful – and particularly so in the summer when there's light) and on a bus to Oxfordshire to see my folks and maybe even get to do some gardening.

Life.

Is.

Ace.

Liverpool - it's a grower

I've been to Liverpool many times now over the years. But in the past 6 weeks I've ended up there on three separate occasions, doing three different things, and I'm beginning to see how much of it I've missed in all the years until now.

The Liverpudlians I know are very attached to their dear city but I'd never really "got" it before. It was just another city, wasn't it? But no. Liverpool has revealed itself to me as a world unto itself - which is somehow unsurprising but also satisfying to know.

Lime Street Station has generally been my entry point and even the station has developed in my years there. I remember going down to the docks the first time I visited but the development down there has just continued - I was slightly underwhelmed by a trip to the Tate on visit-before-this-one (mainly because I was expecting to see an Alice in Wonderland exhibition that had finished before visit-before-that-one and yet had still been being advertised) but my visit to the new Museum of Liverpool this weekend was brilliant. The waterfront is a wonderful open space and the Museum building a fascinating one, but the exhibits were also, in my mind at least, first rate. I started at the top of the building and worked down and found out many fascinating facts - including the fact that the only part of the Catholic Cathedral in the city that adheres to the original design (which, if it had continued to be followed, would not have been completed until 2133) is the crypt. And that there used to be an overhead railway along the docks. And some shocking statistics around poverty and employment. But it was also a museum I could imagine bringing several generations of a family to and everyone having a good time - plenty to look at, listen to, read, absorb, ponder...brilliant.

So, that's the docks. Well, part of them. The city centre seems to have refreshed itself and although I must confess I'm not a fan of shopping for shopping's sake, it seems to be thriving and is a pleasant place to be. They've changed the recipe for Crunch in The Egg (a vegan / vegetarian cafe at the top of a building just on the outskirts of the centre itself which has been a favourite Liverpool haunt of mine for years) but these things happen. I also picked up a fascinating bit of science/history in a central charity shop before jumping on a train home.

And one of the elements which fascinates me most about Liverpool are its empty buildings. Barely minutes walk from the new shiny hotels and apartment blocks (and in some cases literally across the road from) are buildings of old, empty and in various states of disrepair. Many are the kind of building I simply fall in love with - I can't describe what it is but the buildings somehow hold so much history, so many lives and so much history - but in an understated, "just another building in the city" kind of way. Two stand out in particular.

The White Star Offices: on the corner of James Street, immediately behind the three well known buildings (including the Liver Building) right on the front, is an old brick building (thanks to the photographer, callicrates2003 - the joy of the internet!) which now has some broken windows and clearly needs a lot of love. But it's right there. It's got masses of character and it's empty. Just empty.

Coleman's Fireproof Depository, Toxteth: any building which has branding or advertisements of old always doing it for me - Coleman's is no exception. As I walked past this weekend it was advertising itself for sale ("good income (masts)") but again, completely empty. The granite surround for the old doorway to the offices, it's stone carved letters beginning to fade through erosion, speaking of very different days.

Empty buildings always fascinate me. But what they draw out to me about Liverpool is the great disparity in places of living and working which are so close together. Minutes walk, if not back to back (there's another building, now I think of it, right next to the entrance to China Town - tall and proud and completely empty), buildings are thriving or rotting side by side. I can't fathom it.

And alongside the city itself, there are trains running every day, several times an hour, which take you out to the Wirral, to open beaches and beautiful countryside, to Moreton (which I kept thinking the announcer was  saying was Morecambe and I was getting mightily confused), to Hoylake and to West Kirby. Let alone the other locations I didn't explore today.

The Liverpool I've discovered over these three weekends, culminating this weekend in it coalescing in my mind and my understanding, truly is a world of its own. And a fascinating one with many possibilities, at that.

It's not very Rock 'n Roll but...

