It was very difficult getting to sleep the other night. I was preparing for bed and had just cleaned my teeth (every single one of the flippin’ blighters – they were so clean that I could’ve eaten my dinner off ’em), and I was contemplating moving the various small children who’d somehow ended up in the bed. The Stoic Spouse was asleep.
Being a 21st century sort of a lass, I checked my phone one last time. There was a congratulatory text from a close friend… something about an award…
I nudged my brain cells (both of them) to wake up and apply themselves to the matter. Award? Award?!
Had my brilliant contribution to the world of singing-in-the-shower received the recognition that it so richly deserves? About time, I’d say. Maybe the neighbours had nominated me for some shower-singing prize. The offer of a recording contract must surely now be mere days away.
Or had my ability to gargle the William Tell Overture (as taught to me in childhood by my father*) captured the attention of some awards committee somewhere?
I replied to my friend’s text with a flurry of question marks. But she had by then switched off her phone and gone to bed, being as she is rather better at adulting than I am.
Time for some online sleuthing. Sadly, I failed to uncover any evidence that my shower-singing or my gargling had won a prize. Perhaps I should sing louder? Maybe the neighbours just couldn’t quite hear it properly?
However, I’d known for some time that I was shortlisted for the knit/crochet blogging category of this year’s British Craft Awards. Just making the shortlist was exciting in itself: it never occurred to me that I’d actually get anywhere beyond ‘that weirdo outlier’ status in the final shebang.
But I found THIS online!
Each award category had one winner and two runners-up. Lucy from Attic24 won the blogging category, and the runners-up were Winwick Mum, and me! “Gosh” I thought. Also, “Squeee!” Mostly “Squeee!” But it was nudging midnight, so there was absolutely nobody awake whom I could tell. (Unlike me, Winwick Mum went along to the awards ceremony. She’s penned a lovely post about it HERE.) And that, my fine and fibrous friends, is why it was so difficult to get to sleep on Sunday night. I was too darn gobsmacked.
So to anyone reading this who voted for this site, thank you, thank you, thank you, from the bottom of my wonky heart. It’s an odd thing, pouring out all this yarny lunacy onto paper, typing it up, and pinging it off into cyberspace. And I’m humbled and grateful that so many of you considered this blog worthy of your vote.
And now, I am going to go and sing Bohemian Rhapsody in the shower. All six minutes of it. Very, very, loudly.
∗ I’m not even joking about that. The Twisted Seniors took very seriously their parental duty to ensure that their offspring left the house equipped to deal with world. And thus, Mother Twisted taught me to remove my bra without taking off my top, and Father Twisted taught me to gargle the William Tell Overture. As for the rest, they pretty much left me to figure it out for myself.