Saturday, 13 November 2010

Belgium's Fludde

A further 24 hours of rain and small boys/dog demented with pent up energy. Let the festival of spinal fluid drinking begin ("don't let them start laying eggs on your eyeballs", counsels M, mad with jetlag in Singapore. "I'll try", I promise, a bit shaky with dregs of old wine and exhaustion. "But I have no fight left. And I think my eyeballs are trying to leave my head anyway").

Things threatened to degenerate badly this evening when Lashes pulled down the curtain pole and its orange towelling curtain (inherited from previous tenant and much discussed this time last year) into the bath whilst trying to squirt a water pistol out of the bathroom window, because obviously there was not enough water in our lives at that point. They didn't degenerate, in the end, well, not much, though I did find my lip trembling a little when Prog Rock chose that particular moment to tell me about Rilke's juvenile travels. We played Piranha Panic instead. I might have to call on The Assassin to fix the curtain rail. When I saw him earlier this week for a further installment of The Terrible Things I Have To Do But Can't Talk About (Except To You), he offered to teach me how to shoot. On balance, I'd rather he taught me basic plastering.

Three tipping points into the floodwaters of lunacy:

1. The shitty pointless Ikea rug "non-slip" underlay that manages both to stick out in an unsightly fashion AND be totally without function. It's in the process of taking on some kind of meta-significance in my life.

2. The eyeball gougingly slow woman on the desk at the hippy museum, whose inability to count past about 8 means that 50 people have to stand outside, in the astonishingly consistent rain, for 20 minutes past opening time. Also, the new exhibition - and each one lasts FOUR YEARS (that is literally correct, I am not exaggerating) - is a bit dreary.

3. The kitchen table, currently only about 14% wood visible, the rest craft supplies, a seemingly infinite number of mainly lidless felt tip pens (but none of them black or red), abandoned amaretti biscuits half chewed and rejected, cunningly concealed essentials such as knives, scissors, keys and cables, and a pile of creepy Ensor themed colouring.


Three tiny life rafts:

1. Prog Rock walked the dog. Twice. And brought me two Cadbury's caramels and an advent calendar. He has gone now, sadly.

2. The children are mainly extremely sweet and charming and good company. Filthy and feckless and loud and in my face, but charming.

3. Reading this. I was actually riveted to my bed when I started this, and unable to move until I had finished it, even though I could tell from the noises off that the children were helping themselves to Kinder Buenos and strawberry bootlaces for breakfast, then unwrapping amaretti and wondering whether they could reach matches, and the dog was systematically emptying, then messily chewing up, the contents of the recycling bin.

Do let me have yours. I am going to watch baby pandas in the dark, in bed, fully clothed.

9 comments:

M. said...

Tipping points:
1. The lumpy, matchbox sized pillow they give you on the plane. I may have sobbed a little on it and wondered idly whether they ever get washed.
2. The whiny, bitchy, unpleasant woman who stole my lovely seat-with-two-extra-empty-seats on the plane under some sort of "leg operation" pretense. Bitch.
3. The 3 giant suitcases of crap I can't find anything in, that I will have to live out of for the next 2 weeks.

Tiny life rafts:
1. The cashew nut jar, staring at me gleefully atop the mini bar. And his tempting little sister, the mini champagne bottle inside the mini bar.
2. Warmth. Sweet, sweet warmth.
3. The "Roasted Pig specialist" a 30 second stroll away from the hotel.

Betty M said...

Tipping points:
1. The baby has started to bite when feeding.
2. Being woken up at 6:30 again.
3. 800 verses of 5 little men in a flying saucer.
Life rafts:
1.strictly come dancing
2. Coffee

It's worth reading the Hilary Mantel article in full in the LRB -brilliant.

Johnners said...

Tipping Point:
1. Smallest child refusing to sit still whilst eldest one played football (I know, I know, but it's been a very long time coming.)
2. Weighed myself at the parents' house and therefore couldn't retreat anywhere to have a good cry.

Life Raft:
1. Seriously cannot think of one right now.

WV = mingi [I rest my case]

mountainear said...

Tipping point since you asked: Stupid Welshpool people - mostly in Morrisons..

Tiny Life-rafts/Tiny life rafts:
woodburner, cava, stroking dog's ears.

Madame DeFarge said...

The pool of water beside the bath, after M. DeFarge discovers yet again about the displacement effect on water.

Margaret said...

Tipping points:
1. The dimwitted girl on the train blithering nonsensically into her cell phone.
2. I can feel my cold sore coming back.
3. Still 96 laps to go in the Nascar race.

Tiny life rafts:
1. Middle-aged husband snoring delicately next to me while he "watches" the Nascar race.
2. Lovely sauvignon blanc.
3. Cat snoring delicately on the armchair.

puncturedbicycle said...

On one hand:
1) Dog is demented and senile and I fear her eventual death more than almost anything. Also, she is waking me extra early every morning and pacing, just for fun.
2) I have handled renting out my flat in a spectacularly incompetent manner. Details will only incriminate me further.
3) 'They' have stolen. the petrol. from my car. And broken the cap for good measure.

On the other:
1) I will get a haircut from the new magic fantastically expensive hairdresser this week. YES I WILL.
2) I'm getting stuff done, esp the stuff I've previously been avoiding by procrastinating like a child, so progress is being made.
3) Meeting friends on Thursday for delicious dinner and many drinks.

Bonus: I am not so hard up that I need to steal petrol.

WrathofDawn said...

Tipping points:
1. New computer still does not like old software
2. Still working 12 hours days and will for forseeable future.

Tiny life rafts:
1. Weight Watchers continues to work. Am shrinking by small, WW-sanctioned amounts.
2. Still divorced. Can marriage come back like cold sores? I hope not. I'd enjoy a cold sore more.

wv - drant - negative expression, i.e. I drant expect I shall ever want to marry ever again.

http://www.essay4money.com/ said...

All these factors make a perfect platform for wishing an even better holidays! Domestic tourist market grew saturated, we should move beyond the boundaries!