Friday, 27 February 2009

No time for a title

Dear Internet,

You have gone and made me cry in the corner of the Office de Tourisme and there is a surly teenager with an arm in plaster sitting looking over my shoulder willing me to finish and picking his spots with the other arm. I have had to pretend I am choking, possibly on a Chausson aux Pommes. Mamie made some kind of peculiar bakery error which has left us with eighteen Chaussons aux Pommes to get rid of before tomorrow. Any leftover food is treated as a personal affront, so there will be a lot of pastry and apple purée heading my way in the next 24 hours. And although nearly everything improves for being encased in pastry, apple purée seems to be the exception. I have finished the boil in the bag fishies, so heaven only knows what tonight will hold. There are a couple of sachets of Knorr powdered soup left I think. The CFO has tried to persuade me that this is Mamie's hommage to Cuisine Moleculaire and that Ferran Adria does something similar. I have resisted kicking him. But I digress. The choking/weeping is a great look. Thank you, though, for your lovely words and thoughts. There will be no rashness. After fifteen years, noone is in a hurry to do anything and I am already getting vertigo from looking over this particular cliff.

The holidays are drawing to a close and I have been granted a day off throwing myself down mountains, crying in terror and drowning in my own semi-frozen snot. I am too slow for the CFO in any case, so Papy has stepped into the breach to do dangerous unpleasant things with sticks tied to his feet. Papy is a hero of the revolution and must be fêted with melted cheese and wine in a box and long, long afternoon sleeps with the Sudoku book resting on his chest. I am relishing the peculiar sensation of being able to move my legs relatively freely, and have taken them down to the Office de Tourisme again, to hog the single internet terminal, glaring at the broken limbed youths who come too close. The sun is glittering on the snow, sending shimmery darts of light off the walls of the faux wood chalets. Jaunty fleece hats topped with fake multicoloured dreadlocks are bobbing around in the nine hundred strong queues for the lifts. It is all quite picturesque, if you like that kind of thing. Can we take it for granted I don't? Yes, I think we can. I am wearing hiking boots. The words send a shiver down my spine. HIKING BOOTS INTERNET!! This is not good. We still haven't located any non fleece garmets, clean underthings, or deodorant. I am hallucinating Estée Lauder Advanced Night Repair, cappucino, Grazia and Miu Miu shoes.

Strangeness continues, certainly. It is terribly obvious, in this confined space, how much Mamie and Papy love each other. They have been married for forty two years and they still hold hands when they watch tv or go to the shops. They go everywhere, do everything together. The CFO and I have often pondered what would happen if they did not have the other. Mamie barely dares go to a down the road alone, and Papy would starve to death unless the tin cans of ravioli had ring pulls. I wonder what it must be like to grow up with that kind of model. I don't remember my parents ever being together, and even in their subsequent relationships, they valued time apart quite as much as time together. Does it matter? I suppose it shouldn't, but I do think it makes for very different expectations of what being 'together' is. These thoughts go around my head late into the evening as I listen to the jolly Dutch family above playing wholesome games and pretend to be asleep. I am getting nowhere. My brain is befuddled by altitude and powdered soup and lack of drugs and I cannot quite think through any of this.

Tomorrow we head home. Home to the weepette, and the filthy house and a cake baking marathon for Finger's birthday, which has crept up on me and is, apparently, on Sunday. There must be a ladybird that he can hit with a hammer, a parrot, and a 'surprise'. I am game, but any inspiration, gratefully received.

Two minutes connection time left, the spot picker is hovering closer and closer. Must go.

Adieu, cruel Office de Tourisme!

26 comments:

A Woman Of No Importance said...

Emma, Can you get a ladybird and or a parrot pinata in Belgium - Then your darling can hit both with a hammer! I am pleased you are considering nothing rash - and I don't mean the spotty teenager! Apple puree will count towards your fruit and veg 5 a day, but perhaps Mamie shall stew them this evening with Knorr on the side? They sound a lovely, loving pair...

Good luck this weekend, brave JW, you deserve it, (and your meds, and Miu Miu, and so not les bottes de hiking!) x

Marie said...

How about a surprise ladybird who hits a parrot with a hammer?

Stef G said...

Dear Jaywalker,

The internet also makes me do inappropriate things in public as well. I leave you to speculate on the kind of reaction caused by today's wf 'mencule'. I suppose it did get out of my usual lurker status as well.
Oh, and I enjoy your blog immensely.

xx
Stef

Ali said...

For one of mine I once made a cake that was encased in a chocolate shell. Normal cake, line large bowl with plastic film stuff and pour melted chocolate in. Let it set. Upturn it over cake (remove bowl). Decorate chocolate shell as required - red icing for ladybird? Then he can hit it with a hammer and it will smash to pieces revealing the cake inside. It was a hit.It was a real arsehole to make though!
x

justme said...

Hooray! You will be home soon, never fear, and reunited with the weepette who must have missed you terribly.
Sucessful relationships take many different forms. What works for one couple totally will not for another and we all have to find our own way. The difficulty arises I suppose, when you have different expectations of what feels right. Still, 15 years is an indication that something has worked.....
As to the birthday surpise.....A large wicker cage for Lashes to sit in while wearing his lovely parrot costume perhaps?? And perhaps a large, egg shaped cake? ( A parrot egg, of course!)
It will be lovely to have you home. Not long now! Hang on in there.....
PS. I used to feed my ( now long dead) cat those fish in a bags. He loved them! With frozen peas.

Twin Palms Road said...

Courage ma grande

So looking forward to your return.

Anonymous said...

I'm new to your blog, and a lurker as well, but I just wanted to pipe up with a story you might find helpful?

