August feels a jolly long time ago right now. Mind you, as September is nearly over that’s probably why. Luckily for me, ballet didn’t stop over the summer and carried on as normal. I found *my* pointe shoe after just over a year in the shape of a Freed Classic by Maker Y, lovely and lightweight requiring no breaking in whatsoever. They have necessitated the purchase of some pointe shoe hardener because they just don’t last long enough! I also managed to spend the entire of august not working a full week to try and get through some annual leave whilst we’re quiet, that mostly involved catching up on sleep but I did have a super day out with the Bestest in which we found an amazing tiny tea shop. Anyway, on to the numbers:
Books: 18 (could do better)
Ballet classes: 19 (vg)
Dead right pointe shoes: 2 (Freed Classics by makers Y and 🐠, I then wore a mismatched pair of left shoes)
Ballets seen: 4 (Firebird, Marguerite and Armand, Concerto DSCH and Cinderella)
Ballet companies seen: 1 (the Mariinksy)
Knitting projects completed: 5 (excellent: 3 baby garments, 1 baby blanket and a ridiculous hat for me)
Times left london; 0 (fail)
Culinary adventures from the ‘one recipe per book’ challenge: MANY ( all awesome)
Other occurrences: some birthday adventuring, some BBQing, a lot of domesticity
Oh and the time we had to restart a centre exercise three times because I was incapable of counting to 8… Oops.
This is a beefeater amongst the poppies at the Tower of London (which I went to see twice with different friends who were visiting):
Having a domestic moment last weekend, I sorted out the kitchen shelves where our cookery books live. In doing so I found myself reminded of the time one of my ace chums challenged herself to make one recipe from every Cook book she owned (she has considerably more than housemate and I but that’s by the by). Since I’ve got back into cooking lately this seemed like the optimum moment to challenge myself to justify the continued existence of all the books on the shelves… Watch this space for fruits of my labours. Or tales of woe. Or both.
On the subject of trying something new, you may recall that I’d fallen in love at first relevé with my freed classics. They’ve died a sad and tragic death since and I’ve replaced them with another pair (different maker, more paste, hopefully lasting a little longer but I do feel like I’m cheating on my first maker). After a little more than a year, I think I’ve found my shoe…
In the whole, July went a lot better than it looked to be gearing up to at one point which is a complete plus, to be honest. Luckily at the point I hit full slump, I was picked up by the right person dispensing the right level of sympathy after which I started to pick myself up and then shuffled off to Rural Derbyshire a few days later and it all got better from there on in. Hurrah.
July also saw the End of an Affair with ‘the pointe shoes that got away’ and the Bloch Sonatas were consigned to the bottom shelf of dead shoes. Despite their promise, they never quite lived up to it which made me a bit sad but I have no regrets. Well except maybe the epically bruised toe nail that they caused… I’ve gone back to Freeds, although my previous flirtation with their Studios II was mildly disastrous, they had plenty to recommend the brand and I’ve now fallen head over heels in love with my Classics. Hurrah.
But back to July, here’s how it shaped up numerically:
Books read 24 (vg)
Ballet classes 20 (vg)
Knitting projects completed 2 (a tank top for The Very Bestest’s eldest and a pair of bootees for a colleague’s Impending Arrival)
Ballets seen: 9
Ballet companies seen: 2 (NEBT and ENB) plus one school performance (LRBS)
Times left London: 2 (a long weekend in Rural Derbyshire and a long weekend in the Don with The Bestest)
Loom band crazes bought into: 1
Trips to the pound shop undertaken to satisfy the above: 2
Occasions I say on my good chum K’s balcony and threw strawberry stalks at other good chums as they arrived: 1
Quite a good months all things considered… And, here, have a photo of the contents of the dead pointe shoe shelf out on the landing this afternoon where I’d lobbed then whilst cleaning my room:
There are reasons that my bestest is, well, my bestest.
Take one recurrence of persistent tendonitis, one pair of über boring beige wrist splints, TWO trips to the pound shop and, one glittery eyebrow later, I am feeling less woeful and sorry for myself about the flare up.
