Cheery redness, or, how to be an executive

I was very flattered by all the lovely comments on my last post about my sock knitting, and quite amazed by the reaction to my chilblains. Like Tif, once upon a time I tried some tablets to help (I think they might have been niacin, or was it nicotinamide?), but the effect was quite frightening - my face turned as red as a tomato (or a Cath Kidston handbag), and I tingled all over - quite bizarrely disturbing, I promise you. But enough of my circulatory difficulties, and I really don't want you to be impressed by my knitting, as I am not at all an expert. And to that end, in an effort to remove the mystique surrounding knitting in the round (which is really very easy, even for an uncoordinated, spatially-challenged little person like me) I will be presenting you with a tutorial very shortly.

But today I think my theme is gratitude, although we shall see how it turns out. As I told you, I am now a high-flying executive, and luckily my dear mamma turned up trumps at Christmas and provided me with the necessary accoutrements with which to venture out into the big wide world of commerce.

So I now have two nice red CK bags to match my face. The handbag is roomy enough to encompass all sorts of executive baggage, and no longer do I spill the contents of my overflowing bag over the floor, although it is so temptingly huge that it does make me overload it to the extent that my arm is now some inches longer than it was before Christmas.

And look at that lovely spotty briefcase - dress to impress, that's me. Unfortunately for my image, rather than important documents, it usually contains eggs and bacon to sell, and my lentil soup for lunch - but even executives have lunch nowadays (lunch is for wimps being so eighties), and, of course, my knitting, just in case I have a spare moment in the office. And cake - I usually take cake to work, as I find it very fortifying in times of stress. Very importantly, these bags are wipe clean so that they can safely reside in the footwell of the Landy and be scrubbed down afterwards (Jennifer, you will understand where I am coming from on this one).

I even have a very charming wallet for my executive diary, made specially to my requirements by Indigo Blue, and the Seaside Landlady gave me a Cath Kidston sticker book, so I can put stickers on my files, just like I did when I was at school, as well as a tin for paper clips, which makes me feel very important.

And talking of dressing up, I have been decidedly overdressed today, although, as I have been working at home, the overdressing is mainly to prevent frostbite.

My Cath Kidston vests have been put to good use in the chilly weather, being long enough to tuck into my tights (which I wear under jeans) - the effect around the waistline being rather fetching, as you might imagine. And then there is a T-shirt on top, and a dress on top of that, and a cardigan, and my pumpkin scarf (the pumpkins having metamorphosed into soup), and not forgetting my Big Green Gathering gigantic cardigan of many colours. Oh, and because I am so trendy, one of those black and white shawls as worn by teenagers and freedom fighters.

In short, I have become one of those shapeless bundles of rags as found on the streets of Victorian social problem novels, which at crucial points in the plot suddenly come to life  and resolve themselves into a miserable form of humanity with an arm reaching out in a pitiful manner - all the better to highlight some iniquitous issue in society, or to provide an opportunity for a rescue of the most sentimental kind, probably involving gruel, or some warming soup.

So be careful if you come to visit me in my cottage, and look carefully before you sit down on that pile of blankets on the sofa. It is probably me wrapped up warm and taking a break from sailing the Spanish Main in the company of dastardly privateers, which is what I have been doing today.

My filing cabinet is witness to my industry - wicker is so much more comforting than steel drawers, is it not? I can almost pretend that I am sorting laundry, rather than paperwork.

But back to gratitude (somehow I knew I would veer off course today, it is the effect of consorting with all those nautical men). Just before Christmas I was lucky enough to receive these goodies from Serenata at The Balancing Kiwi.

These were the loveliest presents to receive, and Serenata is so clever at making things I feel quite humbled.

The beautiful make-up bag is at this moment reposing in my bathroom, next to the cement mixer, and the scented pot mat is reserved for very privileged B&B guests, whilst the pink crochet cloth sits in my bedroom in what Tif would call a 'vignette'. I don't actually have a forsaken soul to go with it, but I can live in hope that one will find its way to my door one day.

Princess Bunchy, as is her wont, commandeered the little Christmas stocking and Father Christmas very kindly filled it with biscuits for a Naughty Dog. So thank you, Serenata, very, very much for all of your kindness and generosity.

I also owe a very big thank you to Ros at Rosa-Munda for sending me one of her wonderful hearts - you will find a picture here, which is much better than mine. And, in fact, I love this heart so much, I have not put it away with the Christmas decorations, but have it hanging in my office in all its cheery redness.

And that is all that I have time for today - I must admit I was very lucky in my gifts this Christmas, especially in the ones which induced hysterical laughter, like the earrings which the Head Chef bought for somebody quite unlike me who is very chic and wears taupe and black, and has cream sofas and polished floors (it was all right, we were able to change them), or the very expensive pink carbolic soap in retro packaging, the scent of which kills all known germs dead and was bought for me by my darling Ploughboy, who was under the impression that he was buying me something sweetly luxurious (it is all right, it has come in very handy for washing his hands after he has been cleaning out the chicken run).

But now I must fit in my 20 minutes of making and creating under the watchful eye of Marmalade Rose, so any more tales must wait for another day.