Midwinter, midwinter

Not really. And it is not even cold, let alone anything remotely resembling deep and crisp and even. But....the sun did shine today, and it was luverly. I had an appointment this morning for which I was early (oh! What a surprise!), so I strolled around a little, stood by the canal and looked into its murky waters. Pete had said something on the phone earlier about having seen the sun and clear blue sky over the sea as he drove in to work, and my little heart did a lurch. I do so need to see the sea. The only thing wrong with living where we do is the lack of it. But I need to nurture the river, or rather, regard of it, so beautiful in its own right, and couldn't be more actually on my doorstep, much, anyway. I am fighting one of my periodic fits of wanderlust again at the moment, fantasizing about upping sticks and moving to a mild climate with blue skies and lots of sea lapping around. I get quite close to some of the dream in reality, it is just a question of a small amount of mental adjustment.

Lest it seem that no crafty activity is in progress, I am juggling around with beads to make a few small instant gifts for ye festive offerings. If you ignore the number of times I get bits wrong or snip through the wrong thread, it is going quite well. Whether or not my frail ego will actually allow me to send these things on their way to their intended recipients is another matter.

And now, a confession and a tale. I am one of those very sad people who occasionally looks up names of old friends on Google. Some years ago, when I was at University, I accidentally came across the name of a former crush as author of a book, and realised that he had a modicum of public profile. So he is one such - and yes, it is someone I lusted after as a very young schoolgirl, so sue me. I did another round of "where are they now" yesterday, and for the first time (I'm slow, but I get there eventually) thought to check the "Image" button. Nothing. But...one of the entries just happened to have a photo.

Hear now the shattering of broken illusions. Despite looking daily in my own mirror, and being at least three-quarters reasonable and honest about what I see, I was in no way prepared to see an old man (well, not really, but you know what I mean) who looked exactly like the father of the afore-mentioned tall dark and handsome youth of my memory. Well, poot. Not only that, but he was wearing baggy shorts and brown brogues with no socks. And I won't let on as to the context in which he appeared on Google because it would give away too much, but it is a bit......I'm not quite sure. However, speaking as a spinner fer heaven's sake - who am I to talk!

gw