fluffy!
sqwaaaaak!
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busy

excuse my quietness, i’m trying to create an incredible land/seascape in five hours out of felt, for two amazing people who are leaving tomorrow…
felt is a suprisingly restrictive medium. I may have to branch out into nylon/viscose mix.

death toll on the way home last night:
toads: none.
snails: one billion.

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experimental performance art in the village hall

I’ve just seen a very interesting piece of experimental theatre with enormous sculptural musical instruments and contemporary dance in the village hall. This theatre company of two had apparently come all the way from California (at least I’m guessing it was California, it could have been, say, Iowa, or something. But I doubt it) for the Edinburgh Festival, and decided to take in Iona and Findhorn (where they talk to their vegetables) on the way back.

It was amazing. If anyone knows of any bands or theatre companies looking for venues for their summer tours next year, do mention Iona village hall. It’s terribly cheap to hire, and you’re pretty much guaranteed an audience of almost fifteen people. More when the pub closes.

And then I walked home with my poor Bronchial little ma, barking like a seal the whole way. Not me. Her. Because of the cough, you see. Not just for fun. It was a metaphor. She’s fine, has antibiotics and everything (this for the benefit of meg, who’ll be worried)

Last night I walked home with my friend paul, and the usual 5 minute wander took over half an hour. No, not for any kind of illicit or knee-trembling reasons, but because he has to lip read, and with one torch between us we wandered slowly, chatting, with him saying something and me having to tap him, get him to shine the torch on my face and then reply. It was a slow and lovely conversation and walk home. There’ve been no more stars these last two nights, and walking home in the pitch has been worrying, toad-wise. There’s only two streetlights, see, and both of those on the jetty, although why I’m not sure. You’d have to be pretty stupid to walk off the jetty. Or pretty drunk. But then, the jetty is next to the pub, so perhaps they have a point.

I’m very tired now and burbling. Sorry.
I’ve a day off tomorrow. Yay.
Bed and a book, I think. I’d recommend it to anyone.
Not my bed. That’s weird. And a bit saggy in the middle.
But the book. I just can’t remember what it’s called. I think I’m tired.

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bleating spongers

how much heavier are sheep in the rain, do you think? How do they stay up? You’d think they’d reach maximum saturation point and just collapse, their little sheepy knees buckling under them, wouldn’t you?…But they don’t. Interesting.

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You don’t sweat much for a fat lass

one good thing about rain, mind. It allows me to use my favourite answer to a stupid question.
anna walks in looking like she’s been sitting in a wet wind tunnel. If there is such a thing. Or at the bottom of a lake with wind. Not anna with wind, the lake with wind. If such a thing were possible. Anyway. Drowned rat doesn’t even come close.
Stupid person: Is it raining?
Anna: Actually no. I just sweat a lot.

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Weather. Oig.

The weather is terrible. I am shocked and appalled. It’s drizzling, for f***’s sake. Is there anything as non-committal as drizzle? It’s not rain, it’s not Not rain. It’s not mist. And It’s certainly not pleasant. Or fun. When I think of how the weather was this time last year, I could practically scream. In fact I will.

I don’t feel any better.

This time last year we were out in boats everyday, and the dolphins were playing in the Sound as they do every now and again. We circumnavigated the very wee nearby island of Erraid, stopping in a couple of white sand bays, carefully steering the tiny boat into a narrow crack (or would it be crevice?) in the rock with an enormous, tonnes and tonnes weighing boulder wedged in the top, suspended above us. We got three-quarters of the way around the island before we realised that the tide wasn’t high enough and we were going to have to get out and walk. It’s a tidal island, see, and one that was featured in one of Robert Louis Stevenson’s books, ‘Kidnapped’, if anyone’s read it. Anyone at all. Ever. I certainly don’t know anyone that has. And while at low tide it’s part of the mainland and you simply walk across, that only happens for a few hours a day.

So two of us got out of the boat and we pulled up the engine and one stayed in to row and the rest of us walked in the sand with our shoes in our hands and the water lapping up above our knees. I realised – or perhaps remembered – at that point what it was like to feel happy. It’s something that had escaped me for a while before that.

And now it’s drizzling. oig.

I just have to tell myself, Iona is beautiful even on a piss-wet day. Incidentally, if you look at that picture and notice how beautiful the design of the site is, it’s only because it’s designed by my beautiful sister, as is this one.

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saying goodbye sucks bumholes

During the summer we have volunteers that come and work here for anywhere between 6 weeks and 3 months. At any one time there’ll be about thirty of them here. Nice people. From all over the place and everything. I’ve made a lot of friends so far this year. And they all leave.

Tomorrow is wednesday. Every wednesday a few people leave and a few more arrive to take their place, do their job, stay in their room. At the beginning of the season I would allow myself to get close to lots of people. be very sociable, all that business. But it’s hard to invest a lot in friendship when you know that they’re just going to bugger off in a few weeks and it’s entirely likely you’ll never see them again, and entirely improbable that you’ll write.

So the people I’m close to here now are the ones who’ve been here all year. And the others I like, and it makes me truly sad to say goodbye, but I certainly don’t know them as well as I might.

I’m sorry, another leaving party in the pub tonight, and I don’t even want to go, I can’t stand goodbyes.

excuse and forgive me. I’m miserable. And I’m not even drunk. Yet.

