Briggate Buskers

I was in Leeds on Sunday, for the first time in forty years, and the changes for both of us have been considerable  - apart from retaining a tendency towards the Gothic. 
 Everywhere looked so different!

 Picture © Copyright AndrewCurtis and licensed for reuse under this CreativeCommons Licence 

The only buildings that looked familiar were the Arcades, and I'd forgotten all about them until I went inside.  On reflection though, I didn't spend much time in the city itself when I lived there, as I didn't actually have much to spend at all.  No change there, then.   

 No harm in looking though, and there were so many fabulous shops to browse in... Oooh, Wilko!  Primark!  {Oh dear.  I really should get out more.}

 Picture © Copyright Stephen Richards and licensed for reuse under this CreativeCommons Licence 

Another thing that hadn't changed was the great atmosphere.  Leeds Varieties  isn't just the name of a theatre, it's a way of life!  There was so much to see and do; I'll have to go back again soon.

What really made my day was the buskers.  Not the Salvation Army Band, surprisingly good though they were.  Nor the line of six or so brightly-clad bongo drummers, although their music was more to my taste.  No, the best music in the city on Sunday was provided by a couple of lads in the middle of Briggate - a joyful drummer on a box, and a guitarist with the best voice I've heard for a long time.  I would have taken a photo but decided that, as they both appeared to be under 18, it probably wouldn't be a good idea.  Shame really, they deserve to be noticed, and I wish them success.

Pack up your troubles

I have enough trouble deciding what to wear when I get up in the morning if there's a chance that I might need to be seen in public that day.  {Regular readers will be familiar with my favourite trousers-sweatshirt-skirt-jumper-slippers-blanket-gloves combo, for days when there's no danger of me being seen by anyone who doesn't love me.}  Imagine, therefore, my stress level when deciding what to pack for a trip away this week.

I can just about manage an overnight in the next county, provided I know exactly what we'll be doing.  Then it's simply whatever I'm travelling in {Which will include layers to remove if the weather gets hotter} plus a matching jumper {in case it gets cold}.  I only need to add an outfit for the evening, a choice of two clean T-shirts for the next day, spare knickers {x2} spare socks {x2} and spare trousers {You never know when you might be involved in a water fight, or fall over in the mud.}  Plus all my toiletries, and a dark towel to dry my hair with if I've recently had it coloured - in which event I'll also take my own pillowcase.

However, preparing for longer trips, or going further afield {where goodness only knows what the weather will be like} or for uncertain itineraries, deciding what to pack is rather more difficult.  I usually end up just taking everything I own, and invariably come home with more clean clothes than dirty ones.  And don't even get me started on shoes.

The most sensible way to attack packing is, of course, to start a week or so in advance and lay everything out on the spare bed as I think of it.  The trouble is, I usually need to actually wear the clothes I'm planning to take in the week before I go away.  Even if I could bring myself to plan that far in advance I can't do it at the moment, because my spare bed is covered with all the coats I had to take out of the hall when I had the new front door put in last week.

There is an added complication for the trip I'm about to go on today; it's actually two trips without coming home in between.  I have to pack for four days in a caravan, followed by a weekend seminar in a city hotel.  Last night I came to the reluctant conclusion that I couldn't put it off any longer so, fortified by much tea, I opened the bedroom door... and was relieved to discover that the clothes I'd washed the previous day weren't yet dry!  That welcome respite revived my spirits somewhat and I am ready to face the task now.  Just as well, as I leave in an hour!

Time for action

After being at home for three months, wrapped in winter woollies, eating buns and not getting my hair done, I am starting to resemble a badger.

Picture by Jonathunder. This file is licensed under the Creative Commons licence.
 

The salon I used to go to closed at Christmas; I can no longer see through my fringe, which is perhaps just as well, since my eyebrows are now pure white.

Fortunately, my hairdresser has moved to another salon nearby - so I only have the embarrassment of assuring the receptionist that I'm not supposed to look like an explosion in the chrysanthemum factory; my stylist knows that, yes, I really do want my hair in short, jet black, punky spikes rather than fluffy curls.  Yes, I know how old I am.  That's why I know what I want to look like.

Sadly, my hairdresser can do nothing about the fact most of my clothes don't fit any more.  This is fine at the moment as it's still woollie weather, but I will soon have to buy a mother-of-the-bride outfit, and I'd rather turn up to a marquee than have to wear one.  I don't like the idea of dieting, but I have recently discovered something that I hope might help... anti-gravity marmalade!

At Last!

At long last, Lost Prinsipels is published, and can be read by people who don't actually know me.

Visit my Author Page on Amazon for details!