I am a sporting hero

Any day that starts out with the replacement of our nasty bathroom carpeting with linoleum that almost looks like hardwood when you squint ...


... and ends up like this ...

... is a good day indeed. The NEXT, however, is a little painful. Today I look as though I aged twenty years overnight. I love my champagne, but when there are free top-ups it's a bad scene. (In my defense, I was sitting through Physics-related slideshows. Oh alright, I admit it was a pretty fun evening.)

We had our end-of-season football dinner (curry and beer!) tonight. I tied for Player of the Season. As goofy as the award was, I couldn't help but feel a rush of giddiness. (I've spent my life getting also-ran awards such as 'Most Sportsmanlike Player' or 'Most Consistently Late Player' or 'Longest Ponytail'.) I also got nominated for Player of Steel - with the comment that I'm scary out on the field! I prefer to think of myself as a gentle giant. I have only injured one person and that was due to an involuntary slide tackle when I stepped on the ball and sailed about ten metres into someone else feet first (I maintain that I bore the brunt of that collision). I know, now you can see why I'm Player of the Season. Anyway, I was expecting to come away with 'Most Own-Goals of the Season' so it's a pleasant surprise. My cheer was considerably diminished when I became an object of pity after failing to get a prize three Christmas Crackers in a row. What a stupid tradition.

My festive events are finished, which is a bit sad, although good for the liver. Now it's just work work work and pack pack pack. And then I will finally have time to start hyperventilating about getting onto an airplane. Yes, good times are ahead.

A large-footed woman's hunt for fabulous shoes

It did not go well, as one might expect. I may have to attend a formal dinner in dull, ordinary flats. Either that or risk the dreaded Black Toenail of Doom (which later falls off - not that you needed that gory detail) on my left foot, which is oh-so-conveniently over a half-size larger than my right.

I lost the second half of last sandal season when I wore my only shoes with heels (which were the largest the store carried but still a smidge too small) to a job interview without realising that after taking two buses I was still a brisk fifteen-minute walk from my destination. By the time I hobbled back in my front door hours and hours later the carnage was alarming. To add insult to injury I didn't get the job, although I had already decided the commute wasn't worth it.

As you can see it was a lovely day in Oxford. Christmas shoppers tend to be jolly when there's a gentle sprinkling of snow coming down. But when it's rainy, grey, and getting dark at 3 pm, and all the stores are closing at five, at which point you'll have no chance to do your errands until the following weekend, things get a little ugly. I have only a week before holidays now, and feel vaguely nauseated at the thought of everything that has to happen at work this week, around a plethora of Christmas lunches and other festive company events. I'm all for holiday spirit, but I wish that project schedules would take it into account. Not participating looks misanthropic, but attending means working quite late to catch up. It's a dilemma.


I'm having fun making lists of everywhere I want to visit back home. Our old 'hood, Little Italy (not sure I can bring myself to walk by our old house though), Aunties 'n' Uncles, Kensington Market, St. Lawrence Market, Queen West, Sephora, my old workplace, as many Second Cups as possible, cheap sushi places ... basically I just want to walk and walk, and soak up the city. And of course I can't wait to get back to the hometown, for cosy pubs, driving the Volvos (they have seat heaters!), tree decorating, brunches, crossword puzzles, and my parents' habit of starting dinner with two bottles of wine. (Dinner for four, I should add ... they stick to one when it's just them. I'm probably in trouble now.)

Blue Christmas

Regent Street, London

ROFL!

If you haven't seen it already, go to Torontoist and watch the vintage news clip about the new phenomenon called 'Internet'. (It was posted Dec. 5 so you'll have to scroll down or just watch it here.) It all seems so innocent and optimistic (especially the comment about how there's no curse words). Every time Peter Mansbridge says 'Internet' with that forced tone, or they show someone 'surfing' a black screen with neon green eighties type, or they explain the purpose of 'emoticons' in painfully obvious detail, see if you don't guffaw. And look! There's still some hair on Peter's head!

Right - I'm adding more linkage because I don't have energy to write anything and because these are really brilliant:

Mary Poppins Film Trailer

The Shining Film Trailer

Hey - it's December! I'm going to be home in 13 days!