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.
NEITHER UP NOR DOWN
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.