37/365. Fug avoidance.

Today was long, lazy and frustrating. Three knitting needle cables broke - three! This does not a happy Amy make. The fug came in and the stomping came out. I stomped to make tea, I stomped to fetch the duvet, I stomped until I realised Paul had his headphones on and the stomping was serving no purpose other than hurting my feet....

Despite this moodiness, Paul was determined to leave the house this evening, and surprisingly chose to drag me along too rather than choosing to escape the grumps. We headed first to a story and poetry evening in a bar in town, entitled The Dusty Owl Reading Series. We've been meaning to attend one of the huge variety of story-telling evenings for a while now, and with a name like that we were drawn in......sadly twas not to be. We arrived to find a collection of people standing around, the readers were there, the poets were there, the audience were there. Sadly the bar-owners were not and it was all locked up - very disappointing. The fug hovered menacingly once more.

To ease our pain we headed for food. And ate our fill at The Imperial. I am pleased to say that a good plate of fat chips and a pint of cider did wonders for our mood. Especially as it was accompanied by some crossword time....



(5 down read 'Campanology', it appears I had supped my cider a little too quickly and got confused. It still works I think).

And what then readers? Home to bed? No no. It was by now only 6:30pm and we were off to a cosy Sunday evening gig at The Umi cafe. A fine cappuccino, banana cake and improvisation organised by the lovely IMOO. Tonight on offer, the enchantingly haunting music of Adam Saikaley, who used a casio keyboard, countless pedals and a mixer to create electronical wonder. I closed my eyes and drifted away, as my big toe reverberated to the deep deep notes. I liken the experience to listening to a version of the Buddha Machine whilst enveloped in the Luminarium, but thats just me....

And on the walk home, a chance to wander round the ice sculptures of Winterlude. The judges have yet again picked the wrong winner, but I'll let them off. My favourites were those featuring a Jack-in-the-box and children-dressing-up. I adore the ice-sculptures, and hope to make it over the river to see the snowy ones too - before they melt.



And so home and back to the sofa. If you'd told me that the cure to the three-needle-fiasco was to clock up ten miles (no, really), wandering round town and zoning out to electronica I probably wouldn't have believed you. But I've been wrong before, and if tonight is anything to go by I'll be wrong again. Happily.

NB. There may have been an embarrassing moment this evening where I gushed at my jazz hero Linsey Wellman about how much I loved his stuff like an awestruck 80s teenager on meeting one of Bros. What can I say, the man is a talent. And wears nice jumpers. This does not need mentioning again. Thankyou.