Since it's been such a glorious day we decided to get ourselves outdoors for the afternoon. Those who know me will already be aware that I don't get out much and I'm certainly not a fan of the sun, but it's spring and we're off together, etc. Seemed like a good plan.
I had this spiffing notion to take some wool and crochet hooks down to the river and sit there being all hippy and earth friendly, making flowers. Trés romantic. We popped to town first and got cash out for the window cleaner (it's all glam round here), also calling into a newsagents for a grand northern town picnic of Quavers, pop and Choc Dips. Now that's class for you, we even bought pudding.
The sun was scorching, but there was a nice little breeze, so it was idyllic. The river had a whole other set of ideas though. We got out of the car (hot like the devil's armpit it was) and walked to the nearest available free spot. We couldn't help but notice the wind, as it was fluttering us quite strongly. After a few minutes it became apparent that we weren't going to be doing much of anything delicate there. You know how Quavers always stick together, one curl hanging onto the other? Well the hanger on bit got blown away. Then the bottles of pop flew off the bench, shortly followed by hub's book and my handbag. My hair was whipping around in a most unattractive fashion and my t-shirt was doing that clinging to the fat bits thing that we all know and hate.
Nature does not want me to crochet. I didn't even get as far as delving into my bag for the wool, it seemed pointless to spend half an hour untangling it from my wayward hair. Sheesh. I should also mention that the tide was coming in faster than you'd believe possible. All in all it was more scarytastic than sunny summer afternoon frolic. I am reminded why I stay here at my desk where it's safe.
Photographic proof with exasperated face pulling (thought I'd better add that last bit lest you think my mug is always twisted like that):