BN for Vendetta

Slightly worrying phenomenon observed in the biscuit tin the other day:

There's a definite resemblance there! Should I be worried?

Humphrey

There are several major differences between life in the UK and in France.

The language, for one.

The food, for another (although to be quite honest what we eat as a family hardly changes. I bring Branston Pickle and other such necessities back every time I go home...)

The weather. We're already averaging 26 or 27° (Celsius- sorry, I don't do Fahrenheit) here in the afternoons, and that's pretty normal for this time of year.

These, you might think, are pretty big things.

What, then, is the difference I notice most?

LIZARDS. Yes, really. I believe there are some in the southernmost parts of the UK, but having never lived further south than Cumbria (non-Brits, that's a long way north by English terms) for any length of time, they're still something of a novelty to me.

Humphrey pretends to be shy

This here is Humphrey, the first lizard I met when we moved to our new house. He came out of hibernation some time towards the end of February. He lives under the windowsill with Mrs. Humphrey and The Other One (another lizard, but we haven't/don't want to think about what their relationship might be. This is a Christian household, we will not have lizard immorality going on under our windowsills).

This afternoon, I was working, like a good little translator-elf, when I heard a clattering noise on the other side of the room. The culprit? A lizard, which had somehow managed to fall through the open skylight. (It wasn't Humphrey, though. Humphrey would never do something as silly as play on the roof).

I got the lizard out, in the end, using a waste paper basket and a comic book (yes! They DO have a use after all!) - but it took a good ten minutes of chasing it round the office, in and out of the stacks of paper and shoes and plastic dragons Ze Husband leaves lying around, all while laughing manically to myself at the surrealness of the whole thing.

Now THAT wouldn't happen in Edinburgh.

EDIT: I'm pretty bad at the whole picture thing, but if you want a better view of the Beast, just click on the picture to zoom in!

Chain mail

'elloes!

This week, Ze Husband and I are lurking in the Netherlands. We are not on holiday, no no no. He is working (training week) and I am, well, sort of working, except I'm waiting for author comments on six chapters which are supposed to be finalised by 5.30 UK time tonight and I can't do anything until they arrive. Hmmmmm.

Now. This being a work-thing, we are in a nice hotel, with a swimming pool and suchlike. Last time we were here, it was for two weeks and we were in a long-stay room, with a sitting room area and a KITCHEN (yes, a kitchen!) and working internet.

This time, we are in a normal room on the ninth floor. The room is very nice and everything, but the internets don't seem to want to work (maybe they're afraid of heights) so I'm having to use one of the hotel computers. All well and good, except for the QWERTY keyboard and the fact it won't let me look up mass times for Holy Week because it has a block on all websites linked to religion. NO KIDDING.

The other problem? The room was recently redone and it's all design-y and pretty but not massively practical. The bathroom walls are GLASS. See the problem here?

They seem to have realised that the glass bathroom might be a bit disconcerting to some, so they put up a sort of curtain accross one of the walls, which doesn't help much with the privacy thing, but certainly adds comedy value.

The curtain is CHAIN MAIL, people. The BATHROOM is wearing CHAIN MAIL.

Hmmm. Maybe my cupboard would look better with armour?