I felt I deserved a Giant Weekend after being a massive stresshead over the last week and a bit. It culminated, on Wednesday, in me coming in early to do a super-urgent translation (1700 words by 12.30, EEK), fuelling myself with coffee, and then…spilling the coffee all over myself and my keyboard, which then ceased to work, which slowed down the translation process somewhat.

But it was all fine in the end, and I chatted about the Legal Translations of Woe with people, and my confidence has been slightly restored. I'm not a total idiot, I'm just not a person who has ever studied law. Thursday was all calm, and then yesterday I was OFF WORK for an epically busy day. I was heading Down South to the party of my parents (a joint 50th birthday/wedding celebration), and was also all like 'I know, why don't I gatecrash Rhian and Pelle's holiday in Sheffield for a few hours'? So I did, and it was most good. It was only my third visit to Sheffield in the three years (THREE YEARS) since I graduated, but my first time back around the university buildings, including the Arts Tower I love so much. We rode the paternoster and saw all the things that had changed. We also went to the Blue Moon cafe, my favourite thing in Sheffield:

I saw Rhian get her ear pierced, by which I mean 'stood in the same room, eyes firmly on the floor, while Rhian got a massive spike through her ear'. I am not good with even the thought of needles, hence my complete lack of piercings. I think little Cerys got her ears pierced when she was 10, and didn't complain about it at all. I am such a wimp.
I bid farewell to one of my favourite cities and two of my favourite people with a slightly heavy heart, and trolled my way back to the station for another 3 hours on a boiling hot train. One of the fun things about travelling that many miles in a day is hearing the accents change, from the Northumbrian that I'm becoming used to, to the Sheffield that I aspired to in my university days, to the Midlands, which I'm affectionate towards, and which my accent is probably most similar to, if it could be described at all. I got home and was presented with the sight of my insanely busy, newly-50 year-old mother, frantically preparing for the party. I decided to keep out of the way and get dressed. Sadly, I didn't get ready quick enough to put my hair in rollers like I wanted to, so the 1940s look was minimised a bit, but I wore some of that lipstick the young people keep talking about. I also took the (unwise) decision to have some alcohol, largely because the party was inhabited by a lot of people who I either didn't know at all, or hadn't seen since I was about 13. This led to me uncharacteristically joining in with much of the ceilidh dancing, which did, at least, burn off some calories.
I was pretty exhausted when the party finished. Actually, I'd been tired long before that and had started arranging empty glasses in size order to try and feel better:

I slept like a log that had been imbibing sleeping pills last night, and was attacked by hayfever in the morning. DRIEST EYES EVER. While we're on the subject of my array of health complaints, my wisdom tooth has flared up in pain, as it does most months. This time, however, I seem to be unable to open my mouth far enough to eat most things unless I cut them up all tiny and post them through my teeth. I hope this improves shortly. I tootled off to Worcester today, and for some reason, ended up in the 'Next sale' buying jeans. I think I'll wear another dress tomorrow, though. IT IS TOO HOT FOR ME TO FUNCTION.