Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea

to go on holiday less than a month before the final hand in date for my degree.

Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea to allow myself to be sidetracked into mindless embroidery for so long.

Perhaps my organisational skills aren't quite as good as I thought they were.

Whatever the reason, we got back from Yorkshire on Saturday, on Sunday I worked out what I still had to do before hand in day - and a sort of quiet panic ensued,

Big Mac has been getting a thorough work out.

There was another minor panic last night when we realised we were babysitting on Saturday afternoon, in addition to our usual bi-weekly sessions - but all is under control. Swan-like, I am calm on the surface, although paddling like hell below the waterline. [I also have a vicious temper and can break a man's arm with my wing.] [Only half of that is true.]

We did have a relaxing holiday - [no wifi, no phone coverage, no Jubilee celebrations] despite the weather, and there were a few good days. Too much eating, a little culture - Miro at the Yorkshire Sculpture Park and a Shakespeare First Folio at Skipton Museum of all places, - some retail therapy,  and a lot of relaxing.

No insult intended to Skipton, I think it's a great place - a First Folio, some great postcards in the Information Centre, a proper market, a good veggie cafe, a canal, a fent shop, a craft shop  and lots of other shops where you seem to be able to get anything you want - unlike most of the other towns in the area. [Don't get me started on Hawes. Where do you buy food in Hawes? And where else in the UK still has an early closing day? Apart from Sedbergh.]

If Skipton had a Booths it would be perfect. [Do you lot up north know how lucky you are to have Booths? Like Waitrose but better.]

Miro at the YSP. There is a lovely quote from him in the exhibition, saying his sculpture is 'phantasmagoric' compared to his paintings which are 'more conventional'. I think I'd have to look at Miro's paintings for a very long time before the word 'conventional' crossed my mind...

That. by the way, is a 'concrete tree' on the right - so called because of  a slight misunderstanding between Babybel and her granny. She informed me very graciously that concrete didn't grow on trees, you made it from sand, cement and water.



Time to get back to the grindstone...