Katie and her mental meanderings

My phone
My purse
My umbrella
A bottle of green tea
A white polo shirt with a trefoil
A blue sleeveless fleece with a trefoil
Two badges
A pair of ballet shoes
A pair of black baggy trousers
A black velvet bodice
A black bra
A pair of black fishnets
Black. grey and white eyeshadow
A red feather boa.

But I don’t have:
My book (it wouldn’t fit)

Not me. My poor Brownie, who coughed solidly, when not having a major asthma attack, from about 1.30am to about 4.30am, and then from about 7am to about 9am. I was in the adjoining, keep-an-ear-out, cubbyhole for Brownie leaders.

All the others are either so well brought up, or so scared of me, that there was not a peep out of them between 10.45 and 7.30. What stars. Shame I wasn’t asleep for most of that time… including the bit after 7am when the sick Brownie was asleep, but coughing, and the bit from 10.45 to midnight when the leaders were consuming chocolate and wine.

Still, it was only one night away, and we had our day of fun yesterday instead of today, which was just as well. Gokarting, orienteering, climbing, crafts, and archery. I like my Brownies, they are all lovely girls, and I’m going to miss them as I’m going to have to move Packs in the autumn because it’s a very inconvenient night. It’s possible I’ll move to Guides on a different night instead (it’s very hard for me to get there in time most nights of the week, and Guides is later). In which case I am going to try to poach the two oldest girls for Guides where I’d move to, instead of leaving them to the, frankly moribund*, Guides at the same church.

The sofa, and another cup of coffee, are calling me.

*No, the girls don’t have a terminal illness, but the group is too small for sustainability and I’m not sure the current leader is this particular pair’s cup of tea.

there is a man in the choir who has been in it for EIGHTY-SIX YEARS.

Yesterday we went to a wedding of two friends of ours, she is Japanese and he is English. They had Indian food for their reception. And a rather nice chocolate cake. That was English.

Just finished reading: Gilead, by Marilynne Robinson. This was sent to me by a friend of mine who has a tendency to random gestures, and it is definitely her sort of book. I liked it – it has an interesting background, and some satisfying, well, I could call them plot lines, but that’s what it really lacks – a plot. Not very much happens (it is an old man writing for his son to read when he grows up, in case he’s not around) and what does happen is in a rather confused and rambling order. Which is kind of the point, but is a bit confusing when you are like me and a) easily confused and b) put the book down for weeks at a time. If you are going to read it, take it on holiday and read it all in one go.

I’ve been making an effort to do more on my 1978 diary also, so take a look.