I am just sneaking in under the wire on the daily blogging thing today (and thank you so much for saying you are enjoying it, you are lovely). We have been out all day, and then I had a small quantity of wine and got involved in an incredibly lengthy discussion of taxidermy, because that's how we roll here in W8. I am lying in bed typing this, with my sacklike smock top (and possibly also my sacklike face, I have not checked) covered in melted cheap chocolate, stolen from children's Easter eggs that were entrusted to my safekeeping and which I have eaten. Plenty of time to replace them, Easter's not for months.
Today I skulked away into a dimly lit corner of the Natural History Museum while the children rampaged around with their pocket money (for which read 'money foraged from every surface in my house') and what happened? Lashes came back INSISTENT he must have what looked like an indistinct plush blob, one of the cuddly molecules he is currently obsessed with. I did not pay it much attention (I think my faculties melted down around the 700th interactive display. Honestly, what's wrong with a stuffed horse and a colouring sheet and, indeed, a shop selling nothing but tins of boiled sweets and souvenir pencils?) and shepherded him to the cash desk. I was thinking, with a high, to the point of obsessive, level of detail, about the precise composition of the cup of tea and cake combination I would choose when we got the hell out of there (lemon drizzle/builders, disappointing, but it hit the spot anyway. The spot is fairly large).
It was only when he asked me "c'est quoi, en fait, 'gonorrhea'?" that I realised exactly what he had bought. Another proud parenting moment. I would like to emphasise that we spent many hours looking at improving stuff in two museums. HOURS. I even found a dusty corridor full of decapitated birds to walk them along, bitching and saying their feet hurt:
This one in particular is fucking FURIOUS about having its head cut off:
But even so, gonorrhea. I am going to have to creep upstairs with the kitchen scissors and take the label off.
Here. Gonorrhea. It's cuddling up to e-coli and, I think, a streptococcus. Can you guess which one it is?
I had better sleep now, because science never does.