I will tell you that with three and a half days of rainy Brussels nothing to fill, time has slowed to the measured plod of a slightly chilled red footed tortoise. Whilst this is a challenge, it is also rather peaceful. I have accepted I will get little or no writing done this week, I have relaxed most of the rules and I am trying to enjoy it. Lashes is slightly warm and clammy and wants nothing more than to watch endless hours of The Simpsons whilst asking feebly for biscuits. Fingers wants board games, and Nintendo. They both want to 'wheelbarrow' the dog around by its hind legs until it gets snappy (I figure the dog owes me this much after the Fridge Disgrace). At one point this evening I found Fingers crouched on the kitchen table drinking water straight from the jug to wash down the biscuits he had stolen. Then the pair of them disappeared upstairs with a large ball of string to create a giant spider's web in their bedrooms, something which invariably ends in injury (teaching them that particular trick was not my finest parenting hour). It's all going feral and so be it.
Anyway. I had a lovely bath with Fingers tonight, as a result of my momentary zen acceptance that this long bank holiday weekend was actually going to last forever. We lay for about an hour in the rapidly cooling water, testing which shower gel and soap made the best bubbles and it was very peaceful and calm, apart from the occasional yelps as Lashes tripped himself up in his lethal string mantrap and the guilty clink of weepette collar on biscuit tin from downstairs. It was all lovely, indeed, until Fingers, poking apprasingly, told me my breasts were like basketballs, farted on my stomach, then fell about laughing. I live in a frat house. I might as well accept it.
Now I am going to light a Diptyque Feu de Bois candle and listen to some kind of warbling counter-tenor early music, and hide in my bed for as long as possible. The fridge will just have to take its chances like the rest of us.