Sean Bean is apparently English. How dare he, with a name like that! Although apparently the spelling was originally Shawn, and now I’m supposing it’s Bean like Mr. Bean, which just leads me down bad pathways. Doesn’t matter, he’s still dead sexy, and Richard Sharpe is rawr. Sure gets laid a lot for a man in the middle of a war, though. Laid by high-ranking ladies, even. Go, Sharpe.
Ted, who is a god among men, made prime rib and baked potatoes for our Valentine’s dinner. It was bery *bery* good. I made apple crumble, which is really to say I cut up the apples while Ted made up the crumble, and I put it in the over, and it was also bery bery good. A V. Nice Valentine’s day. :)
The morning at the Oxfam shop was fine. Least curious Irish people I’ve ever met. “Have you ever run a till? Good, then, do this that and this,” and off she went. Toward the end of my shift I found where the shop kept its “these are the CDs we have for you to buy so we’ll be playing them as background music” CDs, and naturally put in the Cajun one (the other two most interesting choices being bluegrass, inexplicably spelled ‘blugrass’, and a South African gospel that I’m looking forward to listening to). It was good, so I bought myself a copy. Maggie, the woman running the place, said, “Did you listen to this?” and when I said yes, said, “I’ve had five or six Americans who’ve volunteered here over the last year since we opened, and every single one of them put that CD in first.” *laughs* I’m not surprised *I* did, but I think it’s really funny that we *all* did. I did think, as the first few bars came on, that it really was very much *American* music, though. That was an interesting thought to have. Wouldn’ta had it a year ago. :)
I thought I’d defeated this cold, but it’s rallied and I’m completely zonked.
miles to Dunharrow: 124