General question: how long do you wait before chasing people up on things they are supposed to be doing? Where is the optimum point along the continuum between 'being an officious, pushy arsehole' and 'letting your interlocutor forget you ever existed'? I err, I know, on the side of longer rather than shorter, unless I, in turn, am being chased. As a result, I am currently having intense chasing angst. I definitely made it clear that time was of the essence, but people's notions of what is expeditious vary wildly, I have learnt in 40 years and when I think I am being emphatic I am in fact making barely audible, fluting, conciliatory British noises that convey something like 'do whatever you feel is appropriate, far be it from me to impose my will upon you, how presumptuous'. Honestly, that's perfectly clear, isn't it? Once more, it is confirmed to me I should have lived in feudal Japan.
Weekend of way too much child activity, despite only having one child. Saturday: EXAMEN INTERNATIONAL day finally arrived, so an early morning trip to Ghent university (with all important doubling back for forgotten passport, for added adrenalin boost). Top tip: nothing is open in the Ghent student quarter at 9am on a Saturday and it is a sad, unsavoury place filled with discarded frite wrappers and vomit (at 9am on Saturday, doubtless charming at other times, such as AFTER DARK, DRUNK). Do not go there. EXAMEN INTERNATIONAL was apparently a success, though F has to wait 2 months for results, since papers are sent back to China to be marked by the Comintern. Saturday night: two additional children (very nice and well-behaved, but you know, still additional children). Sunday 9am - 3pm, child party logistics, stress, negotiating with highly rigid and unhelpful paintball man about latecomers (not admitted) and with late-running parents, etc etc etc. Gin is your friend in these circumstances, at least after you have delivered the remaining children back to their parents. On Sunday night, we ended up watching a Gaelic language programme of a woman making a treacle tart because none of us had the resources to find the remote and change the channel. There does not appear to be a word for "ginger" in Gaelic, I note (also, query: why are you putting ginger in your treacle tart, you silver tongued fiend?).
Peanut, the surviving rat, is having severe respiratory problems (v common in rats) and I am reduced to praying to/pleading with a high power I do not recognise that it does not expire before L returns from the school trip. F, who is sort of in charge of rat in L's absence, is beside himself about the horrors of pet mortality ("I should have got tortoises, not chickens", he just said sadly). I know this is how it goes with pets and we make their short lives as happy and comfortable as we can and it is a crucial apprenticeship for the losses and heartbreak of adult life, but we could all have done with a couple of months respite, not least the rat.
Tried to watch True Detective because everyone says it is amazing and it made me feel like I had had a stroke because I did not understand any of the dialogue, it was like a scene from Twin Peaks or something when the dwarf was speaking backwards. Apparently I am only fit for Poirot.
Basically this and this only: HERO RATS. (don't say rat - Ed). If you don't like pictures of enormous rats, (i) what the hell is wrong with you; and (ii) don't follow that link.
First ever 2 egg day (welcome to Farming Today, I'm your host, Boring McChickenbore).
Cheese-phobic L's expression on the photos of the school trip raclette night is quite, quite priceless. He is incandescent with disgust at the spectacle of so much melted cheese. I laughed.
High point of evening (low bar): a tin of pineapple chunks and some babies being born on telly. No one mistook head for genitals this week, but a woman called her child Evie Primrose, which is far too close to Evening Primrose. Was she conceived in Holland & Barrett? I suppose Evie is better than eg. Glucosamine. Or Whey.
20% woolly, incoherent philosophical thoughts on family life, subsiding rapidly into 2% terror and 18% confusion and a desire for shit telly
10% Euro elections rap-battle befuddlement (early April Fool, please?)
10% M&S chocolate ginger biscuits
20% self-inflicted bleeding chapped lips
20% pitch related self-loathing
10% bra rage
15% too tired for complicated percentage maths