I've been moving all day today. Spent the morning doing housecrap : waiting for the groceries to be delivered, doing laundry, changing the bed linens. I was supposed to meet some of the guys from work at the Grafton center at 2:30, but the laundry took longer than expected and I cut it a bit close, but I got there on time.
Ran some errands. I bought myself a roasting pan I'd been lusting after for a while (it was half-off, which finally decided me on the issue), got some Whittards goodness. I was able to pop into the fabric shop (that's been having a going-out-of-business sale for the past 2 months) to get some more fabric for the last screen I want to make.
I went to La Senza to get something nice for Katy. Apparently, English men cannot shop for lingerie on their own. It's just Not Done. I walked in alone – Katy was working today again – and as soon as I walked in, two different sales clerks came to my “rescue” and asked repeatedly if I needed any help. Jeez. I mean, I've shopped for undies before and I have a good batting average, according to Katy. I don't know if it's a cultural thing or not, but the other blokes who were in the store with their girlfriends were all blushing and looking like they'd rather be having a root canal than being seen in a undies shop. Now I know I have little to no shame, but come on. It's La Senza, not Sexe Cité…