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note to self
Sunday, 2 April 2006 08:54 pmRunning an SCA event - or, possibly more accurately, running around picking up after an SCA event - all weekend is not, in retrospect, the best way to deal with an outbreak of the lurgi, especially when said lurgi is showing signs of retreating back into its cave like a good little beastie. It's now back in full force. Apart from general exhaustion, sore feet from cooking and wrecked knees from dancing on a concrete floor, I'm sneezing like a mad thing and snuffling like a beastie in a cave. Bleah.
On the other hand, the event went well and was rather gratifyingly full of SCA fighting, which, while it's something I don't find interesting to watch and have absolutely no interest in doing, I find pleasantly atmospheric. Lots of big men, made even bigger by padding and Kloes That Klank*, stomping around waving pseudo-swords and drinking beer and discussing butt wraps. Or something. I'd say that the smell was clearly testosterone, except that it's even more clearly sweaty fighter. Todal, our small, evil black cat, has something of a sadly misguided fetish for smelly fighter gear. I'm personally not sure how she can sniff the heaps of discarded armour without actually passing out.
* a totally obscure quote from The Starlight Barking, which is the sequel to The Hundred and One Dalmations, which is, as you all know, a novel by Dodie Smith and only latterly a mostly bastardised animated adaptation by Disney, the topic on which I have not yet finished writing an encyclopedia entry. (See what I did there? No reference so obscure that I can't get guilt out of it.)
On the other hand, the event went well and was rather gratifyingly full of SCA fighting, which, while it's something I don't find interesting to watch and have absolutely no interest in doing, I find pleasantly atmospheric. Lots of big men, made even bigger by padding and Kloes That Klank*, stomping around waving pseudo-swords and drinking beer and discussing butt wraps. Or something. I'd say that the smell was clearly testosterone, except that it's even more clearly sweaty fighter. Todal, our small, evil black cat, has something of a sadly misguided fetish for smelly fighter gear. I'm personally not sure how she can sniff the heaps of discarded armour without actually passing out.
* a totally obscure quote from The Starlight Barking, which is the sequel to The Hundred and One Dalmations, which is, as you all know, a novel by Dodie Smith and only latterly a mostly bastardised animated adaptation by Disney, the topic on which I have not yet finished writing an encyclopedia entry. (See what I did there? No reference so obscure that I can't get guilt out of it.)
