Awkwardness

I've had what you might call an intriguing day. It began with my getting up far too early (nine thirty, on a Saturday!) and subsequently going off with Pedar to Costco to get something done about contact lenses. I've been wearing glasses for fifteen years; time for a change, methinks. So off we went, and I tried them. It took several attempts for me get the damn things in my eyes, and once I'd done that, well, it was unpleasantly like being drunk. It wasn't as if I couldn't see, either - I could see quite well if there was an obstacle in my way, but I walked into it anyway. Thunk. I managed about ten minutes, which I consider an achievement, before fleeing for my glasses. I'm going to try again next week.

That done, Pedar and I went into Liverpool for a while, because he wanted to "do a few things." The few things were rather varied. He wanted to buy a christening present, for one thing. Yes, we're going to another christening. This one is a far less ostentatious affair, and is for one William Tait. Helen's son, whom I refuse to babysit for (nothing personal - I feel a lot of people would refuse to babysit a six-month-old baby for their own protection), but whom I have met. Laura, his two-year-old sister, cannot say "William", so she calls him "Lumlum." Upon hearing this, Pedar heaved a deep sigh and muttered darkly about "nickname for life."

Anyway, we had to buy a christening present, and eventually found a cute baby blanket. As well as that, Pedar wanted to go to camping/outdoorsy-type shops and look for fuel for one of our wick lamps. Apparently nowhere in Liverpool sells either paraffin or kerosene, and the lamp won't take methlylated spirit. Pedar's solution is novel and intelligent and will no doubt make my life very difficult. Unfortunately, he recalled something I had mentioned in passing. On Thursday, I did an enthalpy-of-combustion Chemistry practical, and it involved putting various alchohols into spirit burners. It was actually quite fun; you could set fire to all kinds of things. Anyway, Pedar has delegated me to go and ask the Chemistry department where they get their stuff, ie methanol and ethanol and propan-1-ol, etc. Failing that, he wants the constituents of crude oil.

I foresee much scratching of heads when I make this inquiry. Unrelatedly, I discovered that the ethanol we use is not in fact pure ethanol. It has methanol mixed in it, otherwise we would have had to pay duty on it. Also, the thirds' experiment where they distill the products of fermentation is technically illegal.

But I digress. Once Pedar and I had done this, we had to go and buy twenty-five kilos of basmati rice (we only buy rice twice a year, so it's an occasion) and twelve tins of chick-peas (no, I don't know why). It was just when Pedar was manhandling the bag of rice that my phone rang.

It was Patrick. I talked to him with Pedar in the background, complaining about rice and tins and the world in general, and we arranged to meet as usual. As it happened, I didn't have time to go home first, and was somewhat self-conscious about my hair faintly resembling that of a dishevelled Womble, but it turned out I had nothing to worry about. It seems that due to a hitherto unprecented series of events, Patrick's hair is sticking out off his head in unwieldy spikes. I may have mentioned before that his hair is quite long (certainly long enough for him to have drawn my eye if I didn't already know him) and the end result makes him look rather... punk. Which is not a good look on him. I later learned that not only has he tried to get it back to normal with first shampoo and then Fairy washing-up liquid to no avail, but his entire family are now firmly in favour of industrial-strength oven cleaner.

But I'm skipping ahead of myself. I met him in Southport as usual, and we did the usual walking-around-drinking-coffee-talking-about-crap thing, but there was a difference this time. Patrick had said before that as Emily and Charlotte were having friends over, his parents had said that one more would make no difference, and would I like to come back with him for tea?

I agreed, but with unspoken reservations. It's all to do with meeting people out of context. I mean, I know him, and I know Emily and Charlotte slightly, as they are in my school, and of course I know Mrs Barry. The problem is, I know her in a firmly school-ish context - she's the Merchants' librarian, and while of course I was perfectly aware she is Patrick's mother, it's hard to actually get used to the idea. If that makes sense.

So, yes, I had reservations. But Patrick and I wandered away from Southport, discussing all manner of ridiculous things, primarily the reasons why the Star Trek aliens all are basically bipedal and human-like, except for their ears. And somehow, we moved on to Stargate from there, and I, thinking about shipperkitten, asked him what he thought of Sam/Jack. He said he could see it beginning, but it would never last. That's good enough for me.

In the end, it was good. Lots of fun. They (lots of them - Patrick is the eldest of five) made me very welcome, although Charlotte and Emily weren't there long. They were going to a Christian rock concert, of all things, to see a band called Delirious. I'd never heard of them. Neither had anyone else. But yeah, I digress again. I enjoyed myself properly and didn't feel awkward like I thought I might. The entire family are very eloquent and funny - all kinds of random stories were told. Patrick's dad is called Simon - he has to travel a lot as part of his job, and I think the funniest story told was how he was driving along in London and was randomly accosted by a rabbi insisting he be taken somewhere. They had gone halfway to wherever the place was before the rabbi yelled, "Hey, you're not Jewish!" And that wasn't the most surreal part of it, as it wasn't the first time it happened - another member of the family was once dragged in off the street and made witness to a Jewish wedding, and he was an Anglican clergyman!

They live in a rather huge, rambling old Victorian house that's stuffed full of all kinds of artefacts, all of which have stories attached. Patrick took me around, starting from ancient and spooky cellear, and then upwards from there. Like I said, I really did enjoy myself. The out-of-context thing didn't even become an issue. Mrs Barry was rather annoyed about a set of profiteroles that kept on going flat. Much amusement was had by all.

I went home a bit later than that, was given a lift, and arrived home in time to hear my mother in mid-rant. Thankfully, not at me, and she was actually rather calm and rational about where I'd been all day. I was impressed by that.

And as one last thing, I checked my email when I got in, of course, and I've been accepted into an RPG! I've never actually roleplayed before, so I didn't mention the fact I'd applied in here. Particularly as it has the potential to be a very popular RPG and there were apparently quite a few applicants. But, well, I'm in. The game is glitterverse, and it's based on Fairy Boys, ie a Harry Potter/Velvet Goldmine crossover. Drenched in glitter and full of rampant bisexuality, of course. I'm playing none other than Remus Lupin, when he was fifteen and covered in glitter and sort of in love with Sirius. This should be fun.