1. I have lost two tortoises.
They are out in the back garden somewhere, for sure, but where? Since Fingers helpfully watered the garden into a swirling maelstrom of dogshit and earth and crushed greenery and stolen socks (damned weepette), I am even less inclined to ferret around in there with my bare hands in search of well-camouflaged tortoises than usual. What to do? At times like this I wish we had gone through with the CFO's initial idea of putting a Jack Bauer style tracking device on their shells, or, more low-tech but also effective, putting a 50c coin on their shells and using Lashes' metal detector to locate them. It is raining. They will be in semi-hibernation, and when, or if, I ever find them, they will look like this again:
Stupid fuckers. I rather love this photo. I love the obstinate way the tortoise continues to sleep even after I have unearthed it and carried it inside and taken its photo, laughing manically. And the filthy, filthy little legs. I feel a sort of kinship.
2. I am going to London
In normal circumstances I would be dancing a joyful techtonik air around the room about this, twirling my arms in stupidly solemn and hilarious ways and singing warbly songs about bagels and Liberty. But I am going because they are cutting a fuck off big hole in my brother's head for another biopsy, so instead insistent darts of fear keep shooting through me. Not for the operation itself, but for all that the next few months, possibly years, will hold. It's unthinkable. But I am going over doing what prog rock says humans must do at times like this, and "huddling". I will play with my niece and nephew and hopelessly hug people and make tea and maybe stew (shitty, awful stew that looks like credit crunch soup and makes them all cry). It's useless but it's better than being useless from afar.
I do have a firm date with The Internet's Most Glamorous (Mrs Trefusis, Liberty London Girl, Mothership, and India) while I am over there and am hopelessly applying streaky orange fake tan in preparation. I found the body brush behind the desk in the hall; it looked like Oscar might have been chewing it, so I am giving that a miss. I am still trying to find my Vanessa Bruno dress which was last seen hanging on the door in the cellar for reasons that remain obscure. Life FAIL. Sartorial FAIL. Tan FAIL.
3. Interviewing: another skill I do not have
I have interviewed six people in the last week. It's tragic. If they are good I just make happy, stupid faces at them and forget to ask any questions but instead tell them about how bad I am at my job. If they are bad, I want to put them out of their misery, maybe with a cushion applied gently to their face, my own face or both of us. Just to Make It Stop. Since that isn't allowed, I believe, I answer all the questions for them.
"So, do you have any experience in a legal environment? No, you don't, do you but I am sure your stamp collecting will be a great help in having the necessary administrative skills. Who needs law anyway? Ha ha!"
Ghastly. I know I should not fear the silence, but I do. I never want to do this again. I will just say yes to stamp collecting guy to make it all stop if necessary.
4. $1 million? We can manage that can't we?
Did you know that for $1 million the Chinese government will rent you a panda? I paraphrase slightly, but I am sure if we were to go to them with the money and a reasoned proposal for sharing the panda between us, they would be amenable. We could totally look after it. I mean, how hard can it be? A nice big blanket, a tree and lots of bamboo. Easy. The deadly M sent me this article. I think she spends her days and nights looking up 'animals to explode Emma's head' on google. I also loved the phrase:
"Baby pandas in the nursery must be frequently handled and rolled from side to side, like bread dough; otherwise their intestines can become flattened or distorted".
Surely, SURELY that must be the best job in the universe? I challenge you to think of a better one.