status of various kinds

Today I referenced Gramsci in this bloody book. I wondered what was missing before - clearly that was it. Scared now. *flees Marxists*

And, yes, I've been working, pausing only to attend weenandjane's incredible pork spit-braai joint birthday party thingy this evening, at which I ate way too much and explained to Jeremy about how, on account of his age, he's the only man in the world who's ever got away with pinching my butt. (dragonroost, bystander to this interchange, saw fit to inform Jeremy that men had been struck down with strange plagues at the other side of Cape Town for even thinking of less. It's a wholly unsupported assertion, but he can contribute to my mystique any time he likes.)

Having horrified witterers with the above, I shall now soothe you with pictures of my renovated bedroom, on account of how I promised my mother and everymoment that I would, lo these many moons ago, and then forgot.

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From the left: maidenhair fern; Arthur Rackham Bottom/Titania poster; sewing box; Lois McMaster Bujold's A Civil Campaign; Morris chair borrowed from ex-supervisor; owl cushion embroidered by mother; chest of drawers containing jewellery box, hand-painted mirror, cherished flagon of Lagerfeld's Sun, Moon, Stars; swanky maple-flavoured floor; Wilton diptych lodged hart; bed with beautiful hand-appliquéd Thai counterpane from Naga; Burne-Jones wood nymph; bedside stack containing, from the ground up, Postmodern Pooh, unidentified book I think may be a random Pratchett, Michael Marshall Smith's What You Make It, which I do not recommend for light bedtime reading, blurry Dick Francis, Bujold's Brothers in Arms. Note pleasing green walls and absence of fungus, drips and House of Usher cracks.

Bunny Threat Level: amber, intensifying with high-status theoretical references.