Day Three started with stiff bones and lots of complaints. I was feeling tired from ragged sleep and groaning muscles. The morning started at 9am in the Fine Arts Life Studio with an hour-long discussion before Alan arrived at 10am to pose for us. Today we were to look at coutours *around* the body. I get confused with the two ways we used the word contours, and I guess I wasn't the only one because our first attempt at this exercise didn't yield what Marianne was expecting. She demonstrated and with our collective *ohhhhh*s we got back to work drawing the contours that defined volume. Mostly I felt my pictures ended up looking mummified. It was a very relaxing set of exercises, mainly for me I think because I'm used to visualising in a 2D world.

Lunchtime came around soon enough and Pat and I decided to walk the two blocks into Victoria Street to find comfort food for me/to shut me up. I was feeling really stiff and sore. The great thing about small-town New Zealand is that good pies are much easier to find. I also wrangled a custard square and felt better even though Pat teased me about using a knife and fork to eat it. After our lunch a la '73 we wandered back to class, stopping at Drews for coffee-to-go on the way.

The afternoon saw Anna back to model for us and we did a series of gesture drawings, this time using a kebab stick and ink. I've done some great work in the past with this medium but today wasn't one of those days.

I was getting worse and worse, and grumpier and grumpier and time was moving slower and slower'r. God, it was a long day. I was missing my phone, missing internet access, missing blogging, missing chatting, felt a million miles away from everyone. My arms were stiff and sore and my hand refused to draw what my eyes saw. And to top it all off, I got ink on my trousers. I was having a really bad day.

The day was much sunnier and it'd been very warm in the studio which didn't help my mood at all. I wanted my shoes off and grass under my feet so when we got home after class, Pat and I dragged one of the couches out the door and onto the back lawn of the flats to drink our ginandtonic/vodkaandorange (plural). It was so nice in the sun and the grass was surprisingly dry. That nice spikey short grass that sticks up through your toes. It was also nice to get out and away from Mrs Bates who seemed to be rather huffy and aggitated. Her body language in the kitchen while I fixed drinks indicated impatience and exasperation and the only reason I could see for that was that Norman and Leedom were talking in an animated jovial manner at the dining room table and *she* wasn't part of it. Eventually Mrs B took herself away to her room and everyone seemed much happier for it.

In a little while the flat next door through open it's doors and the women there dragged their couch out to join us on the lawn. I didn't actually ask their names until Friday [turned out to be Bron and Joslyn] but they were friendly and funny and good company [you know, normal]. They were doing the flax weaving course and had spent the day out cutting flax with their tutor observing the protocols and tradition the flax weavers use when gathering their resourses. Best of all, the flax weavers drank wine so it was a merry old time until it was time to put our shoes back on and make our way to the Museum for the scheduled Summer School tutor slides show.

We'd not got around [we'd gone to the movies to see Ocean's 12 were Pat'd fallen asleep and I had siezed-up] to going the night before to see Owen Mapp and Hanne Mapp [bone maker/jewellery maker respectively]. We settled in to the lecture room in the Wanganui Museum to listen to Helen Geier and Dianne Fogwell, Australian printmakers. The speakers were good although the first speaker was a little nervous but the work was outstanding. We decided we wouldn't miss another presentation. Mrs Bates and Jill had come along too, and I noticed they left at intermission (after the nervous presenter) and that was a shame because Dianne Fogwell's presentation and slides was just fascinating.

The gardens around the Museum are planted with parsley, so I stole a bunch-or-two with the idea that Pat could make scrambled eggs [comfort food] for dinner when we got back to the flat. Such a good plan. Pat makes the best of everything and her scrambled eggs are no exception. She sliced tomatoes onto the toast before putting the fluffy golden goodness on top and along with the cup of tea [not on top but beside.. in a cup] - it hit the spot squarely and my grumpy mood disintergrated into warm tiredness.

After dinner I went upstairs to my room and watched Laputa on the laptop before trying to sleep through the night again. I did a better job, but still had huge room for improvement.

(oh god, this is getting *really* boring isn't it? *losing the will to live*)