Shoes and Nibs

What is it with mothers? I mean, perhaps it a mother/daughter thing and most of the readership is spared this horror, but mothers are, well, annoying. Not that I don't love my mother (at the risk of turning into the cliched bar room drunk, I love my mum, I really, really - hic - do) but she suddenly got a bee in her bonnet about my shoes. What?! Apparently the bog-standard choice of footwear I've always relied upon on all occasions is simply not good enough for The Wedding. Eh? It's a wedding, not the second coming. But she whittles away at me until I feel compelled to at least look.

And against all the odds I suddenly manage to turn the fortunes of this week right around by finding not only some mother-acceptable shoes, but they also turned out to be half price. That, my friends, is a miracle. Couldn't quite bring off a double miracle in getting her to accept the more comfortable shirt over the one she said I have to wear, but we'll call it a score draw.

Seriously, I'm too old to be this bossed around by my mother. It's like a really bad comedy film. The sort that only makes you laugh in a thank-goodness-that's-not-me sort of way. Rather like one views clowns. Joy; I'm a clown. Ack, I may have to resort to getting through the rest of this week in a haze of alcohol as the only way.

Still here? More fool you; I'd get out of here if I was you. I would, if I could. Okay, in woodworking news you can pop over to the Old Tools Archive and see the galoots getting all snipe-y and irritable with each other over saw nibs. This one's particularly lovely. Yeah, I did keep out of it, but only 'cos I know the answer. No, I can't tell you, but it has something to do with cutting tails first...