A refugee from Ruritania?

I'm still sneezing hugely, several times, but only once a day. Very odd. It still feels like neither hay fever nor a cold.

I meant to tell you about a young woman waiting for a train at Liverpool Street Station. Her dress was so singular that I took notes. Here's the very note - this is what I wrote...

Item - Pink and black striped woolly stockings
Item - White broiderie anglaise bloomers (yes, honestly bloomers. I assumed it was a petticoat and then she bent down to her rucksack and it was long and stupid knickers)
Item - Black skirt decorated with sprigs of flowers and leaves with red tape edging and pink net frill
Item - Pink skirt decorated with flowers with red flowered horizontally inserted panel, edged with a frill of white lace
Item - a red top
Item - a pink top tied at the back
Item - Black hair in two pigtails

She looked quaint.

Today has been the sort of day when I didn't get done all I'd hoped. Nevertheless, I did get a good deal accomplished, so mustn't grumble. A couple of unexpected and long phone calls received, which were too important not to give full attention to. Awaiting news from Alexander, Steve at the agents assures me that he'll crack on and get everything sorted on Friday if necessary. I could have gone up tomorrow, but no real point as it would only have resulted in me offering to help when it isn't my responsibility, and by doing so I'd have got involved. As it is, Steve will check the place out for me.

The very best thing that could have greeted me on my return (well, a kiss from my husband was a given, not that I take the dear chap for granted, no, not at all) was a lovely letter and CD from Julie, the best bartender in Athens. Athens, Georgia, that is.