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Three hundred billion stars (approx)

My god, but you should have seen the sky above Iona last night. That is, IÂ’m assuming that you didnÂ’t, which I guess is rather hasty, but IÂ’m assuming that by nature thatÂ’s what assumptions are. Hasty. Sometimes. And anyway, IÂ’m rather confident in stating that none of you did. Otherwise you would have been at my disco last night and already have e-mailed to congratulate my prowess on the decks, given a rather limited CD stock of 12. And besides, there were 25 people there and I knew all of them.

Sorry, where was I? The sky. f*** me, it was incredible. There were stars in their billions from horizon to horizon. For any city-dwellers, a star is a small twinkling device at night (nb; not a streetlight) which shines above one’s head for little apparent reason but great aesthetic effect, when seen in herds. And there were herds and herds and herds of them last night. Clusters, the great big cloudy cloud of the milky way ran through the sky like a great big … cloud. Of stars. I’m sorry, I don’t seem to be very good at the whole ‘English language’ thing today. Maybe I’ll try again later. Simply, if I can speak simply, it was very, very beautiful and very very humbling to lie on the road and stare at heaven last night. I saw shooting stars, four of them. One with a tail. I couldn’t think of enough wishes to go around. If anyone has a wish they want me to make on their behalf, you just let me know.
nb; i can’t do anything about headaches. Take a paracetamol.

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coping strategies

I’ve come up with a solution, which, while not waterproof, should help prevent any more un-necessary death.
From now on, when talking to *those people* i shall forthwith add ‘a-ha’ or ‘mmm’ to the end of every sentence, to which they shall be forced to respond with a more usual and less annoying noise than their ‘repeating the last two words of each sentence’ rubbish.

them: How are you? (sympathetic head bob for no apparent reason, as if expecting the response “really bad, actually, I’ve just been dumped and my knee’s giving me trouble again…”)
Me: I’m fine thank you. A-ha.
Them: A-ha.
I’ve just come back from holiday actually. Mmmf.
Them: Mmmmf.
Me: Which was very enjoyable A-ha.
Them: A-ha
and so on and so on.

It should work quite well, although I come out of the conversation looking like a twat. But a Calm twat.

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not enamoured with pooters today

do you know, it’s taken me 5 hours to post this. I have cried 4 times, phoned 5 different people, none of whom were in, and threatened this computer with a large blunt implement. Given this information and the story below, i’m starting to wonder about my hormone levels.

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The most annoying thing i know (i know…)

So last night IÂ’’m sitting at dinner next to that woman. You know who IÂ’’m talking about. IÂ’’m sure you’Â’ve met her, she’s the most annoying person in the world. Ever. So weÂ’re sitting at dinner together, and among her annoying habits, let’s say for argumentÂ’s sake she has about 400 annoying habits (approx.), among those 400, somewhere in the top five, is the conversational technique I abhor above any other.

Repeating the last two words of any sentence you say.
(“you say….”)
Now I know that itÂ’s simply a variation on an ‘IÂ’’m still listeningÂ’ noise.
(“listening noise…”)
That some people mm-hmm, and some people a-ha, and some people mmf
(“mmf…”)
But it drives me insane. I feel like IÂ’m talking into a cave, or a canyon, it doesn’Â’t make me think that you’Â’re listening, it makes me think that you’Â’re annoying.
(“IÂ’’m annoyingÂ….” – oh how I wish I could work that into a conversationÂ…)

And it’Â’s always accompanied by the sympathetic head-bob, as if to add gravitas to what theyÂ’’re saying, which is, quite frankly, what I’Â’ve just been saying, so doesn’Â’t need emphasising to me, and, really, with the regularity that I make stupid statements, I donÂ’’t need to hear them twice.
(“hear them twice…”) (sympathetic head-bob)

And thus she went on
(“went on…)
and on
(“on…”)
All the way through the meal
(“the meal…”)

So I killed her.

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I know you were wondering

Congratulate me, summer’s here. While I realise that it’s not entirely my doing and therefore not something one can really *congratulate* as such, i like to think that my tireless wingeing may have done something to improve the weather. Not sure what.

do you know, i was wandering around yahoo’s lists of actors resumes just for no reason apart from the fact that i like to see how people sell themselves as products. (I particularly liked to guy who boasted “i can play both crook *and* cop!” well, is that it? is that all? that’s a bit rubbish really, isn’t it love?) and i found the site of the original Village People cowboy. Sorry, that’s website, not burial site. So if you’ve been wondering what Randy’s up to nowadays, and I know I have, here’s the place to find out. I shall be visiting often.

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maudlin burblings

Please pay little heed to the below burblings. i was rather drunk and maudlin, and as often happens when i’m drunk and maudlin, I get all grumpy about my lack of love-life and weddings.

please forgive.

i’ll explain later.

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blah

I want to write but I’m too tired from fitting people out for weddings. I may not have brought much to Iona, but i bought my dress collection. From many antique 50′s cocktail dresses to dancing dresses of a year ago, I love my dresses and never wear them. But this year, so far, 7 of them have been worn to other people’s weddings….

i want a wedding.

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apropos of buggerall

i want a wedding.

in that, i want to go to a wedding.

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This is a little red boat. Little, red, and boaty.

I still post. Occasionally. Honest, I do.