14 February, 10pm. The children are sleeping, the dog is sulking in a corner. I have made myself a sub-standard (though homemade, actually the two facts are not unrelated) pizza, and I am half watching French Masterchef, each episode of which appears to last longer than Der Ring des Nibelungen performed largo. The other half of my psyche is bathing in a gentle wash of panic, as usual. Around me, all is squalor and chaos, as it should be, I think the sofa I am sitting on is 43% crisps, 30% biscuit crumbs, 26% fox shit, 1% lost keys. It is ULTRA ROMANTIC. I am also giving thanks. Let us take a moment, on Valentine's Day, to remember Valentine's days past, and give thanks for never having to live through them again. 2010, I am looking at you. I cannot do much more than look at you with pursed lips on this, a family friendly weblog, but consider yourself stared at disapprovingly, with narrowed eyes and a cat's arse mouth. Do not think I have forgotten your laughably terrible antics. See also: every Valentine's day from the age of 10 to 19 (years of nothing occasionally leavened by some horrifying card based declaration: best friend's younger brother, Stuart the French horn player with the terrible acne).
Small mercies, my friends. Other small mercies:
- I had an excellent trolley in Colruyt today. It was the veritable Rolls Royce of Colruyt trolleys, fully mobile even if you dared to look to either side at the produce, in flagrant contravention of Colruyt trolley handling rules. It still had the turning circle of a 500 tonne articulated lorry, but apart from that it was wonderful.
- Actually, the fact I went to Colruyt is a mercy in itself. It will take, oooh, at least four days for the locust-like infants to work their way through the biscuit mountain and I have a five kilo bag of prawns and three bottles of exceptionally cheap Cava. What more could any woman want? Hang on, it's the second time I've said that today, I am going to check what the first time was about.
Oh yes, it was me talking to M (are you reading M's Singapore Noodle Tumblr? You really should) about B, and it went:
"he sends me rainbow unicorns set to gay disco, baby animals and reams of profanity. What more could any woman want?"
What, indeed. Prawns, cava, profanity, baby animals, disco unicorns. Have I missed anything?
- You were all very kind about my hair. You ARE very kind. Wrong, but kind. I do hate it fractionally less today, probably because I haven't walked past a mirror.
- I fixed my own fucking thermostat! Ok, not my own fucking thermostat (if I have one, it would take more than new batteries to fix it), the fucking house thermostat. AND reset the clock. This is a feat of dizzying competence. How empowering. For my next trick .. actually, nah. There is no next trick.
- I watched this three times. It makes me feel strange. I can't express it really. I hate Queen, and I hate everything military (Quaker school), and yet, and yet. I'm confused about every aspect of it. Aren't some of them rather attractive? Why does Belgium need such a large boat? Where does it live? Why is Alf from Home & Away in it? I think I need to write to a problem page about my Confusing Feelings, I need therapy, I need to investigate further. That's not really a mercy is it? But it will have to do.