“Hi honey… I’m home…”
“We all go a little mad sometimes.”
“Be afraid. Be very afraid.”
At this point I am sad that my name is not Johnny or Chucky. Why is it, in horror movies, boys get all the best lines while the girls run around in white vests and do things you know are fundamentally stupid? And please don’t actually answer that.* That is rhetorical. I know why.
Basically, all I wanted to say is that I am back. And bad ass. Like really. I even thought about getting a tattoo and seriously considered changing my name to Candy. Or Danger. That’s how bad ass I am.
I have also learnt to ice cupcakes properly, indulged my love of vintage, dressing up (get your mind out of the gutter now) and seen more theatre than you could wave a program at. There is a lot to be said for Shakespeare in Korean.
I may also be on the verge of deciding to train as a clown. Either in Russia or Asia. Depending on what kind of clown I decide I want to be. I really want to get my face on an egg in the Clown Museum.
So over the last three months, I have rebuilt and organized, preparing for the wonderful British summer when I can finally start on all the evil plans I am really excited about. And now it’s May. Ummmm… how am I supposed to build a castle out of cake in this weather? Or drive a combine harvester?! Stupid jet stream.
Anyway, the first thing I am going to try to do is knit. I have found a kit at home, probably from a well-meaning Santa, which allows me to knit my own sheep. Two in fact. I even got as far as opening the box. Then I saw the words ‘cast off’ and got confused. What do boats have to do with knitting?
I’ll be honest. I am also a bit scarred by the needles. As someone who got her foot wedged between a train and a platform or concussed herself in the toilets of the Petrie Museum, waving around two very sharp over-sized cocktail sticks in the attempt to knot a bit of wool with itself does concern me. I might buy some goggles on eBay.
Anyway, I feel just looking at wool is akin nearly finishing knitting something. In the same way, looking at a cover is like reading a book.
“Oh, yes! There will be blood.”
*unless you really, really want to get into a deeply intense discussion on horror movies, hetero-eroticism and gender inequality. In which case, go for it, Punk. Make my day.
Where clowns keep their faces:
Where you can concuss yourself on a pipe and see mummies:
Learn to ice and bake with the wonderful Cookie Girl: