Oh, and in an atempt to rival the Bike Stereo, I got me one of these at the airport yesterday.

Paid more for it than that, mind. Chiz chiz.

Damn. Looks like the original bike stereo has gone out of business. I wanted to ask him where he got his handlebar-end plug speakers.

Cadged from Estara.

What Magickal Tradition Do You Belong In?

You are of the Akashayana. The mind is a mirror and the world is its reflection.
Take this quiz!

Alternatively, by altering one response (which just proves it’s a crap quiz):

You are a member of the Ecstatic Cult. Break all the boundaries lest face being stuck in a rut for eternity.

In other news, Night Watch kicks ass. Seriously kicks ass. It’s so much better than the trailers had led me to expect — and that, boys and girls, is a sodding rarity. Not one I shall be watching with mater and pater, however. It’s really not their sort of thing.

Is a Hep B booster supposed to make your fingers go all tingly and cold and your eye smart like you’ve got soap in it?

I was fine last time. Well, I got a dead arm, but that’s normal.

The nurse has gone now. So she can’t help if I’m about to keel over.

Och, it’ll be fine. When I get a reaction to wasp stings I turn sheet-white apart from my veins (they turn bright purple) and swear uncontrollably. The injection site hasn’t even swollen.

The nurse just came all the way over from Embra to give me the second part of my Hep B vaccination.

We get all the excitement in this job.

It smarted. And my arm is complaining. And now my eye has gone all stingy.

I hate jabs.

I want some new clothes.

Not more clothes, you understand. Better clothes.

My two pairs of combats are too short since I did T’ai-Chi for a year (I grew two inches. Or maybe that’s an effect of the NC training. Whatever). I have been given two pairs of jeans by my Mum which are comfy only because they are too big and anyway they are blue. I have been given one pair of black leather trousers by my Mum which would be fab if they weren’t two sizes too big for me and make me look like I have a beer belly (I most certainly do not – my tummy is my best feature). I have two pairs of gi trousers which I use in all sorts of situations outside the dojo. And one pair of boot-cut hipsters that I love to bits but are getting worn out because I wear them so much.

I would really like to throw out my badly worn trackie bottoms and the two pairs of combats and give the black leather trousers to a charity shop, and then buy some clothes that (a) fit me; and (b) suit me. Gods, that would be novel.

I threw out a bunch of stuff before I moved up, but I could do with being even more ruthless and throwing out the stuff that really I will never wear because I hate it and only have it for those weird-ass occasions when I have to pretend to be a professional woman with no odd traits. White shirts. Smart skirts. That sort of thing.

I managed to get this job without having to dress like a banker. I could probably chuck those. Especially as they were second-hand and are too big for me anyway.

Getting clothes that fit my shape properly is a real drag.

Did I mention that I’m going to the Scottish PF Conference in a couple of weeks? No?

I’m going to the Scottish PF Conference this year. Hmmm. That’s only a week away. It’s going to be a busy weekend because I’ve got the Thistle Foundation Round the Forth on the Sunday.

I haven’t been to a PF Conference since the time I gave that lecture at the National about 5 years ago. I’m really only going to meet up with some old friends like John and Mad Mick, neither of whom I have seen in donkeys, and put a few faces to names. Although if Zander has a question in his quiz about how many European women died during the Burning Times I shall slap him.

I see Pete Jennings is going to be there — for some reason he always seems to be talking whenever I go to a conference. He’s one of Thor’s, if I remember rightly. Wonder what he’d make of my rune tattoo? He’d probably think I was some sort of idiot newbie who had no idea what she was letting herself in for. Maybe I should show it to him, all surreptitiously like.

No, Pete, I knew exactly what I was doing. I even designed it so that it was quite clear which two runes they were. I could have left it ambiguous and made it seem a lot nicer, and safer, but that would have been fibbing and it wouldn’t have done the job.

Not sure how I’m going to enjoy the conference. I’m not particularly excited about it. The talk titles aren’t filling me full of vim, vigour and breathless anticipation. But it’s Frood‘s first weekend up and it will be nice to spend it away from Mum and Dad and the chaos that is the house right now.

Oh gods. There’s a talk on ley lines, energies and ill health. I’d better tell Frood to pack the sedatives and the ball gag.

OK. I may have just completely fucked up my archive settings, but let’s see, when the LJ update next happens, if this now sets the RSS post link to go to the formatted page rather than the crappy archive page with no formatting.

I can’t get this RSS business to work properly with the server side includes. Dammit. Still, at least if you now find yourself on the format-free syndication-linked archive page, you can click on the post title and get back here to leave comments.

Best I can do right now.

I followed Clare’s link and wound up ordering a bunch of CB I Hate Perfume samples. The perfumier is Christopher Brosius and his website is here. I didn’t look at that first. Maybe I should have done. His manifesto is something I can appreciate.

I ordered that sample set because I loved the fragrance notes. Especially for At The Beach, although as it turns out I don’t like the scent. Too yellow. I liked the idea of Winter 1972 and actually, it’s not half bad, if a little green and the floral base notes are a touch on the strong side.

But one of the samples is simply stonking. And its name is Black March. It’s like an organic version of Mitsouko. It smells of rotting leaves and compost and the underside of mossy rocks. It has a rich, complex scent that is like a higher-number Platonic solid. The man himself says:

This perfume is inspired by one of my favorite poems, Black March by Stevie Smith. It begins:

“I have a friend at the end of the world. His name is a breath of fresh air.”

The poem ends:

But whatever
new names I give him
he is still an old friend
he says

Whatever names
you give me
I am a breath of fresh air
a change for you

I looked up the full version:

Black March, a poem by Stevie Smith, 1902-1971

I have a friend
At the end
Of the world.
His name is a breath

Of fresh air.
He is dressed in
Grey chiffon. At least
I think it is chiffon.
It has a
Peculiar look, like smoke.

It wraps him round
It blows out of place
It conceals him
I have not seen his face.

But I have seen his eyes, they are
As pretty and bright
As raindrops on black twigs
In March, and heard him say:

I am a breath
Of fresh air for you, a change
By and by.

Black March I call him
Because of his eyes
Being like March raindrops
On black twigs.

(Such a pretty time when the sky
Behind black twigs can be seen
Stretched out in one
Uninterrupted
Cambridge blue as cold as snow.)

But this friend
Whatever new names I give him
Is an old friend. He says:

Whatever names you give me
I am
A breath of fresh air,
A change for you.

And, for once, I agree that someone has put an idea into a scent and I can translate it. So much so I am going to email him.

Wasp in office! Wasp in office!

First aider duly informed of my allergy and the location of the adrenaline [ObUS: Epinephrine, hence proprietary name Epipen] injection. Have you ever seen the size of the needle on one of those things? It’s severely tempting to say “Just let me die!”