Thursday, 20 March 2014



I don't even know what I was supposed to be achieving this week any more, but I think we can safely assume I haven't achieved it, or any part thereof.

It's F's (belated) birthday party at the weekend (paintball, courtesy of an incredibly officious organisation, are you running a children's party or Switzerland?) and I worked on the normal party assumption that 20-30% wouldn't come but they are ALL coming and it is proving both expensive and logistically horrifying and why on earth are we doing this (answer: because his brother did it, so fairness).

My whole head itches (hayfever? Really? Plus reaction to eyeliner). The downside of this beautiful, glorious, unseasonal sun (yes, I can find one) is that I keep catching sight of my puffy, irritated face in the reflection from my laptop and it's most unedifying.

Part of the day spent trying to translate a document out of the language I describe as "Business Martian" into English. Total failure. I apologise to the English language.

Truly horrible nightmare about having newborn twins (kept losing them, dropping one down lavatory, that kind of thing).


Incredible, delicious relief of waking up to realise I do not actually have newborn twins.

L has arrived safely on the school ski trip (STATE SCHOOL. STATE IMPOSED SKI TRIP, this has been your British class guilt interlude), according to a brief, idiosyncratically punctuated message from "La Direction". I imagine this is all we will hear for the next ten days. Prior to that he shamelessly deceived me by claiming "everyone" was having the day off to prepare for the trip which turned out to be a total, brazen lie, only he and his friend Liam had gullible enough parents to fall for this transparent trick. I didn't really mind. He has been waiting impatiently for the ski trip for about 3 years, so excitement levels yesterday hovered between 'noise so high pitched as to be only audible to dogs' and 'stoat dance of death'. We delivered him to a car park at 7:30 last night, whereupon he stonily turned his back on us, of course. Having been summarily dismissed and then shunned, we watched him board a rather rickety looking coach from a distance and left. This means another 10 days of rat entertainment. F has been drafted in to assist, but he says the chickens plus the rat are too much, to which I am tempted to say "WELCOME TO MY WORLD CHILD, and when was the last time you donned the yellow rubber glove of despair and demined the garden of chicken shit?"

Had a little aperitif out in the actual world, where there are other people to whom I am not related, this evening. We went to La Piola which is a nice ramshackle Italian bar where you get to help yourself to a free plate of 'aperitif' (random looking selection of leftovers, like something you might dig out of your own fridge in desperation - a plate of peas! Some pallid sausage! Reheated pasta! - but somehow tastier for not issuing from your own fridge) to accompany your glass of wine and there was a large, sweet broken looking greyhound to pet.

The expression "in the context of my face".

Continued beautiful, glorious, unseasonal sun. Even the incredibly bad-tempered lady in the Zizi ice cream parlour is going to start looking cheery if this continues.

F has just showed me how he puts the chickens on their perches (they don't know how to perch and you are supposed to gently encourage them by showing them what to do) and it was hilarious. They fall off forwards most of the time because they are sleepy and very stupid.

My crush on Stromae engulfs galaxies with this new World Cup leçon.


I was childishly fascinated by this display of sex toys in the impulse section by the till of Di (the Belgian equivalent and let me say it is not even remotely equivalent) of Boots. TicTacs? Lip balm? A Twix? Or a sex toy called "The Frenchman" that looks like a kitchen utensil? OH GO ON THEN, twist my arm. Faites-vous plaisir, indeed.

(While sending this picture to myself in order to upload it I SO SO SO nearly sent it to a serious law contact whose name is next to mine in my contacts list. SO CLOSE. His name had already auto-filled and I had to delete it. Brrrrrr).


70% Norwegian bluetit stalking
10% Piriton anticipation
10% administrative assholery
5% disgusting fingerclaw shame
3% underwhelmed at the chicken from hell
2% having that thing where it seems unmanageably exhausting to raise yourself from sofa, brush teeth, wash face etc, so you delay and dawdle and suddenly it's midnight and you STILL have to do all that stuff, fool.


The Reluctant Launderer said...

The yellow and purple one I can sort of get -although they look like novelty pens -but the blue and the red - seriously? Faites-vous plaisir while giving vous-self a bit of genital mutilation?
Vous crazies.
Up: sunrise on my balcony overlooking greenery, while dogs bark in the distance and exotic birds tweet in the trees.
Down: sore head and festering alcohol pimples of late-night-bar-hopping shame.

Ellie said...

I agree with the Reluctant Launderer (and I am also a reluctant launderer! Hello! Have you openings in your society?)-- the blue and the red look more like ice-cream scoops or gouges than something titillating.

To my great sorrow, that amazing Norwegian bird-cafe won't load for me. It looks like just the thing for those tedious bloody hours at work.

cruella said...

Was going to post link to endlessly fascinating bird café near to where I grew up, but the link is down, alas. The guy keeps a blog though so I give you a taste of what and where I come from. This is the way to do winter, I'm telling you.

Waffle said...

Ha, I thought exactly the same about the ice cream scoop sex toy but did not wish to mention it in case it would reveal my total ignorance - perhaps ice cream scoop is The Thing in erotic accessories?

Cruella - This sounds amazing. I am keeping an eye on it (despite my non-existent Swedish).

Anonymous said...

I sympathise on the birthday issue. I have been putting off this year's celebration indefinitely because as my daughter is now in a new class (and (thankfully, of course) is a much more gregarious and sociable human being than her solitary mother) there are now the old friends and the new friends to factor in. Altogether it will cost an absolute bomb to do anything. Toothpicks and marshmallows are not going to do the job this year and I don't have space for 20 kids in my flat.
The suggestion of a nice civilised couple of hours painting ceramic pots at a local ceramic café was met with a scornful raised eyebrow. Just going to a pizza place is also deemed to be Very Boring. I have been eyeing up the possibilities of an indoor rock-climbing place but fear it may be too expensive and/or dangerous. So another week goes by without actually managing to plan anything.

50% scared to call the old accountant's office to demand money back for work not done over several months, because confrontation and conflict are things at which I am really not good :/
50% scared to open the new accountant's e-mails as I know they will contain tax amounts to be paid ASAP and I would rather not know, lalalalala etc. This despite the fact that I will most certainly have to go there today and actually interact and talk about financial matters to people in suits and ties. My anxiety levels are sky-high already and I still have a few deadlines to meet in the meantime. Friday is definitely looking promising. I may have to go into a late hibernation for the remainder of the Spring.

I really can't imagine seeing a display of various sex toys at my local chemist's, that's for sure. In fact, some of them don't even stock condoms and a (married) friend (with kids, in her thirties, newborn baby in arms) was once strongly reprimanded for daring to enquire if they had any. I have it on good authority that she ate the ever-loving sh*t out of the pharmafascist.

Now if I were a totally different person or if I lived in a parallel universe, I would saunter into that chemist's, corner the pharmafascist, show her a photo of those sex toys and ask if she had anything similar.

However, I have just noticed that the Norwegian birdies are awake so I will watch them for a while instead. In fact, after a while I might watch them with one eye while quickly scanning the accountant's e-mails. That might work.

Wishing you a lovely Friday and weekend.

frau antje said...

Where do the tits go when the bar closes?

soleils said...

Can I just say this post has completely made my day?
Also, can we share the perfection that is Stromae? Merci.

Anonymous said...

Are you sure those are sex toys? I've never seen such and while that's not a huge surprise that one looks a bit pointy and sharp... ack!

Thanks for the giggles :)

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