I'd been thinking about heading out to the cinema this evening - I've been out and about today until about 5pm and then had an hour or two before an evening showing. Seemed perfect. But as the hour of departure approached, I decided I didn't really fancy it. "Not very rock 'n roll, being in on a Saturday night and ready for a quiet evening curled up at home," I thought to myself. "But..." And it was the but that did it. The but was an excuse. An excuse for being me, doing what I do and feeling what I feel. Which is CRAZY.

For starters, I'm not rock 'n roll, I'm Tigger.

And, should there need to be anything more, I am who I am and how I spend my time is entirely down to me. No-one to justify to. No-one to please. It's me, myself and I. Admittedly, that's simplified by the fact that my life really is very straightforward in the sense that I don't have dependents or immediate "family" I live with (partner / children / very close friends). But even if those factors were there, there's still just me to keep happy and healthy - while supporting others where I can.

I've noticed myself almost unconsciously justifying myself to fit a perceived "norm" mold previously. And year on year, I've broken away from being bothered about it. But this evening's rock 'n roll moment reminded me there are still expectations I put on myself. There's no-one else doing it, just me. And what a waste of energy it is! The flip side to the "Not very rock 'n roll..." thought? "Great! I've an evening to rest. To curl up and enjoy my space. To get an early night so I can enjoy the daylight tomorrow. To save watching that film for another time when I REALLY fancy it. And most importantly, the best thing this evening in will do for me is help recharge my batteries. Acetastic."

Me? I like the flipside.

Entirely unrelated to rock 'n roll, but I've been having an interesting thought-foray into taxes and energy. I am generally very ignorant about what my tax money actually goes on. And I'm getting to a point of being very dissatisfied with that. I'm also wary of scratching too deep and finding much deeper frustrations with how the money is being spent (or, potentially, wasted). But that's another story. The energy issue is also coming to the fore, somewhat "by accident", and has brought me back to a query I've had for many moons.

Why is so little said about energy efficiency?

 Yesterday I was watching a film (Into Eternity) about Onkalo, a nuclear waste storage facility in Finland which is being designed as a long-term (100,000 year) storage facility for existing Finnish nuclear waste. Phenomenal concept and one I'm still reeling from not having heard of before. It's a serious undertaking but one which is the first (and as far as I know only) instance of its kind, all other nuclear waste being kept in very much short-term storage. Anyway, if you're interested, watch the film. Fascinating stuff.

At the end of the screening there were also a couple of short films about campaigning against the new generation of nuclear power in the UK. What fascinated me most about the shorts was a stand alone comment to the effect of:

"If every home in Britain was properly insulated, we wouldn't even need the new reactor."

Crikey.

There's a thought.

Where this nugget came from, what it's based on and what the caveats are around it (I'd love to know the financial comparisons, let alone the job creation potential) I have no idea (although if anyone does, I'd love to hear them!) but it was a real stop-and-think moment. This evening I watched a short TED video (www.ted.com if you fancy some thought provoking browsing) of a pro/anti nuclear debate. And not a sentence was given over to efficiency.

It's still mulling but I'm pondering. What happens if instead of funding a new power station (of whatever variety) the money is spent on energy efficiency measures for residential homes as well as commercial businesses throughout the country. Local job creation? Lower energy demand? Less fuel poverty? Lower household bills? Negative impacts? And are there reasons why money can't be spent like that? Again, I remember a crazy stat that rather than bailing out failing banks everyone in the UK could have been given a tenner - not necessarily practical, but a fascinating thought when it comes to the quantities of money involved.

But for now, I'm mulling. Wondering and pondering and contemplating my next step. It's an interesting spot to be in.

Philosophy and Tiggers are like oil and water. Still

Before I knew much about philosophy, I thought I'd really get along with it.

When I took a Philosophy of Science module (along with History thereof) at Uni I discovered I really struggle with philosophy.

And despite my continued best efforts, on finishing Sophie's World by Jostein Gaarder I can say, wholeheartedly, I just don't mix well with philosophy.

In principle we have lots in common, philosophy and I. But when I get into it, with the different philosophers and thought approaches (and yes, they come fairly thick and fast in Sophie's World) I feel like I'd have to battle really quite hard to piece it all together and actually, I'd rather be doing something else.

