Shut up about the damn dog
Oscar has found himself a regular perch on the chair in the kitchen.
Here he sits, reflecting on the wisdom of Marcus Aurelius. He finds the stoic philosophy one that has many lessons for modern life. He often considers the celebrated maxim:
'Does aught befall you? It is good. It is part of the destiny the universe ordained for you from the beginning. All that befalls you is part of the great web*'
He finds this of particular comfort when he realises he is able to get up onto the chair, but not back down from it.
Here he is thinking of Moscow, so far away. Sometimes he sighs.
More often he farts.
I overheard a Dutch builder sneeringly refer to him as a "ratte" today. You can see why he looks so pained.
I have added some stuff down the sidebar. Rubbish looking stuff, but I felt the thirst for novelty. if anyone has any clever ideas of GOOD STUFF to put, please can they tell me? This blog looks like crap. Not as bad as my house, but still. I WANT A SHINY BLOG. Other people have aesthetically pleasing blogs! I want one. You deserve one.
They have multi-storey bike car parks. Wow. This was about all I saw in my three hours there, though there were some interesting gummy menthol sweeties handed out free at the conference of doom, and miniature eclairs which were a nice distraction. I wore the people's choice Reiss dress with the red shoes and felt rather glamorous and Hepburn-esque, despite the cold sores, handbag full of detritus and wrinkled opaque tights. Red shoes will do that for a girl**. I asked the CFO how I looked and he said "très rouge" in a sort of censorious fashion, pursing his lips. I ignored him.
My presentation was dull and aimless. The Kong Arthur man was less dull, but more impenetrably weird. I resisted the temptation to use the excellent powerpoint slides Pochyemu prepared for me from her bed of pain, even though they were way better than mine, and included the following line:
"You’re all Dutch anyway, so what have you got to cry about? You’re tall and thin and can smoke weed until you fall over stupid. And you’ve got prozzies running around everywhere...So fuck you! You think you’ve got problems, try living in Belgium!"
Excitingly on the return journey, I thought the taxi driver was trying to chat me up when he said "my shift ends now, shall I take you out to the airport", but then I thought perhaps he was just asking me if I wanted him to drive me all the way to there because he knew I was on expenses and wouldn't care. Either way, the moment of quite possibly imagined erotic potential was lost when he hit a large seagull. We tried to decide whether it was stupid, broken, or drunk but inadequate language skills on my side cut the debate short. I still feel we shared a moment. Like, Before Sunrise but with a seagull instead of Julie Delpy? I feel this is worthy of note, since the last time anyone spontaneously made overtures - even imagined ones - to me, it was the dishevelled looking chap on Avenue Louise who told me I had "magnifiques seins .. mais je dis ça uniquement parce que ça fait 5 mois que j'ai pas couché avec une femme" (magnificent breasts, but I'm only saying that because I haven't been with a woman in five months). Er, merci?
*PG Wodehouse fans will know that the correct rejoinder to this is "He said that did he? Well you can tell him from me he's an ass"
** As with the silver Anya Hindmarch shoes last year, however, these Rupert Sanderson beauties are now causing me problems of conscience. She holds Tory FUNDRAISERS and he's friends with Samantha Cameron, so I learn in Vogue this month. I cannot be subsidising the Conservative Party with my shoe purchases! Say no to Tory shoes! Argh.