Dreams

I had two very odd dreams last night.  As always, they leave me wondering what the heck my subconscious is playing at.

Dream 1: My former boss from when I first started at Kew has got a new job - as Director of Tourism for Bury St Edmunds.  Now, I doubt very much if Bury St Edmunds has a Director of Tourism in the waking world, but in the dreamworld it does, and it's Helen.  I don't think she was too enthusiastic about it, though, as the main thing she was doing was sending everyone she knew on facebook a steady series of chivvying messages about how important it was that we all visit Bury St Edmunds ASAP.

I've never been there, have no particular desire to go there, and have no idea where this sprung from.

Dream 2: I am married to William Houston.  Now, as a ginger fetishist and a fan of intense actors generally, I do know where this one came from!  But it strikes me as odd to dream about being married to a long-standing minor crush of mine when I am deep, deep in the throes of a major crush on someone else.  Incidentally, the married dream-me was very happy, though as I distinctly remember calling my handsome ginger hubby a "daft bugger" at one point I guess my subconscious doesn't think marriage would make me any less charmless than I am as a singleton...  Oh well.

Oh well, indeed.  At least a girl can dream, eh?!

And meanwhile the freezing cold weather has improved marginally today - the temperature has actually gone above zero this afternoon, for the first time since Monday morning, and the 4-days-thick frost on Kew Green has all thawed, at least for now.  Robins are singing bravely in the raw, damp air when I go out. 

December weather arrives, I swear, escape disaster, and sing in public

Paphos was warm.  Not outright hot, except for the first day (my birthday - what bliss to swim in the sea, sunbathe with a good book and eat a large banana split in the sunshine, in early December!), but the kind of warmth where one can stroll and relax and sightsee wearing jeans and a tee-shirt and a pair of sandals.  A couple of days were sunny, a couple were overcast, one was rainy (with a spectacular thunderstorm), and one was bright but very, very windy.  Not bad for December.

But shortly after I got back to the UK, the winter weather arrived here, with a huge wallop of thick white frost and temperatures that have stayed below zero all day.  Sigh.  At least it didn't do that in Cyprus.

Coming home, last Saturday evening, I found a note stuck to my bedroom door saying "The washing machine flooded, some water went under your door, hope everything's okay".  Not a good thing to return to.  I unlocked and opened the door with a sinking heart, and saw a massive dried-out tide-mark about four feet into the room, and I stood there clutching the handle of my suitcase and swearing like a marine.  A very angry marine with Tourettes. 

I could see at once that the big canvas bag I had at the end of my bed, with all my spare bedding stored in it, had borne the brunt of it, but short of turning out I had no way of knowing how much further it had spread under the bed - & into all the stuff like paintings and electrical goods, and all the pictures for my 2013 calendar, that I have stored there.  It was late and I was tired and cold and I just couldn't face it, so I went to bed and slept - surprisingly well, which shows I was tired - above who-knew-what.

But the gods were on my side.  When I gritted my teeth next morning, and shifted the wet bag of sheets and towels to look behind it, I found one soaked shoebox containing my least-favourite pair of sandals (not the end of the world if they never recover), and a second damp shoebox containing photos (pics on old-fashioned photographic paper are pretty salvageable if separated quickly and air-dried).  And everything else was fine.  Basically, the linen bag had sopped all the water up and held it like a sponge.  And since Sunday was a cold but dry day, with a good breeze, I was even able to get the sheets and towels dried off.  They're now stacked in the corner, smelling a bit funny but otherwise okay, waiting to be washed and dried again properly over the next week or so.

Someone up there must like me.  What's more, we didn't need a plumber - the leak happened because my flatmate had taken out the washing machine filter to clean it and put it back upside down. 

What else?  Since I got back, I've been practising for the carol service, chugging in to work through the freezing fog, and starting to type up "Gold Hawk" in the evenings.

The carol service was today.  It went well and had a lovely atmosphere.  I think I had got my head round "Rejoice and be merry!" and the lovely piece of Bach, and I survived the Irish carol (largely by piping right down and just relaxing into the very beautiful male voices that were booming away behind me like a granite wall of sound), but I never did get the hang of the horribly complicated arrangement of "There is a flower".  And while I was away in Cyprus the others had learned parts for all the congregation carols; so I was left rumbling along in my usual way, just singing the melody an octave down, and feeling rather out-on-a-limb while everyone else harmonised around me.  That kind-of sums up my singing career, come to think of it.

I do feel Christmas is coming, now, though.  Nothing like a good dose of carols and readings to remind one of that.

And O, fan-girl-happiness, my Dvd of "The Bourne Legacy" has arrived.  Along with David Bintley's new "Cinderella" for BRB, which was a birthday present from my brother Stephen ("legacy" is my birthday present from me).  So I have a couple of pleasant nights in to look forward to - one of ballet and one of lechery...

Ah, bitter cold it was...

After an unconscionably mild Christmas, and a January that was almost warm, with spring bulbs rushing to get on with life, we have suddenly this week been hit by a good, hard winter freeze.  I'm not sure the temperature has gone above freezing all day (apologies to friends in Scandinavia - I do know that to you this is mild!).  Outside in the Gardens the snowdrops are holding their own in glittering ranks, but many other over-eager flowers have been stricken. 

Today is clear and still and one's breath rises like ice-mist.  In the early morning I walked through from the gate through to the office in the brilliant oblique light, and the stillness all around was uncanny.  Just one robin was singing, a thin trail of sound from the holly tree by the back door.  The only other sound was the crunch of my feet on the rock-hard ground.  

But in the Alpine House there are bowls of scented narcissi - N. papyraceus with its silvery-white blooms, and the delicate, golden N. jonquilla.  And in the Princess of Wales Conservatory the big Tropical Extravaganza displays are completed, all set for the official opening tomorrow - great banks and columns of anthuriums and orchids, swinging curtains of tillandsias, bromeliads like torches...  Colour and warmth, such a blessing at this time of year.

Now the forecast is for possible snow on Sunday.  Brr...  I'm taking my head-cold home now to give it more vitamin C and echinacea.  Have a good weekend and keep warm, everyone!