In August, Seelenfein presented me with an award. I put off delivering my acceptance speech because I wanted to rearrange my blogroll and pass the award on. Alas, I'm still gathering my wits together, so I'd better step up to the pult and accept it. Which I do, herewith.
Thank you, thank you. I'm honoured!
The idea is that you should tell the world seven things about yourself and then pass it on to 15 other bloggers. I can do the former, the latter requires some organisation on my part: I'm a one-woman awards committee. I have to schedule a meeting with myself.
So, seven things about me:
1 I am incredibly clumsy.
I once gave myself a black eye when I banged my face off the rim of a toilet bowl. I was not drunk at the time. Honestly.
2 I write letters.
Real letters. I have ink pens. I own note paper. I possess stamps. In a world of Twittering and Facebooking, I belong to the primitive tribe that knows what the gum on an envelope flap tastes like.
3 I make the one of the best lasagnes you will ever eat.
I make the lasagne dough myself. The bolognese sauce simmers over low heat for at least six hours. I grate the cheese with my delicate little fingers. My lasagne is a thing of beauty and a joy for about ten minutes.
P.S. I also rock the world of fairycakes.
4 My feet are extraordinarily ugly
My husband, who loves me enough to smile lovingly when I sing (whilst others weep) and thinks it's cute when I have a pimple, refers to them as 'the feet of a mutant bald hobbit'. They really are. Like fleshy bricks, with toes attached.
5 I love naps
I don't sleep well at night, but put me in a horizontal position between the hours of ten a.m. and ten p.m. and I will instantly conk out. It's like switching a light off. I often don't even have time to settle comfortably: I become unconscious even as my limbs are flailing about, like a badly-drawn stickwoman. I wake up in a puddle of drool, with a leg folded up under my chin. Or similar.
6 I'm mathematically-challenged
Well, that shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone who reads my blog on a regular basis.
7 If I'm not fed every five hours, I get cranky
This is a condition shared by all the Gingerbreads. Meal times were - are - Very, Very Important in the Gingerbread Homestead. If food is not dished up promptly, the Gingerbread children mill around the kitchen door, whimpering about how staaaaaaarving we are, while Mammy Gingerbread mashes potatoes as fast as she can. Do not stand between me and my lunch.