And so, philosophy, for now I'm going to leave you to the Philosophers. I don't doubt your importance in the web of life - I'm just happy to leave you to it.

Aberdeen

 I always find it rather exciting when I find new and unexpected ways to break bags. I've broken many in my time. In all sorts of ways. But generally as a result of overfilling them. Today was no exception. Perhaps if I hadn't been taking photos. Perhaps if I'd secured it on with the bottom bit. Perhaps perhaps perhaps. But the reality is that my heavily laden pannier detached itself from my bike in a rather permanent way when one of the plastic clips that attach it to the rack snapped off. Which is a shame. I now get to investigate the joys of replacement pannier clips but until then the single spare bungee I had with me came into play and I got to the train. Yippee!

It's been an altogether intriguing trip. The last time I was in Aberdeen was over 2 years ago when I was doing a “tenant change over” and I found my last Scottish tenant. As much as that particular tenancy ended rather badly, it was the push I needed to realise that my time would be much better spent focusing my energies in one place (or at least one region!) rather than spreading them across several countries, let alone counties. That decision was back in July but the machinations have meant it's taken until now to get things lined up to put my little flat on the market. And, as is usually the way, on arrival back into Aberdeen I fell in love with the place all over again – and the same with my flat. It's a top floor studio with a north facing view from the kitchen across Aberdeen docks (how had I forgotten Aberdeen's a major port? How had I forgotten the docks? Who knows, but I had. Arriving back into the station it was all brought back in an instant, tho'!) and a sitting / bedroom with a huge south facing window that gets flooded with sunlight. And yes, I do mean sun, as in the sun shining, as in the sun shining in Aberdeen. In fact, this weekend has seen LOTS of sunshine and glorious it has been.

I'd found myself various free things to do over the weekend (vinyasa (sp?) yoga on Friday, introduction to meditation on Saturday, free gym (read sauna & steam & spa pool) access and a concert of Handel's Alexander's Feast in the cathedral on Sunday) and I'm fairly certain I did more exploring of Aberdeen in this 4 days than I did while I was here. Interesting reflection. In amongst that I discovered the joys of buying expensive paint (covers small cracks and holes – no filler required! Plus massively reduces the time spent painting), the wonder that is the Aberdeen Winter Gardens (in Duthie Park, the remains of a Victoria glass house built in 1899, severely gale damaged in 1969 and now restored to its current incarnation which includes a nationally recognised cactus collection, among other things. Oooh, one of which are the cats that used to adorn the south side of Union Bridge before it got filled with shops – and when I saw the north side ones still in situ I felt like I'd completed the set. Genius) and I rediscovered the wonderful air mattress that saw me through most of my actual living-stay in Aberdeen. And which I then got all sentimental over and have hence packed in my bags (yes, it may be the reason the pannier broke. But I suspect it was simply one aspect – that pannier's given me good service, and was second hand to me!). It's been an awesome weekend. I've had a great time and have thoroughly enjoyed myself, even the slightly weird feeling I had on Saturday night after a visit to the cinema. Three trips to B&Q, several to various food places, some wandering and lots of paint. Awesome weekend.

But the most intriguing factor was my response as I was leaving the flat. I've never lived in that flat. This trip is probably the longest I've ever stayed in it. But I eternally feel like this could so easily have been a home for me. If the time had been right. Which it wasn't. It's such a simple little flat. It's so high and spacious for just one person. It's got character. It's got a great big garden which, even with a big ol' chunk of drying lawn, has the same space again which could be a great little garden / allotment type place. And which no-one has paid any attention to since I've been there (I have fond memories of harvesting some rhubarb from an old root down there one visit – and very nice it was too). It's a very short cycle to wonderfully remote-feeling bits of coast. It's walking distance to the train station. It's minutes from the wonderful River Dee. It's just, well, wonderful. But my life has taken me elsewhere.

