Wednesday, 2 December 2009

Three thoughts only

Where were we? Let me brush these fragments of chip off my keyboard (it is, after all, la semaine nationale de la frite, an occasion for lavish celebration of everything deep fried and starchy) and reflect for a moment. Nope. I have no idea. My brain is entirely addled by bingeing on horrible, mawkish, addictive, Grey's Anatomy and Cadbury's Caramel bites, lying prone on the Ektorp with my head on the dog and occasionally having a post-traumatic episode about Belgabastards (no, still no connection).

I think I can wring approximately three thoughts out of my head. Let's see how it goes. I might collapse in a drooling heap in my horrible tuna salad before then. Yes, I am once more in McDonalds, my premier lunching venue, and we all know who's to blame. I'm sitting right next to the loo, where the fearsome dame pipi is creating some sort of toxic Harpic storm. It's delightful.


First. Look what Gina made for me to celebrate my birthday. It's a finger puppet scene of carnage. Not any finger puppet scene of carnage though - a BESPOKE scene of carnage made to my exacting, birthday diva, Mariah Carey, specifications. I actually think there's a successful business model for bespoke finger puppet scenes lurking in here somewhere, maybe somewhere along with the arse biscuits and the top secret internet dating project that Mrs Trefusis and I fantasise about in our idle minutes. Who's in? Shall we go on Dragon's Den with an ill-thought out project to make evil stuff to order for people?


Second. I have an article in Elle UK this month about abortion, which came out today. It was odd to write, reliving such a difficult part of the last few years (and I don't specifically mean the abortion, more the whole, hideous Paris experience), even odder to reread. Seeing"I felt ashamed and inadequate" in large letters next to my name felt appropriate though. I reckon you could take a cross-section of me at any given time and it would be 20% shame, 40% inadequacy (though let us not forget the rest, composed of 20% sloth, 20% absurdity). The edits are sensible and well done, but of course there are bits I feel peculiar about. I'm not sure, for instance, that having an abortion was "the biggest decision in our relationship". I suppose if we had decided to go ahead and have a third child it would have been, but as it was, it just seemed to form part of a general mêlée of intractable, tangled problems. The decisions to move to, and then back from, Paris were exceptionally hard, too. It was a sort of blur of horribleness. But now? It still feels entirely the right thing to have done. Stupid to end up in that situation, but I would never, but never, have had the emotional wherewithal to deal with another child.

I'm quite amused that the CFO should be called "Tom" in the article. Tom is the name of his parents' now-defunct dog, though admittedly the belle-mère does frequently shout "Tom!" when trying to remember the name of one of her sons. He came to a Sticky End though. I cannot divulge more, save to say that the dreadful fate of the pontypines, flushed to oblivion, pales in comparison. My fault for not finding him a pseudonym myself, though. And a huge thank you to Alice at Elle for getting me the gig.


Third. I have had to engage a dog walker for the four days a month I really REALLY can't deal with the weepette, due to whining, pissed off children having no desire to trail around a cold muddy park. Yes, I know, they should have been more soundly beaten from an earlier age, and sent up more chimneys. I have been remiss in this, as in so many things. Anyway. Dog walker, further proof of my Krug lifestyle aspirations on Special Brew income. The dog walker, whose name is Isabelle, came round last night to interview the weepette (it cowered and whined insistently though becomingly). She plans to take the weepette to the luxurious country residence of a COUGAR. Ok, it is not actually a cougar, it is a cougar weepette, and there is no such thing as a cougar weepette to my knowledge. But! "Moon" is apparently a very elderly but sprightly lady weepette who lives in a gigantic mansion with its own extensive grounds. She has recently lost her longtime gentleman companion. Oscar will be engaged to raise her spirits.

Now. Does it not seem to you that if the weepette is to be enlisted as a gigolo for the pleasure and edification of a geriatric lady weepette, surely he should get PAID? And where does the dogwalker lady get off pimping my weepette out? Dogpimp more like. Of course I am actually delighted that Oscar will get to gambol in the lap of luxury and might come back with diamond studded collars and mink coats. I nourish a secret hope that Moon's owner will fall in love with him and propose a dog share. For large numbers of euros. That would be perfect. So, Oscar, you know what you have to do. Operation weepette seduction.