Also in no way whatsoever do I have a new addiction in the form of looooooooom banding but when the following utterance spilt forth from my lips “I was going to pick up my knitting but…” I think we had to reevaluate the situation.
So judge me… :)
Wow, I have been a total fail at updating since my last numerical round up! As usual a whole host of half thought out posts in my head that petered out mid way through… Somewhat like my university essays.
Anyway, here’s how June shaped up:
Books read 17 (could do better)
Ballet classes 15 (good, see: going on holiday)
Ballets seen: 10 (nine pieces in the Royal Ballet’s Draft Works programme (let’s talk about how Kristen McNally is a GENIUS of epic proportions) and ENB’s Rom&Jul in the round)
Emotions had over watching Daria Klimentova’s final performance: ALL OF THEM AND THEN SOME. I am still too emotionally fragile to consider discussing it.
Ballet companies seen: 2 (RB & ENB)
Knitting projects completed: 4 (various teeny tiny baby items)
Knitting WIPs: 2 (Mutti’s Christmas present (there’s dedication and organisation for you) and a terribly dull manly tank top for a small person – the pattern’s dull, I adore the aforementioned small person!)
Times left London: 2 (a week’s jolly Holiday in a Cottage – #hiac2014, so cool my friends and I that our holiday have their own hashtag – to Suffolk where we did not get murdered (A+!) and a long weekend back in the Shire being mistaken for a picnic by the local insects)
Times my très adorbz teacher decided that the only way for my battered Achilles to properly understand how to land changements would be to lift me: 2
Times said teacher also completely (inadvertently) scared the wits out of me during turns: 1
Books bought on holiday: 4 (a come down from last year’s 21… Or was it 22?)
Yarn bought on holiday: 50g of some variegated stuff purchased on the last morning. Yes, I almost made it through a whole holiday without buying yarn!
More years hung on the line: 1 (see me, I am so old)
Awesome birthday parties hosted featuring pony temp tattoos: 1
Glorious birthday days out had with the bestest featuring seaside, cocktails, cake and ice cream: 1
Books read: 19 (could do better)
Ballet classes: 20 (good)
Ballets seen: 7 or 10, depends on how you count repeat viewings…
Ballet companies seen: 2 (Scottish ballet’s Rom&Jul, Royal ballet in two triple bills: serenade, sweet violets & DGV (twice) and the dream, Connectome & the concert)
Knitting projects completed: 1 (I think, possibly my cloche hat with my Orkney yarn)
Knitting projects started and rapidly become obsessed with: 1 (Vivid by Tincanknits which I will probably blog about at length at some juncture)
Ballet bags lost and found on public transport: 1
Lunch breaks spent dashing about covent garden for replacement ballet things: 1
Minor injuries sustained that turned me into a rampaging hormonal drama queen: 1 (I slightly popped a rib, it was quite painful but I made a disproportionate amount of fuss, for shame)
Occasions hi-5ed by drunk men for being gorgeous: 1 (me and my pointe teacher have ALL the fun on our way back to the station…)
Times I was mistaken for still, grey and to all appearances dead during floor barre: 1 (oops)
Other exciting occurrences: 1 (my bestest became a home owner!)
Apparently my ballet is improving, I can’t quite see or feel it but am putting it down to no longer being stressed out of my tiny mind. However such occurrences as managing to do an entire sissone exercise the wrong way round do make me query this assertion from other people… We shall see, je suppose.
I got my ballet bag back! Chums, I can’t even begin to tell you how completely and utterly downright awesome this is. Despite all my moaning that it was lit forever to my train company and it had vanished into their black hole of lost property!
On Tuesday I was sprawled on our staff room sofa reading David Starkey’s book about Henry VIII’s early days when my phone rang. It was the lost property office informing me they thought they’d got my bag. Not wishing to count my chickens and all that, I was tentatively excited then slipped away from work a bit early to collect my bag en route to class.
It was mine as I was gleefully reunited with my accumulated dance crap and so very, very happy/relieved as a result. See (please appreciate my beautifully bouffant immediately post bun hair):