The Domestic Experiment continues.

[reddragdiva]

I am theoretically still at work on the Great Whitby Novel. But this is my weekend off, so I will do it when I do it. And the same for the Whitby photos. So there.

Thursday: Liquid Lab with Pure. Much discussion of the nature of crushes. Naturally, all of us have at least slight crushes on all the others, being as every one of us is so fantastically gorgeous, intelligent, witty and charming and with tremendous record collections. Also, we're all great shags. I left at 9pm, and so missed the never-seen sight of zoo_music_girl on the pish. Be sure to offer her a bottle of white wine next time you see her.

Friday: Two weeks after moving in, we FINALLY got the time to do some unpacking. So, of course, we unpacked about one bag and slept a lot. And it was gooood.

I would not go so far as to say our house is a lemon. But there are traces of a certain yellowish shade and a faint citrus tang. The shower is still an utter bugger, the bath drain is blocked and the oven doesn't work (the thermostat is convinced that room temperature is in fact 200°C). But the place is feeling more like ours.

Oh, and the hideous lino in the bathroom apparently resembles a William Morris design very similar to the tile pattern in Walthamstow Central tube. So it's not just crap lino, it's crap lino of local and historical interest. Of course, it's quite possible it's just crap '70s lino ...

Dead & Buried in the evening. zoo_music_girl has a more detailed report. The Zoo Music Girl Trad Goth Workout DVD is definitely a goer and will make us millions in white wine money. gothstevek also has a fantastic money-spinning idea that could revitalise the printed porn industry, but I can't tell you it. I danced my goth little socks off and discovered the N38 takes me straight from Tottenham Court Road to Walthamstow Central in about half an hour.

Saturday: Woke up with much more of a hangover than I deserved after four pints. redcountess and I slowly got our shit together and arkady came over to be amused at our domestic escapades over the course of the day. We went to Tottenham Hale Retail Park and drooled over stationery pr0n in Office World and appliance goodness in Curry's, then got a bus directly to Leyton (spotted Suzi and Aden browsing estate agent windows on Hoe Street) for Tesco. Liz had balked at paying five quid for home delivery the evening before (and the Tesco site has been coded by fuckwits), but the Saturday afternoon shopping crowd reminded us of why we had ever considered the option. (I believe the phrase "worth every fucking penny" had in fact been used at the time.)

After shopping, we adjourned to the King William IV, just across the street. A very nice pub and we recommend it, but do not drink their in-house brewed beers as they are pish. Try out halves of each if you absolutely must - I left half my pint of E10 Red Ale ("What do you expect, it's named after an additive" - arkady) on the next table. Because it didn't deserve to sit on ours. Then we taunted it mercilessly as the Billy No-Mates of beers. Or of things that can be called 'beer' legally if not morally.

This is my fourth domestic experiment. The first of these was an accident (my pen pal came to visit for a week's holiday, we fell in love, she stayed six months), the second and third were more planned events. None of those first three worked out, but I must say that domesticity agrees with me. Work, come home to loved one, shop on weekends, be exceedingly dull. It's a great way to live.

Update, 1:30pm Sunday: Liz has just named the potted palms in the bedroom. Weebl and Bob. This is deeply wrong and taking domesticity just that tad too far.