It may only be Wednesday, but already I would like this hellish week to be over. It has been nothing but bad news.
For instance: around about the same time that I was chatting on the phone to my Mum on Sunday afternoon GMT, a friend of mine in America was watching with helpless horror as his young wife collapsed in their living room after they’d watched DVRs together and planned a lazy Sunday. L was only forty-two, and she and O had been soulmates for twenty-three years. L died of a sudden and massive heart attack; nobody yet knows why.
Yesterday another friend’s husband was fired from his job. He had done nothing wrong, had recieved no warnings, nothing. They simply sacked him. Like me, my friend is chronically ill, and they needed the money to pay for her medication. I don’t know what they’ll do now, and I feel helpless because I can do nothing.
Then yesterday I suffered my own – albeit minor – tragedy. I tried on my wedding gown.
Beautiful, isn’t it? I’d ordered a matching bolero jacket as well, to cover my tattooed arms (the tatoos are tasteful, but you really don’t want them hanging out on your wedding day in spite of how much your future mother-in-law likes them). It was supposed to be fitted to my exact measurements. My gown for our Special Day.
Well, the company emailed me to request measurements for the jacket, which fits like a glove. What they didn’t do was ask for other important measurements.
They ran with the jacket and used those measurements to guess the rest of them. This gown has been tailored to somebody of Amazonion height with a back so narrow that it would rival a snake’s. I also have no idea how they can muck up a bust measurement so badly in a gown when they got it right on the jacket.
Thankfully I’ve managed to find another very pretty evening gown and jacket, but I paid a lot of money for this and am terribly upset. I have no idea how long it will take for me to recieve a refund, and the company who created this gown have succeeded in shattering every bride’s dream for me.
But it’s not all doom and gloom!
Good things are happening here at Tribble Towers. Last week I sowed six Romanesco Cauliflower and six Red Cabbage into my propagator, and two of the cabbage and one of the romanesco have sprouted! There might be more yet, but it’s difficult to tell because they have been sown in the horse manure that Dom gets from a nearby farm – and of course the manure is full of seeds and whatever else is in a horse’s diet. I might have an apple tree growing in there somewhere and I wouldn’t even know!
Because of this I am grateful that the seeds of red cabbage are – surprisingly – a bright blue. One seedling came up with the blue seed pod clinging to a leaf, and so I now know that anything in the cabbage/cauliflower/brassica family looks a little like a four leaf clover and have been able to eliminate everything that isn’t what I sowed.
Yesterday we made the final payment on our wedding venue. We are still waiting on the forms in which we choose our vows and let them know of any music that we’d like at the ceremony (I’m currently favouring Enya instrumentals); apparently they were sent to us a few months ago, but they never reached us!
I am adjusting well to my partials. In fact, my mouth actually feels more comfortable now when I’m wearing them! After the debacle of the first lower partial I was fitted with I didn’t expect that.
And now for some fanfic. I write quite a bit of it, but you would need to know the pseudonym that I use to be able to Google me. I wrote this shortly after the tragic death of Elisabeth Sladen – the one and only Doctor Who Girl:
The Night The Stars Cried
Bannerman Road was silent. Nothing moved under the pale glow of the street lights.
Hidden in the shadows stood an old blue police box, overlooking the quirky old manor house on the corner, number thirteen. Nothing stirred there; even the windows of the attic were dark and empty. Once upon a time the attic had been full of activity well into the night, the light blazing through the windows into the street. The lone figure who stood outside the old police box wondered what had happened to all the treasures that the old attic had contained. Had anybody found old Mister Smith, or was the poor old computer destined to collect dust within the walls? He supposed Luke would know what to do when he eventually came home.
Nobody could hold up the sky forever. Well, perhaps save for one man. One man who had already been eleven different men in his time. That would be himself of course. He had dedicated himself to protecting this one, tiny little planet but tonight the very fabric of time was askew and it could never be repaired.
He let his mind drift out into the night, where not a star shone. Were the stars mourning for her too?
Leaves rustled above his head and the emerald green Nissan Figaro crouched in the driveway, waiting for a mistress that would now never return. Nearby he felt Rani stir uneasily in her sleep.
The sky remained dark and silent. Nothing came, either to seek help nor to attack earth. Did They know? Did They genuinely seek out Earth specifically or were They as drawn to her as any human being, by her grace, beauty and caring nature? Since most of Them came seeking help he strongly suspected the latter.
Bannerman Road seemed bleak, empty. Wrong. There was no mystery here any more; no adventure or excitement. It was just another boring road in Ealing, West London.
He’d barely noticed the silent tears running slowly down his cheeks. Wiping them away on his sleeve he looked up into the night sky… and saw a single, bright, glowing star shimmering there.
For a moment he could have sworn that he heard her soft, sweet, caressing voice.
“Don’t forget me”
He smiled through his tears.
“Oh I could never forget you,” he said, his voice wavering slightly. “Goodbye… MY Sarah Jane”.
He watched as the bright star took off into the very depths of space, and stepped into the police box.
In the silence of Bannerman Road, the only sound was of the TARDIS quietly disappearing.