However. There are several bright points, not all of them involving lying in the dark rocking backwards and forwards and eating Daim eggs.
Lashes, for instance, has, unprompted produced a Household Charter, like a UK government department ten years ago, full of unlikely to be fulfilled pledges and idiosyncratic spellings. French speakers will particularly enjoy (4).
I'm not sure what (3) is supposed to be, my best guess is "grogne", as in complain, bitch, whine. If it also applies to me, I will definitely be the main contributor to the ice cream fine box. There has been some discussion about the size of the box for fines, but he claims he has measured it exactly to hold €5, enough for 2 double scoop ice creams. I am faintly concerned as to what can have prompted this, particularly taken in conjunction with his decision to put his pyjamas on at 5 this afternoon, and to request raw cauliflower for dinner. My best guess is that he has done something extravagantly terrible at school I don't know about yet. I am prepared for the worst.
The weepette tail incident was pitiful, pitiful. I did not see what happened, but heard him yipping in misery (we were in the parc du caca). After some discussion with the Portuguese woman with the giant Rottweiler, who thought it was his "bijoux", I realised his tail had gone all floppy and took him to the vet. The vet rarely disappoints. Today I was also party to a conversation where a woman revealed that she left her boyfriend because he was unwilling to accept her Pekinese's prostate problems. I live for this kind of thing. Apparently Barry - that's the Pekinese, not the boyfriend - has total urinary incontinence due to his prostate problem. The boyfriend knew when she moved in, but even so, it reached a point where he asked her to choose between him and Barry, and apparently, even though she was very much in love with him, there was no contest, it was Barry all the way. We all of us sat, rapt, listening to this tale: me with my broken tailed whippet, the man with the horse sized doberman with a stomach upset, and the woman with the geriatric husky that needed its thyroid function tested. There was a woman with a cat too, but she went outside to wait after Barry peed on her boot (I am not even joking, he really did).
The Pekinese was almost worth the €102 I was charged to find out my dog is stupid enough to sprain, but not to actually break, his tail in a feat of possible stick based idiocy. During all this time Oscar was unable to sit down and hovered uneasily an inch off the ground, the picture of whippety misery. Anyone who has ever bruised, or fractured a coccyx will know exactly how that feels, and as someone who has had the embarassing arse x-ray myself, I was sympathetic. Look, here is the offending appendage, floppy and useless (welcome, keyword searchers!):
Apart from that, I have watched in growing disbelief as my neighbourhood proves that it is basically a small provincial town, as large groups of my neighbours have gathered to stare at holes in the road. Whenever I go past said holes there are at least 5 or 6 people looking at them attentively, as if they must contain the secrets of the universe. They are spoilt for choice at the moment as every day a new hole springs up somewhere in the immediate neighbourhood, none of us has a clue why, just the excitement of not knowing whether we will be able to get out to buy our crates of Jupiler and copies of Le Soir. Heady times of uncertainty in Uccle.
Also, this local window display pleases me:
1. Why is green the universal colour of cellulite and fat fighting? How did this happen? Even the sleeping man's sheets are green. I'm not sure green has the necessary aggressivity to deal with my stubborn deposits. I want a black and silver cellulite product with white chevrons, please.
2. Are the men of Uccle particularly susceptible to chiselled chested pharmacy advertising? This is the first place I have seen the arrival of spring heralded by MALE cellulite product advertising. I welcome this equal opportunity body fascism, obviously.
3. Perhaps if the men of Uccle are very cellulite prone or merely very cellulite intolerant, they should consider a form of exercise other than standing and staring into holes? Nah, just kidding. Mes semblables, mes frères, let us celebrate our shared belief in the magical powers of seaweed based pomades by walking very slowly to the end of the street to buy an ice cream, then coming back to stare down some more holes.