Hippety-hop brigade part II

When we were at the Hoxton, they asked us to take a publicity photo.  I did a bit of sleuthing (read: I e-mailed them to ask) and found the picture!

I told you.  Hats are totally cool.

When we were part of the hippety-hop brigade

Ok, so definitely more hip than hop.  Although the FH and I are neither trendsters nor rude boy/shorty wannabees we can pass for the former much easier than the latter.

Once upon a time before the Olympics had even begun (it was on the opening night), FH and I got dolled up in our glad rags, I put on a very fetching hat (below) and we hot-footed up to Hoxton for a night of being trendy to celebrate FH's birthday.  I have to admit that I was not feeling on the top of the world as I have recently (i.e. the day before) had a rather large altercation with a steep flight of stairs which ended in a visit to a very lovely and charming doctor at the local A&E for some stitches.  No sympathy necessary as it was almost entirely self-inflicted.  I say almost as the bottles of wine may also have had something to do with it.

Note hat: very fetching

Moving on from that unfortunate incident... FH and I went to Hoxton where we stayed at the über hip Hoxton Hotel, thrice-running winner of the Guardian's best UK hotle accolade, for the princely sum of £1.  One of your British pounds.  How?! I hear you ask... By having a very clever husband able to answer the questions and take advantage of their one pound offer quicker than the others who were out to snatch the prize.  Hooray for FH!

FH at the Hoxton Hotel

So, we arrived and settled in.  Very fine it was too.  We then went out to sample the night charms of Hoxton.  Were had a table booked at the St. John, which markets itself as nose-to-tale eating.  We went there feeling adventurous and determined to try something new. 

A side note here - FH and I love food.  As in luuuuurve food.  And we especially love trying new things.  To this end, we always share.  And not this namby-pamby one starter and a main to share.  We'll each have starter and main, but swap half way through.  This way we get to have four small dishes instead of two larger ones.  It also means, because we are incredibly competitive, that somebody gets to win.  The person who wins is the person who orders the nicest dish; there's a prize for every course, so sometimes the first course loser can quits on the main, or the starter winner can make it 2-0.  

Anyway, at St John's FH had lambs' tongues to start followed by rabbit, and I had roast bonemarrow followed by sweetbreads.  FH won the first course - the bonemarrow wasn't as tasty as I thought it would be and the lambs' tongues were delicious.  They were served cold which I wasn't really expecting, and they were really lamb-y, which was also a surprise; I don't think of Ox tongue as tasting particularly beefy.  I hands down won the second course; sweetbreads are delicious.  No pudding - I'm not a huge pudding gal.

By this time my injuries were starting to get the better of me and I limped back to the hotel accompanied by FH just in time to catch the most boring part of the opening ceremony - the athletes' procession; totally missed the Queen and James Bond.  However, I've seen it since and it was awesome.

We do love a bit of our Daniel

Bien arivée!

Arrived in France safe and sound despite having dislocated our shoulders with tugging along three ridiculously heavy suitcases; it was OK until we actually arrived and had five flights of stairs to climb.  I thought FH was going to murder me.  He might have done, I think, except for the fact that a) it would have rendered all the carrying pointless, and b) it was our anniversary.

Just some of the lovely stairs to my appartment

Despite the near-death and heavily-burdened nature of our anniversary, we did manage to have some nice treats too.  We had lunch of tasty lamb and couscous at home before striking out on our great adventure, which took us via the longest champagne bar in the world (it was on the way, being in St. Pancras and all).

Don't mind if I do...

It had the best feature in the world, which should be fitted as standard in all houses (above) and it made us very happy - a snackette calmed FH's worried nerves (and by nerves, I mean belly) - and we were ready for stage two of the journey.

I am aware that I look a bit sloshed, but I'd only had one!

Stage two was less than ideal, so we'll skip over that to the apartment.  It's small, but lovely and unlike the last time I was in France, I'm not sleeping in the living-room!  My own bedroom (despite it being a single) is a complete luxury.

