Thursday, 28 November 2013

And it takes me ten more bloody minutes to fail to think of a title


I don't seem to have very much to say by this time of night. Or at all, perhaps? Thoughts come to me, fleetingly, as I boil the kettle in the silent early afternoon and look at the small brown birds fighting for peanuts, but after hours of post-school repetitive Blue Peter Doctor Who Competition chat and delicious torture instrumental practice and verucca blasting and fight adjudicating and French adjectival agreements they are long gone and all I can do is stare, slack-jawed at "Animal Odd Couples". It seems to me the logical consequence of this is that by the time my children leave home, I will basically have all the wit and intelligence of a turnip and they might as well put me in a home straight away, since I will no longer have any idea how to function. Also, they go to bed quite late now, the children, and I still haven't mentally adjusted to the idea that I need to have some kind of evening before I can shut them away, ideally not one watching You've Been Framed with one eye whilst ranting bitterly about discarded socks. It's half past eleven now and my tea has gone cold. God knows what happened here all evening. How does one have an evening? I suspect it's a mental adjustment rather than an actual logistical thing, but mental capacity is precisely what I lack.

Oh yes, partly what happened was that after an unaccustomed and hunger fuelled burst of energy an hour or so ago, I got 80% of the way through making cookies, then realised I had no eggs, which serves me right for trying to make cookies at all, when I could have been watching Animal Odd Couples or lying semi-submerged in scalding hot water like a flabby white alligator at peace with the world.

Just finished a really wonderful run of books (Goldfinch, Love, Nina, the fifth Cazalet Chronicle) and I'm a bit indifferent to everything I start. Recommendations welcome. Oh someone left one in a comment recently, I'm going back to look at it. What I really want is for Fred Vargas to write a new book. It's been a couple of years, it's time.

It is nearly fecking St Nicolas, the upstart faux-Christmas which my children are trying to turn into 'another excuse to be bought pieces of crap'.

I still hate Pinterest and am required to use it for work. Do you have a board of furious capybaras I can follow? Recommendations also welcome for 'boards that will not fill me with bilious lifestyle envy and fuzzy rage'.


New Facegoop, featuring a lengthy comparative test of cleansing balms - YES, SHUT UP, YOU ARE THRILLED. Now click, please? Because I reckon my Francophone main employer might get rid of me soon and I haven't been looking for other work for months because it takes all my withered brain to write coherent French a couple of times a week and do my other tiny jobs, so when they do, I'll be doomed. The Guardian moderators have deleted the comment which suggest we "use jizz" now.

One of the advent calendars I self-gifted myself in a fugue state arrived today and I LOVE IT. It is 24 tiny envelopes. God knows what is in them. I have forced F to number them randomly for me for extra thrills (he took this task extremely seriously).

I am testing a hotel on Saturday night and they are giving me afternoon tea which includes little square cakes, which I hope will look like this and I will sleep on clean white sheets and not watch a second of Top Gear and no one will be able to make me give my opinion on the most crowd-pleasing shape of sonic screwdriver before daylight.

Excellent discussion with my sister on the subject of celebrities in York, after this deathless Evening Press number ("Woman eats food". I once worked with a very funny man in a very grim job who described all such local newspapers - we were doing something contentious to a local airport and it created a lot of 'angry people in local newspapers' style comment - as "Cornishman hurts knee". Now whenever I see one, Richard comes to mind). My sister (who is no friend of punctuation): "reminds me of when toadfish from neighbours was spotted in the gallery and it was the talk of the town for months people were ringing each other and coming out form all over town especially to try and spot him". I miss York. I will enjoy being back at Christmas. Two weeks! York, Dales, and a tiny bit of Scotland, including high jinks with far flung and much missed B. Booze. Cackling. Plans to make the weepette wear a Tam O' Shanter.

Riding/jumping the naughty Gecko who is hell bent on biting my arse. I am scared to turn my back anywhere near him now and he knows it. I still love him though and his furry unclipped winter coat legs and indeed all of him except his enormous yellowing teeth.

Terrible, stupid, horribly funny discussion with M about at turd on a wall, none of which I will reproduce here, doubtless to your relief.

How was your Thursday?


breakfastlady said...

Please give me your best verruca blasting tips. Oldest b-boy has whopper specimen which is proving resistant to all forms of treatment. I am dutifully soaking/filing/painting and have frozen, all to no avail. Am now threatening him with visits to Dr Freeze's 'special' clinic. Perhaps you can branch out and create a Footgoop column for a week to address the matter?

