Worth the Itch...

Dogs are salivating
 all over the show.

You remember Pavlov's dogs, right? That classic study where Pavlov rang a bell every time he fed his dogs, thus creating a conditioned response that'd make them salivate every time they heard the bell? See, I knew you'd heard of it. Fun fact: I once knew a woman whose boobs tingled whenever she heard a crying baby. No mess. I've never experienced that particular phenomenon, but I do have my own conditioned response. Ready? Good. Even if it's on the telly, whenever I see a vase of flowers, a field of hay, or someone mowing the lawn, my nose gets itchy. I might be dosed up, pollen-free, and hermetically sealed within my house, but years of allergies have conditioned my sinuses to respond. Normally I simply avoid the stimuli that causes the itchiness. I don't watch gardening programmes, for example. I prefer to view a patio or decking through my window instead of rolling fields, and flowers can do one even when they're in someone else's house, away from my nose. But there's one thing I refuse to avoid. One nose-itching stimuli that I cannot get enough of. Ready? Good. It's Glastonbury. I bloody love it. Not the camping, obvs. What am I, 24? No, I'm happy to sleep the sleep of the dead peri-menopausal woman that gets five hours a night if she's lucky, in my own bed and view it solely through the TV, but Lordy, isn't it brilliant? After two years of COVID cancellations, Worthy Farm was back. I bopped along, all weekend (ish), despite the televised fields and flagrant outdoors-iness kicking off my sneezes and making my head itch. And Reader, it was completely worth it, even if I'm suffering today. 

Cheers, Pal. Will do.

Writing News

It's a slow but steady plod. At the start of the year (and the start of the rough draft) I'd planned to have finished it by now. Ha - and once more for the back - HA. Instead I'm halfway through. Whevs. It's fine. Slow and steady wins the race, as I used to tell my Year Ones. Except when they were getting changed for PE. Then I'd tell them to run like the wind so we didn't waste our precious hall slot. Ah, the memories. Whose sock is this? 

Hello Birgitte Nyborg.
How I've missed you!

Culture

Glastonbury's definitely ticked the culture box this week. I missed Paul McCartney (That's Sir Paul McCartney to you) on Saturday which according to the rest of the world seems like the worst fate that could ever befall me. With the iPlayer's help, I'll be experiencing the whole shebang next Saturday night instead. But what of it? I caught Crowded House, Diana Ross, Billy Eilish, TLC, Elbow,  and only the frigging Pet Shop Boys. They gave me the all feels I needed on a Sunday night after a busy weekend. I love how the communal love of a set, pumps through the telly. If I'm getting all that through the BBC coverage, actually being there must be epic. But like I said earlier, I need my bed and I'm happy with my life choices. Festivals aside, I watched Beverley Hills Cop at the cinema - no idea why it was being shown but I was happy to get involved - and I've finally got round to watching the latest series of Borgen. It may be eleven years since it was last on, but it was like catching up with old friends.

Innit pretty! What I ate last 
Thursday. (The app's called
My Tummy. Basic but
effective.)

Food and Drink

I've got a new app that tracks what I eat. It's not as diet-y as it sounds - in fact it's not diet-y at all. It just allows me to record pictures of food that I've eaten. As a result, I've been trying to eat colourful, pretty things instead of the usual stream of beige carbs.  This means, indirectly, I've eaten loads of veg in order to aesthetically please myself. Maybe it's subversively diet-y and I've been duped? Hey ho. It's all good.

Out and About 

Well hello Maidenhead! Aren't you lovely! All riverside-y and pretty and whatnot. A road trip to the bottom half of the country occurred, in order to have a night out with my brother and sister-in-law, and inadvertently adding another Premier Inn experience to my list. Some people's aim is to visit every football stadium in the country. I'm on course for the full Premier Inn rundown. 

It's the end of June, the kids'll be off soon and then we're heading into the promised land. September. Sighhhhhh. Not that I'm wishing away the sky-high pollen and inescapable heat. Oh no, not me. If you're loving it, good for you. If you aren't, I hope your days are as non-sweaty as can be, and a cooling breeze occasionally comes your way. We've got this.

Have a lovely week, folks