1. I confided in my friend B this morning that when I go outside to close my eyes and feel the warm sun and be in the moment, I find myself shouting at my crocuses. "What is WRONG with you? Every other crocus in the neighbourhood is out! You just aren't even trying. ARE YOU JUST FUCKING WITH ME?". It seems possible I am doing this mindfulness/being in the moment/enjoying the warm sun on my back business wrong. B was very reassuring. "Yes! I got angry at my dwarf narcissus and proclaimed myself a gardening failure". Flower rage is very 2014.
2. My sample pack of earplugs has arrived!
They were in a purple gauze bag with a ribbon tie, which is a whole lot more fancy than I expected for a job lot of earplugs. I have been examining them with great interest: there is a glitzy and overwhelming range of colours and styles (yes, this is what my life has come to this week and I am totally fine with it). Waxy ones: ew, Prog Rock used to wear these, I remember disgusting pink sticky slugs on his bedside table. Tie-dye effect ones: what the fuck. Yellow ones that look like a mouse has mistaken them for a piece of cheese and nibbled them: ??? I cannot decide which to try first. Which would you pick? As you know, I am as easily swayed as a reed in a breeze.
3. The phrases "the owl on the skateboard will be the farm overlord, of course" and "come, asteroid, I am ready for you, bring the dark veil of permafrost over our sins" (neither of them mine).
4. M laughed at my British class guilt about skiing yesterday. "It's ok. YOUR FATHER IS A KNIGHT OF THE REALM", which is, I suppose, true, but he is not the kind of Knight of the Realm who skis. Do knights ski, actually? Don't they just moulder around the Home Counties with their labradors? I'm not sure. He was once persuaded to go, but he declared he looked like "an epileptic dog" and abandoned it as a bad job, which just goes to further demonstrate his great intellect.
5. Things are going badly for the dog. It decided to run after a cat this afternoon, and has pulled a muscle. It is now hopping around on three legs pathetically, plumbing hitherto unimaginable depths of weepette misery. Then I had the rat on my knee on the sofa whilst watching the TV and gave it a bit of chocolate biscuit, and now he can't believe the massive extent of my betrayal. I cannot begin to imagine how it is going to cope when THE CHICKENS are introduced into the equation tomorrow. Also, he smells at the moment. He never used to be a smelly dog, so something is going on and I hope it's not just age, because he's only five and there's another good ten years in him. Maybe a bath? I sort of assume he's self-cleaning until he gets himself into something revolting, but I think this requires intervention.
6. Yes, tomorrow I have to go and fetch the sodding birthday chickens. I called the chicken place up to check they were open and I think sounded completely feeble-minded, because I have forgotten how to speak this week due to total monastic isolation, and the French has been the first thing to go. "Me? Hens? Can have?" The toothless jack the lad chicken salesman ( this is not poetic licence: we went to inspect his chickens on a far flung market some weeks ago) will totally see me coming.
M: Do you have the eggs? Is it eggs? Do they come in eggs?
E: No. They come pre-feathered. In cardboard boxes. Actually, I will probably come back with a one legged quail and a rabid peacock and be none the wiser.
E: "Si si madame, c'est une belle poule pondeuse". (Yes madam, it's a lovely layer)
M: "Une poule à ventre bleu" (a blue bellied chicken).
I will report back, doubtless in some detail, on the whole sorry affair.
7. Things I have tidied today:
Blogroll (loads of you have stopped blogging. Recommend me some new blogs, please)
Lindt squares in the biscuit tin into towers of different varieties
Conclusion: I really need to get out more. Thank goodness for chickenquest!