And having taken me elsewhere it really does seem like the right time to say farewell to dear little flat and hope that someone else falls in love with it and manages to live there. Or someone simply purchases it and has many tenants who fall in love with it. And I haven't even mentioned the joy of the coal cellar! (except now I have – there you go) But despite all that I found myself wanting to take photos of it as I was leaving (part of the reason the pannier broke). Wanting to feel like I wasn't losing it – that I was recording it's part in my life. I felt very strongly attached to it – and wanting to say goodbye properly. I ended up saying goodbye with a liberal shaking of teatree oil in each room (I decided teatree - the only oil I had with me - was a better smell than paint). And now I'm on my way south it feels OK to have said goodbye. It feels like it's time. But it also feels like a real shift in a way which I hadn't really expected. And to have had the pannier crisis (which, I have to say, I feel I dealt with rather well. Pause. Take breath. Check time to train departing. Assess options and spend a bit of time attaching said pannier on to the rack securely with a bungee. Get to train with 10 minutes to spare. Feel good) as I was leaving almost felt like Aberdeen didn't quite want to say goodbye either. Which was nice.

What I'm most looking forward to is the next occasion I somehow end up in Aberdeen – and being able to enjoy the trip, having various moments of memories intermingled with new experiences.

Aberdeen – I salute you. To all that's gone before and all that's to come, I raise my glass and gaze at the beautiful, beautiful full moon I'm touched to have with me on my journey back to the land of my birth.

The House That Just Keeps Giving

Having been plotting a blog post all day yesterday (and never quite getting to it) this morning I woke up and decided that the only answer to everything (at that particular moment) was to move my sewing gear from the rather dark, although very big, room downstairs up to my attic room. On several occasions I've thought about bringing sewing up here, if only because there's LOADS of light courtesy of the 2 veluxes. But this morning it all became clear that although this is my bedroom, it could also do a very good job of being a sewing room.

Some time later I found myself downstairs getting some breakfast and starting the move upstairs of the first critical items for trying out my sewing-room-in-the-attic theory (sewing machine, sewing box, dress makers dummy). I also grabbed a couple of items I thought I might work on today and pulled down what I thought was a full-length dress I'd been thinking of turning into a skirt. Ha! Nope, this was a cocktail dress. That fits perfectly. And has now become my outfit for an imminent wedding. This house has always provided a lot, the phrase "came with the house" being commonly used, but when my house provides waiting places for things which I know I brought in so they can be there at the perfect moment, well, it's just ace. Outfit problem: solved. Fabric store: not quite as overflowing as it was before. Tigger: happy.

Yesterday was an awesome day. I did very little but did manage to spend a large chunk of time wandering around in the sunshine and then down on the beach enjoying the sun and going for a bit of a soak in the sea (I can't call it swimming - I really was just floating around rather than anything as active as swiming!) I still love my usual spot but the tides are incredibly high at the moment which means there isn't any sand which doesn't get soaked twice a day. It's also a rubbish place to go for a swim from as the water stays very shallow. So I thought I'd try the bit of beach just to the south of the car park at the Battery - and it was perfect! I was surprised by how high the tide ended up coming before beginning to recede but it did mean that, navigating submerged rocks aside, there was a decent amount of water to float around in very close to where I'd left my stuff. Brilliant.

There was a group next to me (I think it comprised three generations of one family plus a couple of friends), with a girl of about 10 who proclaimed "This is the best day ever!" - and I had to agree with her. They were also rather surprised by the height the tide rose to and I ended up rescuing a couple of plastic sand-toys which had started to float off into the bay. I also managed to stumble on aforementioned submerged rocks while giving them back to them - but even that was great in a weird way. I've got the first graze on my knee that I've had for about 20 years! (it's in the classic "fall over and graze your knee" position of being a small-by which I mean under 10- person) Brilliant, absolutely brilliant.

I'm also BEGINNING to feel more human - along with sleeping and pottering, yesterday involved 2 baths and a soak in the sea and I'm now feeling up to doing more useful things (like sewing and trogging things up the stairs). Even the weather is co-ordinating itself with my mood - it's rainy today but still very mild meaning lurking on the beach isn't really an option but enjoying the brightness of my attic room is. Fantastico. And with that - to the sewing machine!