Meeting the parents

So here ends a very lovely weekend with the yet more lovely purplegirl23, in which I traveled to a ridiculously stereotypical welsh ex-mining town, and met her parents. They were also lovely.

In more detail: I met her sister again (and acquired a few more bonus points); met her mother and father who were lovely and happily three years old respectively; met her grandparents; met all but one of the closest group of her friends from school and sat there bemused as they discussed other people from aforementioned school; met her Godmather Auntie Thelma and discussed the complexities of having a possible toy boy at 83 (though I may have the age wrong); marveled at how everyone seemed to know everyone else, or failing that knew their parents, grandparents or at least someone who'd have known them; wandered around Porth (it's small); watched Team America World Police finally (which lacked taste as expected, and also Welsh people, but made up for it with humor and amazing specialness in unequal measure); got described as a perfect gentlemen by yet another person; defeated purplegirl23 at Super Monkey Ball in mostly close thought games; and generally relaxed and enjoy a very pleasant weekend in a house which isn't a building site.

Also on a related note as much as I find it immensely useful at times to have a threaded brain, which will happily work things out in the background, leaving me free to carry on with the day to day process of living, I do wish the standard output for a completed thought wasn't my mouth. It was a good conclusion, it just caught me off guard, leaving me somewhat off balance and trying to catch up with the rest of me*. Let's just say I am incredibly happy with purplegirl23, *bounce*.

*I have to admit I often feel like being me, means the bit that I would consider my conscious self is frantically balancing on the iceberg of my subconscious self, as it wanders lazily through seas of potential thought.