I feel strangely proud of myself for making the fifty post mark. In reality it was the pup post that was the fiftieth but they were too cute. I wondered about a giveway but apart from a couple of scarves and a scary looking Elijah there isn't a great deal to giveaway around here and I don't want to make promises of something that might take ages to get made, or be accused of passing on my medicore tat to others. There is so much genuine talent out there I am content to gaze upon it all rather than produce it.
I have been busy but not productive. My head is is a very odd place and I am flitting from project to project unable it seems to commit to actually finishing. I did a crochet bookmark yesterday which I was pleased with even if the edging is a little crooked. It doesn't matter. I have dug out my bamboo to have a go at Ophelia, but I have others still to get on with.
Reading The importance if Mr Y which is quite literary and hard to follow at times, with asides of Quantum physics thrown in and straight over my head. It was one of the nominations for the Orange Prize so I can pretend that I am still immersed in the world of high literature and critical analysis. The previous two books were well and truly chick lit, I always feel slightly ashamed when I take them to the counter, their pastelly colours almost shouting, look what trash she's reading. But they are witty and show a slant of being female that because I married at 16 I didn't really encounter. The chocolate lovers Club and the Chocolate Lovers Diet both by Carole Matthews.
Variety is the key. I'm just a book slut, I'll read anything except Science fiction.