Busy, busy

I suppose it's not surprising that there's not been much time to write this weekend: today we went down to the boat, where it was BITTERLY cold, to introduce S to it - she coped very well, all things considered - did her usual spooked barking at novelty objects, at first, as the wind whistled through the rigging of the various boats, but before long was hopping on and off the seats of the boat as if she'd been doing it all her life. When she was settled, J and I got the ferry over to Portsmouth, where we went to the Jack Wills outlet - the uniform of her particular teen peers seems to be JW (why do all teenagers feel they have to dress just like the rest they mix with, unless they are goths or emos, in which case they dress just like the other misfits, instead: and it was just the same when I was that age: what is it about the developing psyche that does this?), but I have refused to buy her anything from there at full price, as it is far more expensive than I would usually consider for my own clothes, never mind hers. That was a dreadful sentence, stylistically. Anyway, we managed to get her 4 things that fitted and looked good, one of them cashmere, for £100, which isn't bad; thank you, retail outlet (and that will be it for a while, as February finance low water seems to have caught up with us again).
After the JW trip (and I also got a handbag in Monsoon (leather) for £15, which isn't bad either, plus a grey chiffon top in size 10 for £10, which was good on both counts), we got the ferry back, braving a pack of very scary 13 year olds, many of them smoking, on the way, and then all headed back home, stopping only for a brief geocaching visit to a random village in Hampshire en route. Then loin of pork with Mum, and the end of another weekend - and no washing remembered, yet again. Bad mother award, again.