My parents are old now, and have been together for 35 years. When I was a child (around their 12th anniversary), they had struggles. BIG struggles. These struggles continued for a few years, but they decided to fight through them. Now they are the happiest they've ever been. I'm glad I have that to look back on - sure it wasn't always fun seeing that as a kid - but it gave me faith in love!Also, like I said, they are very happy together now. They're glad that they made a decision to stick it out.

Hope you make it home soon! Glad the vacation is almost over - there is nothing worse than being forced to ski for several days when you are terrible at it - I know! Your legs get shaky, and you'd just as soon sit down and die. Here's to meds, fancy shoes, and wine in a bottle! :)

Z said...

The first thirty years are the hardest in a marriage. Some of them, anyway.

Liberty London Girl said...

I was going to leave an idea, but pinata blew me out of the water! Brilliance. My head is fried by refusing to go to sleep at night for the last week, so please forgive lack of interest in this comment which is really here to send you love LLGxx

screamish said...

yeah, come home soon, Im bored

Zed said...

Are you still stuck on top of some mountain? Good lord woman, come home. Belgium is far more exciting dontcha know.

Red Shoes said...

Darling, darling GET YOU HOME! And may magical fairies have cleaned it to perfection for you while you were away. And lit the fire. And made you a proper dinner. With tea and best possible chocolates for after. May all of these things come to pass, amen amen.

If not, at least let your internet be strong and steady.

P.S. *deep longing sigh* Ferran Adria < / chef crush >

Iheartfashion said...

No matter how unfavorably Mamie's cuisine compares with El Bulli's, it will all be over soon and you'll be home with the Weepette and your own food and drink.
I think the spending every minute together type of marriage may be more a generational thing, as my grandparents were exactly the same way. He worked; she cooked and cleaned and they spent all their spare time in one another's company for 65 years. I don't see many couples in their 30's who follow that model. Personally, I'd die without a little time and space to myself. My birthday wish, which is Sunday as it happens, is for a day alone.

GingerB said...

We love you, please come home. I waste less time reading your blog than I do obsessively checking to see if you've posted. I started reading blogs when I thought if I blogged I might release the stress that sometimes has me drop my head and wail and sob and then straighten back up and pretend I've got it all together. Instead, I spend all my time reading a select few blogs and not relieving myself of stress at all, but I do laugh. So get back home and entertain me, dammit. And, oh yeah, get a handle on that family life too. A family vacation is no time to make decisions - the expectations of the people involved are too high and the lack of comfort in your environment will skew your perspective. Be careful. We love you!

wv: flucten

Mya said...

Once there's some distance between you and Mamie, hiking boots,queue-jumping ski-ing wankers, cabbage soup and bagged fish...things will become a lot clearer...if not a lot more settled in digestive/emotional areas. Meds, the weepette and your own bed will sort you out a treat.
Perhaps you could dress weepette in a parrot costume and have her float in on an upturned red washing-up bowl, bejewelled with black corn plasters? Can you imagine how crap birthdays are chez nous?

Enjoy, and be kind to yourselves.

Mya x

pinklea said...

Soon, baby, soon you'll be back home with your weepette and your pharmaceuticals!

mothership said...

I'm getting a strange sense of deja vu about the whole parrot thing.. We need that housemaid back so she can be tarred, feathered, pinched and hit with a hammer..

Actually, Pinata a BRILLIANT idea - we have them here in LaLa land all the time, no party complete without children beating innocent cardboard animals to death in gruesome bloodlust frenzy. if you can't find one, just make one - get cardboard box, roughly cover it in tissue paper or just paint the damn thing like a ladybird and fill it with sweets and maybe a toy parrot - pet shop? Then parrot IS the surprise, and there is enough sugar around to distract anyone from amateurish type paint job.

Right, that's enough Blue Peter. I'm beginning to make myself sick.

You chose a very auspicious day to have Fingers - how clever of you to have him on my birthday!
I shall raise a glass to you both on Sunday.

ladyfi said...

Perhaps the surprise hammer could hit you on the head with a ladybird?

Poor you - all that snot, fleece and terrifying downhill skiing...

Wife in Hong Kong said...

Dearest Jaywalker, welcome home!! I write in joyful anticipation of your return to civilisation and total internet immersion. May you be embraced by quantities of Estée Lauder Advanced Night Repair, cappucino, Grazia and Miu Miu shoes. We missed you as you missed them. And may your reunion with the meds help you see clearly. Expectations can and should be managed. Good luck. We're rooting for you.

Juci said...

I know I am being selfish, but I turned thirty this week and my mood is not exactly celebratory, so I need you back real quick.
I'm rather short on cake and surprise ideas, sorry. I don't think Fingers is too interested in trucks, is he? 'Cause a friend of mine made a cake for his son that was shaped like a log truck, it looked pretty great and she said it was quite simple. I can email you a picture and some details if you're interested.

Lisa said...

I see from your tweets that you're home now. I hope that you've retrieved the weepette, popped a couple of pills and not keeled over from overly strenuous baking activities.

nearly everything improves for being encased in pastry

That has to be one of the best quotes I've read all day. Although my mind wanders to those things that don't improve by being encased in pastry.....

bevchen said...

Are you home yet? It feels like you've been up on that mountain for centuries!

Phoenix Berries said...

Sending you wishes for non-tinned or boil in bag foodstuffs. I hope this weekend is restorative for you.

justme said...

OOOPS! Just realised is FINGERS birthday.....not Lashes....
So...no idea at all. But looks like you have lots of other people who do.
Hope you are home and in clean clothes, reunited with the weepette, and any available drugs, and also eating normal food....

Madam Z said...

I found your blog through "That's Why" and I'm glad I did. You are very entertaining. Your discovery that not "everything improves for being encased in pastry" reminds me of my recent discovery that not everything improves with the addition of chocolate.

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