Meh. Onwards through the rain and the sleet. There is a rumour that Belgabastards are coming tomorrow, and if they do, rest assured you will be the first to hear about it.

16 comments:

Sarah, Maison Cupcake said...

When did the Pontypines get flushed? Good job my two year old doesn't know.

Hats off to you having a second child never mind considering a third. I can barely cope with one. And I don't work either. It's quite tragic.

Harpic Storm! Uggh!

Mya said...

Congrats on the Elle article - well done you.

I laughed so much at your previous post - did you really call them FCs at Belgacom? I so want to believe you did. And fucktards...priceless. I shall be nicking that one forthwith, thankyou very much!
Wish Oscar luck with Moon - I'm not too hopeful though...a dog called Moon? Imagining calling it in the park. You'd sound like a whimsical cow.
Eat more Caramels.
Mya x

Soda and Candy said...

"Operation weepette seduction."

Here's hoping Oscar secures himself a sugar mama!

w/v: spitant - this MUST be a French word, right?

Margarita said...

Congrats on the article. I wish I had known it was la semaine nationale de frite, or I would've forgone the chinese food for last night's dinner and gotten a poutine.

Iheartfashion said...

Congratulations on your Elle article! Now I shall have to shlep over to Barnes & Noble (the only place that carries the UK version) and pick it up.
I can't believe you have survived this long without home Internet...you are a saint for not storming the Belgacom office.

Sabine said...

Loved your 2 last posts (especially when I accidentally read 'I cowered and whined insistently though becomingly') Reading your blog always reminds me that I have not a chance in hell to ever become a true Brit because I'll never be able to climb these heights of verbal self-destruction combined with hilarity... This might be the first time I'll buy an Elle. Congrats!

Jaywalker said...

Mya - I truly did. In English. Like a crazy spitting lunatic. Ah well...

pinolona said...

I got a copy of Elle at Ebbsfleet, congratulations on the article!

you can use my internet if you get fed up with McDonalds (purely selfish offer actually cos I need distracting from indecisive boys and concours applications and I have some very boring corporate French translation yawn)

katyboo1 said...

fantastic news about the article and the weepette porn project. xxx

teddy said...

why is your DOG'S life like one of the more rich and intriguing dickens' novels and my sad measly human life, is like something out of the lidl customer catalogue?!
it's got to the stage where, for the right money, i would pimp MYSELF out to some glorious dripping in diamonds lady dog..
only for the right money of course...

Jaywalker said...

Don't worry darling Teddy. I am on my 4th greys of the evening, covered in dog hair and wispa crumbs and in pyjamas. So I'd pimp myself out to a lady dog too.

teddy said...

'confessions of a canine rentboy' i can see my very own blog coming to life before my eyes...
all i need now is my upmarket businesswoman pimp in a sharp, yet subdued vivienne westwood suit and dimanod studded aspreys dog collar...

Vince said...

I have a good friend that lives in Knokke whom I've visited a number of times. Now I live in Ireland and have lived about 10 years in RBK&C. But every time I'm in Belgium I cannot get over the feeling that I'm visiting my parents house. Everything seems so SANE. Even when they are having fun, where the UK and Ireland has that edge of insanity, think Francis Bacon they have PP Rubens.

Z said...

Darling, now that you're hitting the papers so often, I suppose you've already gone back and deleted anything that the people it's written about might not care to read? Being witty about neighbours and in-laws and suchlike is very entertaining for us, and you do it with no malice at all, but it could be disconcerting to read about oneself, especially as one would know that other acquaintances are reading it too. You are too kind to give casual offence.

If you do or have edited, best to delete this comment too.

Mud in the City said...

Hats off to Oscar. He also may enjoy this 'surprised kitten' clip. It is the small things that keep us sane: http://www.boingboing.net/2009/11/30/surprised-kitten-is.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed:+boingboing/iBag+(Boing+Boing)

Top Bird @ Wee Birdy said...

Congrats and well done on your Elle feature. You should feel very pleased and proud!

All the best for Oscar and Moon - good lord! xx