Consulting my photos over the last seven days I have:
1. A bottle of scent.
I got sent this by courier by a PR, which is about as exciting a thing as ever happens to me, apart, possibly, from the day we got VIP access to the giraffes in London Zoo many years ago and I was allowed to feed one a slice of Mother's Pride. It is Hermès. It smells nice, of flowers and so on. I took the picture thinking I could somehow find a way to thank the sender in a social media style, but I can't. I just feel embarrassed and shifty about that kind of thing. But you know, thanks, Hermès (this isn't quite cutting it I fear. THIS IS WHY I CAN NEVER HAVE FREE NICE THINGS).
2. Returning to more familiar territory, we have the Roomba ambitiously trying to eat a large metal boot remover in the shape of a beetle.
The honeymoon is over between me and Roomba, with all its officious whirring and attempts to swallow whole aprons in the manner of a boa constrictor. I appreciate Roomba and its stellar services, but I no longer love it, because of all the time spent trying to persuade it to disgorge cables and emptying its dust tray of Lego pieces and money and discarded socks and dental floss. Yes, I am a fickle bastard.
3. A picture of the dog hogging an expensive Svenskst Tenn cushion, just because he can. There is only one expensive cushion in the house and it invariably ends up under the dog's delicate head. I came in yesterday to find him licking it meditatively with the self-same tongue he uses to lick up pools of urine on the street at excruciating length. THIS IS ALSO WHY WE CAN NEVER HAVE NICE THINGS.
Very busy not giving a shit about your soft furnishings
4. Two pictures of my newly discovered spirit animal, which is a neurotic horse called Noblesse. Noblesse is sweet and well-meaning but she has a lot of nervous tics and unfortunate habits. "Oh Noblesse" I said to her yesterday, leaning my head against her neck whilst being careful not to touch her sore ointmented shoulder. "You shouldn't rub yourself raw". Then I remembered that I spend 36% of every day picking at dry skin on my face until it bleeds, and I let her be and gave her a piece of apple. She makes my heart ache.
Five other things this week:
1. I did a bird census in the back garden last weekend (if my seventeen year old self read this, she would beg to be put down like a wounded animal). I was somewhat hampered by being too short-sighted to see any of the birds and it was a bit tragic, me on my own, squinting out at the various Small Brown Birds in the garden in terminal confusion. Occasionally I would collar a child with a mad yet infinitely determined look in my eye and demand that they look at some pictures of various tits and compare them with what was lurking around the fat balls.
"Is that a mésange charbonnière or a mesange à tête noire?"
And they would get a sort of shifty look in their eyes and lie to me and then run away again. I have now learnt how to say "starling" and "coal tit" in French which is almost as useful as my extensive butterfly and soil variety vocabulary in Dutch. If I combine all my language skills you get something like:
"Starling! Loam! Dog is grey pink brown! Duck billed platypus! Happy new year!"
Maybe I need to go into surrealist poetry.
2. I watched this five million times, courtesy of M. "Can it like, fly and shit? " "Nah man, that's Pegasus".
3. I bought a cardigan. It is grey and unearthly soft and was in the sale and it is the first thing that is not food or a book for my eldest son that I have bought in an age. It is by these people, but when I wear mine I do not look like any of those haughty moddles with angular cheekbones, I feel soft and welcoming like someone's granny and like I probably smell of Yardley lavender and talc and might just open my stout handbag and bring out a packet of Rolos for you (my granny did this. She also had a biscuit barrel IN HER BEDROOM and this is now the standard of domestic luxury against which all other bedroom amenities are tried and found wanting). I doubt this is what 'Majestic Filatures' had in mind. The only problem is that now I need a post-it note attached to my granny cardy in the manner of Liz Lemon that says "DO NOT WEAR AGAIN UNTIL WASHED". Especially since the smell of Yardley lavender and buttermints is now joined by the insistent smell of Old El Paso Fajita mix. I forgot to mention that I was approached by Old El Paso's social media "team" a few weeks ago asking if I might like to link my Old El Paso posts back to their site. Erm. I believe the term I habitually use in relation thereto is "MSG and despair". I am at a loss as to how to respond.
4. My Kindle in its infinite wisdom mysteriously decided to unilaterally download Sheila Heti (or I pre-ordered it months ago drunk and forgot, this is conceivably the case). I have only just started but am loathing it with a fiery loathing. Have you read it? Should I force myself to continue?
5. Actually, there isn't a number five. I am going to Paris next week to stalk pâtissiers though, so there is a suspicion there may even be actually leaving the house style events to report. If you like poorly lit photographs of eclairs and reports of violence perpetrated against me by elderly ladies, that is, and honestly, who doesn't.