See? I tried to take a photo of the Grayson Perry dress, and it just came out looking, I don't know, nice or something. WTF. I suppose there had to be a reason why I bought it apart from overwhelming sensation of loneliness.
So I tried to take a picture of two other Grayson numbers (apparently, if it doesn't have a fuck off bow, you can forget about me buying it. Yes, the 3.1 Philip Lim blouse has one too. Duh). But all that that proved is that I am one of those serial shoppers we won't talk about when we start Hag mag and I like shades of sludge, eurozombie grey and black.
Ooh, settle down! Right here, your sartorial insomnia remedy!
How will I amuse you with pictures of dull dresses? But it does give me a credit crunchie idea for calming my spending. When I want to buy something, perhaps I could just photocopy a few hundred pages of stuff from my desk, staple it into an approximate shroud shape and tie a bow around it. Job done!
Hmm, what else. Can't think, too busy trying to ignore small boys. Lashes has his friend Talkative round and they are driving me crazy with their incessant chatter which for some reason must, imperatively, involve me. Surely this is not the point of having your best friend round to play? Should they not be up to Arthur Ransome style boyish japes? Stuff with sticks and compasses or something? Honestly, where are the nineteen thirties when you need them. Although the two of them have moved on considerably since the zizi phase they are still a Bad Influence on one another, each goading the other on to greater acts of smart-arsery. Talkative swears like a navvie, I note with interest. Given his father is strict to the point of Franco-esque, with a brood of three buzz cut, well-behaved boys who do lots of macho physical activities. I rather like this act of rebellion, even if he does keep talking about my 'cul' (arse) and how large it is. He's also still traumatised by last year's mistletoe and won't come in the house until I show him it's gone. He calls it "the kiss trap".
I do love how physically affectionate they are with each other. They are very Southern European, or North African, always slinging their arms round each other, or holding hands. It's very sweet. Unfortunately today, the sweet is cancelled out by the 'Christ would you ever SHUT UP'. I do enjoy a peculiar snatch of conversation where Lashes describes a mystical being called 'Nathan' who is a baby with wings. On further investigation it appears he is thinking of Jesus. This makes me wonder what they learn in "morale" classes.
In Belgian school, religious education is separated into different faith groups. Doesn't that sound like an amazing way to promote religious tolerance? Yeah! Make sure the different faiths never meet! Then you can tell each of them that the others eat babies without fear of contradiction. Of course, Lashes is in the "morale" group which is where the atheists (and, presumably, the minority denominations not meriting their own group - I mean, budgetary demands can't possibly merit buddhist AND satanist groups) go, where apparently they learn about the works of Nathan, and 'politesse' (manners). I know nothing more about it, except they need ten sheets of squared paper.
Lashes later tells me that he doesn't believe in God, but he does believe in Nathan.
"But is Nathan God?" he shoots at me.
Hmm, tricky. I am quite the hot shot at religious history, I could go into lots of detail here. I refrain. "Uh, yes, they are supposed to be part of the same thing, sort of, but mainly the people who believe in God think he is God's son".
Theological questions resolved, he goes back to filling his hair with small squares of extremely sticky plastic.
I promise to do better tomorrow. Either that or I'll make more cakes.