Never mind having a sit down - I need a lie down...

...to recover from a really rather busy weekend - for us, that is.  The Lovely Husband and I are shocking homebodies and don't tend to go out as much as we ought to.  But this weekend we were hardly in.  And it was all fun, apart from some unfortunate underwear chafing.

So, Saturday, as you know (if you read my last obsessional post) I went for my last run of the week.  I typed the post almost literally as soon as I got in, all red of face and slick with sweat but before I'd jumped in the shower.  While scrubbing away, I discovered something most disagreeable.  The elastic around the right leg hole of my undercrackers had rubbed the skin raw and, what's more, it had started bleeding.  Ouch.  This is not good.  My first running injury!  I got online and discovered that I shouldn't have been wearing cotton underwear, something about it not wicking moisture properly, and manmade/specialist fabrics are best.  Or you can try using an anti-chafing product which (according to a messageboard I frequent) is actually nothing really more than a glorified antiperspirant.  Or you can go commando.  Eww.

I investigated specialist running pants for ladies and found some online at Gear for Girls which is an online sports shop in the UK that only sells womens' sports clothes. I've ordered a pair (blimey, they're a bit pricey for a pair of kecks) but I'm resigned to having to going commando until they arrive.  I'm a bit bothered by the thought of the seams in the undercarriage of my cropped running leggings and how 'interesting' that might get, but I'll give it a go.  For science.

Then, eventually, 5 o'clock rolled inexorably around and I shuffled off to the kitchen to start making dinner when TLH suddenly suggested we get a curry delivered.  Hooray!  I knew I'd married him for something!  And while we were waiting for that to arrive (bless 'em, our local curry takeaway not only delivers but frequently only takes about 10-15 mins from taking our order to knocking on our door), I got a text from our friends Joe and Samantha, who now live opposite us in the close, suggesting we all go for a pint in a bit.  Double Hooray!  Seeing as how the utterly fabulous Danish murder mystery 'The Killing' has now finished on the telly, there was nothing to stay in for, so after stuffing Lamb Bhuna, Chicken Tikka Dupiaza, boiled rice, Sag Aloo, Brinjal Bhaji, Tarka Dahl and 2 plain poppadums down our necks (I'm not going to weigh myself until the middle of this week 'cos I'll just get depressed otherwise), they called for us and we walked to our nearest pub, which is about 5 mins away.

The inside was pretty full but as it was still fairly warm outside, we decided to sit in the garden until we got too cold.  I really like Joe and Sam, they're interesting people who both have colourful backgrounds that I wish I could tell you about as some of their escapades would make your hair curl.  But they've come through everything more or less unscathed and are successfully bringing up three teenage boys, and no-one's died in the process (so far).  We did eventually move inside where we were extremely lucky to be able to get the table that has two upholstered rocking chairs at it.  This is a fine idea for a pub and I recommend it to the house unreservedly.  Sam and I grabbed the rockers while the two boys had to make do with the ordinary wooden dining chairs although, in the interest of fairness, we swapped over halfway through our pints.  As it does when you're with people you've known for a very long time (I've known Joe for 24 years and Sam for 18), the conversation was wide-ranging and freeform, and finally ended on how likely you would be to do karaoke (I admitted you'd never get me off the stage) and the exact level to which we thought David Bowie was influential on today's bands.  A lot, but probably without today's bands realising it, we decided, and this was a good thing.

That is until, on Sunday, TLH and I heard what can only be described as the carbuncle of noise that results when someone covers David Bowie classics in a 'swing jazz lite' style.  Aaarrrgggh!  Kill it with fire!  We were doing a new craft fair in a small village hall about 15 miles away from home and the organiser had brought along her iPod to provide background music.  Her taste was really rather eclectic and quite interesting.  It started off with some salsa, which you tend to find yourself grooving along to while not really listening to it, and then you twig and think 'hmm, this is catchy and it's got a good beat!' but then, as the morning wore on, the music got definitely weirder.

We'd set the stall up and were sat behind - TLH with his laptop, and me crocheting African Flower Hexagons (which will look something like this when finished:)

And her playlist went from catchy Latin tunes to unrecognisable big band swing that started to go...well, I can only describe it as the sort of music that would be playing in the dream sequence of a particularly unfathomable David Lynch film.  Maybe 'Lost Highway'.  Chord sequences that are okay on the surface but just weird enough to make you feel a little uncomfortable.  In the style of late night, mellow dinner jazz that's playing in the background and you're not paying attention, and then, slowly, you start hearing the weirdness creeping in and wondering if you really heard it.  Then it repeats and you think, 'WTF?'  Very, very peculiar.  It may have been a soundtrack to something for all I know, I should've asked her really.  Her taste was obviously for jazz as it then moved onto standards covered by a female singer, someone like Diana Krall or Jane Monheit, and then to 'proper' jazz, a sax four-piece doing those kinds of numbers you can't sing along to because they're improvising all over the bloody place.  John Coltrane or Charlie Parker,  that sort of thing.  I can admire their skill and ability, but I wouldn't choose to listen to it.

And then, as we were packing up to leave, on came the excrescence that was the jazz lite covers of the David Bowie songs.  A whole albums-worth.  TLH and I stared slack-jawed at each other when we realised what we could hear.  Honestly, I can't describe just how truly appalling it was -  I've googled for ages to try and find who it might have been playing so I could see if there was anything on Youtube to put up here but to absolutely no avail.  Which, believe me, is a blessing.  It was wrong on so, so many levels.  But hugely entertaining nonetheless and, I have to say, overall more welcome than the godawful music we have to sit through at the other main craft fair we do, where they play nothing but horrendous Hooked on Classics and bloody, bloody panpipe music.  After hearing the same CDs there over and over again for the last 5 years or so, a bit of David Lynchian melodrama would go down just fine!

To continue with our weekend, then - we got home from the craft fair (which was moderately successful but I'm not sure if we'll bother doing it again) and had just about enough time to eat before heading off out yet again.  This time it was to go with our mates Joe and Sam to see the stand-up comedian Micky Flanagan play at a nearby town.  I really should remember to take some tissues with me when we see comedians - I ended up wiping the tears on my sleeves which, I think you'll agree, is dead classy.  I thought the woman sitting next to me was going to pass out from lack of oxygen she was laughing so much.  If you get a chance to see him live, go for it.

We got back home by about 11pm and I had the first unbroken night's sleep in, ooh, about three weeks.  Hooray for busy weekends!

And if that's not enough, today's our 15th wedding anniversary.