Cinema tickets (Le Monstre de Paris, whimsical animation with Vanessa Paradis and a giant mutant flea, quite tolerable)
Pile of old tissues
Purse with only English money and cards in
About 11 centimes
Orthodonist/usurer's appointment card
British Gas pen despite not being a British Gas customer since 2005
Bratano stickers to be lost and never redeemed
Squashed chocolate "cup cake" (misnomer) - 4 for €1,30 which was an unmissable bargain even though they were a bit dry
School menu for November (highlights: seitan balls and the horrific DRIED FRUIT DAY, November 24th)
Tangerine, approximately three weeks old
Pointless empty plastic ball
Fifty euro gift card from Diane Von Furstenberg, for whom hope plainly springs eternal, even in the face of overwhelming evidence that I never buy her wares since cleverly taking up this new career that pays me approximately -€123 a month after tax and professional charges.
Several leaflets for stables
Lanolips lip ointment in Rhubarb, like a figleaf of normality
Found these in a side pocket: Lego mummy and tuft of some kind of animal fur. Oh, and I've just found some Nurofen 400 in the useless purse of English money, so that's a bonus.
On top of this catalogue of crapness, I went to a meeting today, having carefully got dressed in nearly clean clothes and worn foundation and everything, only to get home and realise my "hair" was full of toothpaste. Properly, an alarmingly large quantity. I can't even work back to any kind of understanding how on earth it happened, I'm just fixated on spending the morning talking to the exquisitely dressed manager of an exquisite modernist hotel, with a head full of Sensodyne. I am 37 in three weeks time, I earn less money than when I graduated and my future employers paid me to go and listen to tort lectures 3 times a week AND I have toothpaste in my hair. Which is not even my hair. What is the moral here, hmm? No, don't even tell me.
"Uccle Verité" shots of the week:
We tried to go trick or treating, with limited success (Belgian tv halloween coverage was limited to "how many chrystanthemums have florists sold this year for placing at cemeteries"). The boys wore fitted cot sheets, like so, in yet another triumph of parental can'tbearsedery:
In my defence, I should say that neither of them wanted to dress up at all, but I said that if they wanted to extort confectionery door to door, they had to make some degree of effort, and this was our compromise. In my FURTHER defence, I should say we hosted a Hallow-win party last weekend at which I did all sorts of try-hard stuff, like apple bobbing and pacman ghost shaped biscuits and crap carving of squashes and wrapping small children in budget loo roll. Anyway. I think we can conclude that another year has passed without Belgium quite getting the hang of Hallow-win. There were many non-carved pumpkins simply placed in front of shop doors again, like so (these still make me laugh).
2. Sad Stuff on the Street candidate
I'm trying to find a narrative that fits, but I just can't. "That looks like one of your shoes, Maman!" said Fingers. I sent him up the chimney shortly afterwards.
3. Autumnal supermarket display
I love my eldest child's expression of hooded distress and bewilderment here faced with Angry Stuffed Fox. He hasn't spent enough time at his grandfather's Yorkshire hangout, which is full of crap stuffed creatures of many varieties.
What's the nastiest thing currently in your handbag? Alternatively make me feel better and tell me about a time when you unwittingly looked a complete arse.