Hmm, should I admit to this?

I'm pathetic. I have the tiniest cold but combined with my less than spectacular record for a headache-free life, I have been completely floored by it. At least I can practice having a good moan because I have spent the last two nights alone with only crappy television as consolation; Cameron AND the spaniel have gone Christmas Caroling (is that a word??) around the village streets with a group of friends from church. I wanted to go with them, not flunked out on the sofa with only echinacea and cups of tea for comfort. I am positively wallowing in my own self-pity.

One thing has cheered me greatly—I want to become a MORRIS DANCER! I always have and now the possibility awakens! Three things makes this a viable proposition for me:
(a) there exists a local group (what is the collective name for Morris Dancers?) It's named "Basingclog" and meets in Monk Sherborne, only the very next village away...
(b) the uniforms are cool in that entirely uncool fashion (although I'll have to readdress my 'never wearing a skirt again' philosophy if I go throught with it)
(c) it's a entirely useless hobby and therefore fits in nicely with my collection so far—speaking Gaidhlig, 17th century print production and playing the tuba...


They also wear red socks and the coolest shoes...