This weekend's theme is Epicaricacy

In fact, this emotion, not the noblest in the world but surely one of the most satisfying, is building so strongly in Queenie that the temptation tickling the back of her neck is to not blog about snow and politics and the book she is reading today, but instead to loll around on her sofa all afternoon in red silk pyjamas and a cashmere blanket, with a box of chocolates and The Princess Bride, cackling evilly, and maliciously rolling the word on her tongue to Marissa in an I-told-you-so kinda way. Unfortunately, Marissa is studying for her Finance exam, so Queenie had better not try to divert her attention too much, even though she was suitably delighted when Queenie read out the email.

Epi-cari-cacy. Your job sucks, does it?

Oh dear!

Epi-cari-cacy. You hate the people you work with, do you?

Oh no!

Epi-cari-cacy. The cell phone doesn’t work that close to the Artic Circle, does it?

How surprising!

Epi-cari-cacy. This adventure lark isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, is it?

How upsetting!

For you I mean!

R.A.(O.S.I.R.S.P).L.M.A.O.

Epi-cari-cacy. You’re wondering am I seeing anybody else yet, are you?

How nice of you to be so concerned about my happiness.

OK, I’ll behave. But I deserved my ten minutes of running around the house shouting ‘More vindicated than Albert Reynolds, more right than Fergus Finlay’.

I did.

Previous to the receipt of the epicaricacious-inducing email, this weekend’s theme was to be snow. I spent all day yesterday out in the snow behaving like an eight year old, so all I had time for was posting the photo, so today was to be a public rumination on all things snowlike.

But it was raining this morning when I woke up and it’s to rain all day apparently, so the snow will melt and flow away. Last night, I asked Joe the barman where the snow goes when it melts and he didn’t know. Into the Harbour I suppose.

So I don’t know what the theme will be now. I’ll go and get dressed and have a think about it.