My Thursday spent in a state of inner torpor. We're moving house next week and I. Can't. Do. Anything. I write lists full of things I am just about to do (eg 'buy milk') so that I can cross them off and feel as if I'm getting somewhere. It's really quite pathetic.

Anonymous said...

Happy Thanksgiving! In addition to Swiffer post, I am thankful for your many posts that have given me such pleasure over the past years, including but not limited to the several fetes, the hibernating tortoise, the Quaker schooling, the Belgian schooling, the roomba, the brushing-teeth-at-bedside, and so much more. i know i am not the only one, so thanks from the US from all of us.

Anonymous said...

The Light Between Oceans, M.L. Stedman.

karen said...

Pinterest: You must - it's brilliant!

Anonymous said...

More reading recommendations, this time blogs!

Jean Hannah Edelstein is wonderful:
For example, the entry from 10 November is amazingly good. It contains a link to something else she wrote elsewhere which is superb, absolutely pitch-perfect:

Another really good blog that does a regular round-up of interesting things to read is by Jessica Stanley:

They're both simply brilliant.

Patsy said...

Evenings, what are they? Oh those times spent shouting, cajoling, sock matching, casserole dish scrubbing, bathroom cleaning, followed by possible outrageous suggestion of marital relations. Pick which one does not belong from the above list… I like your posts belgium waffle, not many people can carry waffling but you can. :)

Anonymous said...

Dear Waffle,

Not only is your blog fantastic, you have some of the best commenters in the blogosphere. I'm at serious risk of injuring myself laughing hysterically at Patsy's comment, which is so accurate it's uncanny. I was in a pretty morose mood and this was just what I needed to lift me out of myself.

Morning, afternoon or evening: any time of the day or night is instantly brightened by a visit here :)

Tinne from Tantrums and Tomatoes said...

My Thursday was regular. My Friday (this day) started with a discussion of how to best answer Mother Nature's calls whilst stuck in traffic.
Aaaah, office life...

Waffle said...

Anon 1 - That is so kind. I am really boring now, I wish it were otherwise. One day maybe we will scale the heights of Swiffer love again, but thanks for sticking around anyway.

Anon 4 - You are quite right, I love the commenters here beyond all reason. They have kept me sane (except Frau Antje who may have had the opposite effect BUT IN A GOOD WAY) for many years.

Waffle said...

breakfast lady - I have no good verucca tips. I have tried all the treatments (uniformly shit) and taken F to Dr Freeze's 'special' clinic EVERY TWO WEEKS FOR MONTHS. The veruccas are in fine, flourishing form. I despair.

breakfastlady said...

I wouldn't mind so much if sticky plasters were not so comprehensively notatall sticky. I remember when once wincingly ripped off, they left indelible gunk on your skin for weeks. No more. Blimmin Elastoplast must be laughing all the way to the bank, while I have to take Plague Child to his swimming lessons in danger of being cast out forever, branded with the Scarlet V.

Waffle said...

breakfastlady - Or the plastic Sock of Shame. There's always the Sock of Shame.

breakfastlady said...

It's worse than a dog cone.

Anonymous said...

Verruca tip: Duct Tape. Although the NHS disputes it, they proved it on the telly, so true is it the Telegraph wrote a whole article about it!.

Where did you get the advent envelopes, I'm intrigued?

Waffle said...

Duct tape! It's worth a go. But it's on his hand, so I'm not sure he'll go for it..

Came from these people, but sold out instantly, curses.

Margaret said...

Thursday was Thanksgiving here, so I ate and drank and spent quality time with my family (mostly yelling). I'm spending the rest of the long weekend in my pajamas waiting for Netflix to release the second half of season 5 of Breaking Bad.

Re: warts. I've heard that duct tape works too.

Heading over to the Guardian Facegoop now!

Anonymous said...

I am reading this:, where live snails are mentioned as the best verruca cure.
On the subject of local newspapers, I love those absurd headlines, and am always reminded of the (apocryphal?) Scottish one, which announced the sinking of Titanic as "Local man drowns".

Anonymous said...

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Anonymous said...

Pinterest: I assume you are already following The Bloggess ( and Pinterest You Are Drunk? (

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ghada said...

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ghada said...

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