failing to organise the proverbial piss-up in a brewery

It’s something, alright, when the weekend starts at around the same time as the working week does. Sadly, having had nearly ten hours’ kip, I couldn’t really complain about it. So I got up and set to with today’s jobs.

These would have started off with taking the duvets down to Morries for a big chemically Clean, plus the hunt for some working scales (it’s either the scales or the bread machine itself that makes all my lovely loaves into sodding brioche at the moment. I do hope it’s the scales; they’re cheaper!) However, it was pissing it down. In that steady, patient, Oh believe, me I can keep this up all day, way. I’m not sure Morries accept a duvet that’s been pre-soaked.

So instead, the day started with cleaning the flat. Again with the cleaning. Still, I have invited people over tonight to try out the first ever batch of properly homemade wines, it would be polite to do so in a place they feel comfortable sitting down. And I put on some more wines, now that the demi-johns are vacant again. And a load of mead, why not. What with the sterilising, and the rinsing, and boiling of the kettle and the dissolving of a kilo of cheap honey (I’ll graduate onto the expensive stuff when I’m more confident I won’t wreck the lot) and the tumbling of merry defrosted soggy raspberries all over the kitchen floor, which then had to be scrubbed down, I think I used about as much water as a whole village in the third world. So I felt vaguely guilty about that.

Although, outside, the rain was getting even heavier, by this point, so I went out in it anyway, having promised I’d make a big chilli – and a decent chilli, in my humble, needs several hours of simmering away. Lo, and by the time I returned from LIDL, it had stopped, go figure. So the last thirty feet of my journey weren’t spent with rainy hair. The rest of it was, so there goes the Good Hair for tonight, haha. But with the stereo and the chilli on, and the spare spare room transformed into a Studio (by moving the easel and laptop in, heh) it was a very pleasant afternoon. Now why is it that Doing Stuff makes me feel all empowered, when all down the ages it has traditionally been the guy swinging his feet while sat on his arse on his throne who has been the empowered one? Probably because I’m not doing this at spear-point.

Turns out, only Cake and… argh, gave her a name all these years ago, haven’t seen her in so long I can’t mind it… Elderberry, sod it, could make it tonight. And since Elderberry has a twelve-hour shift tomorrow, they’d be arriving early and leaving early too. Eek! Since this place is almost an Official brewery at the moment, does this mean I have Officially failed to organise a piss-up in one?

Well, take your opportunities where you can get em. Since it’s just lassies, and only the three of us at that (a secretary, a teacher and a nurse, yar har har – although it turns out that Cake’s getting some, having a lovely live-in bloke and all, and Elderberry’s a mother, and so I guess that makes me The Crone. Hee!) I decided I could be spending the night dressed up. Viva! So I put on the Worn Only Once big shiny shiny thigh-high stilettos and a wee red dress and a wee black corset and lots and lots of eye-make-up and brushed the rain-knots out of my hair, which took forever. Lo, and when I looked in the mirror, I had Captain Jack Sparrow staring back at me. Awesome!

Well, that may not be what everyone else saw, but it’s what I saw. And I know that according to some, it is very good indeed that women find it empowering to dress up in treacherous, shiny footwear and clothes so skimpy the heating needs to be on, and lots of make-up, mainly so they can be ogled more effectively; while others point out the question of how bloody empowering could it be to not be able to walk, to be freezing cold, and to be leered at all night. From a practical point of view, I’m mainly in the second camp, though people should be allowed to make an informed choice for themselves. And right or wrong, I like the shiny boots, and the corsetry. And I hate not being able to walk*. So I find it empowering to get all gussied up and do so in my own flat where absolutely nobody is going to do any ogling at all. Hurrah!

I suspect, this will endear me to nobody, in either camp, but screw that. The world judges on all the wrong things, in my opinion (or certainly, the tabloids do, and the Newbies that let the tabloids tell them right from wrong). As long as I have done nobody a Wrong, I am Right and they can think what they like, it is Not My Problem.

Until the lynch mob with the burning torches turn up at my door, of course.

*(I also hate being leered at, and shouted at when I ask people to stop pawing me – but you can’t win on this one: they get angry if you’re out dressed like a harlot, minding your own damn business with your mates, and they get angry if you’re out dressed for fightclub and minding your own damn business, and they get angry if you’re out dressed like a respectable female and minding your own damn business, and I’ve come to the conclusion that it doesn’t matter what I wear in public, some bloke’s eventually gonna take (loud) offence that, well, that I exist, I guess. And many other blokes don’t, tis true, but that one, ooh that one usually takes the shine right off my day.)

Anyway. It was a lovely, low-key and chilled out night, though I did get a bit over-excited cos I hadn’t seen Elderberry in so long and we had just so much to catch up on, three hours was never gonna cut it! I mean, we have had years, in which so many things have happened, and I haven’t even had a proper blether with Cake but twice this year, and yet the themes of all three of our lives at the moment are quite similar.

I gave em both the guided tour and they said nice things about me artwork and me flat. And Cake brought Proper pink fizz and homemade chocolates and Elderberry brought me… kitchen scales, no less! Wow, how fortunate I was too chicken to go out earlier. And these days she’s a fellow pagan, what are the odds, went into raptures over me crystal collection and went through all me books that I’ve (mercifully) just dusted. I gave her me wee jade Buddha in return; it seemed fair and it resonates with her much more than it does me.

This is great, said Elderberry, I’m getting sick of going out and having to deal with total strangers pawing me while I’m minding me own business and trying to catch up with me mates, let us do this again.

Alas, the night ended shortly after. Though it ended with good cheer and cries of, We must meet again soon!

And that left me with nearly two hours to midnight, and wide awake, for once! So I sat in me big shiny boots and me wee shiny corset, reading over the Zombie Chronicles of Nonsense that I had intended to get finished six months ago, ahahaha. I would like to get it finished this year, and there is only the finale and one flashback chapter to go, but first, I have to get back into the groove. And read it over to see if it’s just Drivel or ‘really, go forth and burn this monstrosity, then hang your head in shame and quench your literary ambition for good‘, Drivel.

It’s a hundred and sixty three thousand words. Jeebus, I know it’s present-tense, real-time stream of consciousness stuff, so it kinda has to be Ulysses-length but even so, I don’t know if it’s the right medium for a zombie novel. A kinda chick-litty-zombie novel. This could be the equivalent of pea-n-ham cheesecake. But it’s gonna take some time to find out!


About beshemoth

Mainly making art, making wine, writing and gardening. Having a life only as the above allows.
This entry was posted in cheese with that?, homebrew, social events, writing. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s