The Oympics scare me. How do real human people run 100m in nine and a half seconds? While showing off and not really paying attention? It is not normal. However, 8 medals is seriously impressive, on anyone's books, so I would like to officially give credit where its due. Well done Mr Phelps. I'm sure that minor pat on the back is top of his list of plaudits.
I'm fighting to remain focused in a sea of NOTHINGNESS. Sorry, that was slightly dramatic, but there is just so LITTLE going on that it is starting to become distracting. When I actually find a task to do, I put it off, so I can have something to look forward to. I'm sure that's not a good way to manage my time, but this inactivity is driving me slightly nuts.
Not long till I'm back in Blighty again, this time for Hannah's wedding. I'm tempted to write out the reading that I'm doing for her, but I can't allow myself to admit that I'm that bored. It is Sonnet 116 - the one that starts - Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments... ahh bless. Without the last part. I'm terrified I'll get shaky voice or something, but have been learning the poem so that I don't have to read from the paper.... which would give away the telltale shaky hand syndrome and get me on the pisstake list for the rest of the evening. She's in the army, and marrying an army boy, so I'm guessing pisstake levels will be high. That said, it will be amazing to see Hans marry, and I'm going to be stocking up on tissues as I'm a shocker at weddings.
Tonight, I have Lalanthe's coconut dhal in store, and am cooking brownies and fudge sauce to take with me to Katie's tomorrow night - no better way to celebrate the end of the dreaded little green bag phase. Hooray!
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