Taken from 10 metres from my building...

 Also luxury is living this close to la tour eiffel.  Wow.  I've never lived in an area before where people do a double take when you tell them your address.  It's pretty cool, and I'm definitely getting ideas above my station.  FH told me that he'd never been up the Eiffel Tower before, so on Wednesday we clomped up all 700-odd stairs to the second platform and took the lift to the top.  It's still impressive, even having done it before, and this time I took the time to read all the signs about the construction and the landmarks visible.  It was very edukashunal.

Also on Wednesday, we went to the Café Constant, a little bistro-type place owned by a Michelin-starred chef.  We were meant to go on Tuesday evening when we arrived, but we were to late (by about two minutes) and got anniversary frozen pizza instead - romantic!  The café had been recommended by my new flatmate, and she certainly has good taste (both in resto and in flat buddies) because it was delicious.  There were interesting things on the menu too; a bit more out there than your typical bistro fayre.

So FH has now returned to the Big Smoke without me, and I am left in Paris to begin adventuring on my own.  

A little bit of knitting

And I mean very little...

In my quest for viable procrastination, I decided to knit a cardigan for my cousin's little girl who's due in September.  I have a vague recollection of promising something similar whilst a bit tipsy at a family get together back in May.  I figure that being pregnant and therefore not being drunk, she'll probably remember the conversation so I should try to make good my promise.

We're seeing her on Saturday, by which time she'll be roughly barge proportions, for a wedding (of another cousin).  I was aiming to have it ready and bingo! Deadline hit... Hooray!

The results:

A tiny cardi for a tiny Owls fan

I used this pattern, and it came up a bit small even though I made a gauge and everything.  Luckily I decided to make the 6 month version.  Thus when I made it little it only shrunk to newborn.  I reckon that if I'd begun at newborn it'd probably fit the guinea pig.

Despite its diminutive size, I'm really pleased with my effort.  This is the first entire garment I've made (beside scarves and gloves) and therefore represents an evolution in my knitting career.

Aaand... Breathe!

Final draft for dissertation done.  Still lots of work to do on it though, and it'll get shredded by my supervisor.  Never mind... It's definitely something better than nothing.

On a much brighter note, I've been staying with my cousin and his new-ish wife for the last few days: quicker to get to the library, less distractions, etc.  It's always nice to go round theirs as not only do they cook amazing food - barbeque extraordinaire, yesterday - but they also have amazing cats.  Affectionately know as Princess Lightning Snowball and the little furry shouty man (although this last could equally apply to fish husband) they are cute enough to make anyone forget dissertation woes.

Zara being less lightning, more snowball

Now the dissertation is on the way to being finished, I've got to start thinking about packing up my bindle and heading off to seek my fortune in gay Paris!

Some quick thoughts on writing a dissertation

1) The library is a depressing place to be on a beautiful day.

I think it looks like the Ministry of Love from Orwell

2) This skirt, beautiful though it is, is noisy and is therefore a bad choice of library skirt.

This is what has been called my Esmerelda skirt

3) I am a master of procrastination.

Tickets booked!

So... I guess that makes it official.

I have a job.  I have a flat.  I have my tickets.  I'm moving to Paris!

Don't get me wrong, I am so excited.  I am also absolutely terrified.

Not only am I moving to Paris, I am moving there on my and fish-husband's second anniversary.  Nothing says 'I'm abandoning you' like doing it on an especially romantic day!  Uh oh.  Hopefully it can be salvaged by a romantic day in London and a romantic dinner in Paris - that's possible, right?

Not only am I moving to Paris, but I am moving there in less than twenty days.  In that time I have to finish my dissertation (actually, I only have until Tuesday to get a completed draft it), attend my cousin's wedding (and buy a gift), pack, plan a going away party, finish the accounts for work, get my passport, celebrate my dad's birthday, celebrate my mum's anniversary, change my euros... oh, and probably try to find a bit of time for shopping.  Whew!

Time to get cracking then.  Number one on the list: dissertation.