A return to the usual daily muttering.
1. I couldn't go to my riding lesson this week due to a meeting in a featureless Stalinist tower block in the lashing rain, which made me sad. I miss decrepit Noblesse and sturdy Gecko with his slightly punk mane and reluctance to do anything (I don't miss that other horse Nekao that walked sideways like an angry crab when you got your aids fractionally wrong so much, but nevertheless).
2. Chaos has gained the house. There are drifts of bank statements and caches of socks and casting an eye around the room where I am hunched in semi-darkness, also a lot of printer detritus and several apple cores. This is linked to the fact that I can't get out of bed in the mornings. I lie in a patch of drool until the very last minute and then drag myself up whilst discarding things around me as I listlessly trail my slug-like body from the kettle to the chair. Tidying seems inconceivably energetic. I'm going to have to invite someone round to galvanise myself into action. That, or set fire to the chimney again (I did NOT set fire to the chimney, neighbours). Or take some vitamins/minerals/baobab powder/virgin's blood.
3. A worrying tourist attraction opens in Brussels:
E: This. What on earth is it? Basically a lift in a metal tower? A lift in a box? WHY.
M: Grossness. The stuff of nightmares.
E: Just awful. Also, it'll probably break.
M: Or just trap you.
E: The lift operators, as Belgian public service employees, will of course take an impossibly lengthy 'heure de table', leaving hapless groups of tourists stranded.
M: They will forget about you, huddled in the sky.
E: Like penguins.
M: Against the Norse winds.
E: This is a terrifying vision. I must not enter the tower.
M: NEVER. Have you learnt nothing from Game of Thrones? NEVER ENTER THE TOWER.
4. All my joints ache due to advancing decrepitude and bad posture. What do you take for aching joints? Fish oil? My knee doctor once made me take liquid collagen shots, but if memory serves, they were rather dear.
5. I miss cake judging. I would happily eat any of those 24 cakes now. Any of them. Even the ones I placed last. Even the cream cheese frosting.
6. Some expensive eye cream sent for Facegoop shows every sign of being lost in the post GODAMMIT.
1. This could be up or down, actually, but I am delving in the worrying world of French pre-adolescent sex education literature, which is full of appalled, sniggery entertainment for a repressed and childish British person, with its blend of philosophising, breezy sextalk and photographic nudity. I like lines like "notre société est ainsi faite qu'on ne parle pas des éjaculations. C'est injuste". Which sounds like an essay title for the Bac philosophy exam. The effacement of ejaculation in society: discuss. I fear we may return to this topic.
2. My smaller child is coming back from his bracingly spartan week of Dutch at the Seaside (I imagine he now knows lots of words for rain and wind and possibly "help, there is a seagull in my bunkbed") in a couple of hours and it will be especially nice to see him, since older child no longer really speaks, to me or anyone else. This may be related to my attempt to give him these awful sex ed books. He's probably planning to run away. I would be, in his place. The Body Book was bad enough (especially the traumatic death chapter, waaah).
3. I don't think I have to work this weekend (apart from this sodding book outline, but that requires thought more than anything else), so I can surrender to the grey weather delights of piles of books and red wine and a fire and the many, many delicious derivatives of the PIG. Also "Friday Download", a children's programme which I enjoy, whilst barking at it like a retired Colonel, to aggravate my children. "What on earth is wrong with his hair?" "Why is that funny?", etc etc. It's basically a gang of really wholesome teenagers, of the kind you hope your own children will turn into, doing harmlessly entertaining stuff in front of an audience of semi-hysterical eight year olds.
I haven't done on seen anything remotely aesthetically pleasing in the last week, shame, shame, I must rectify this weekend. So here is my child, finally back. He looks very small, suddenly, says the food was "épouvantable" and he's told me a lengthy story about moss.
How have you survived the week, and what are your weekend plans?