I am not arrogant enough to think you are missing me, but personally I like my digital distractions to be regular and get antsy when they are not (thank you in particular Ganching and Katyboo for such assiduous blogging). Perhaps you do too, so I am sorry for the recent absence of posting. I am trying to finish something (I'm not being deliberately mysterious, it's yet another iteration of my idiotic book proposal, but this has now been going on so long it's just embarrassing, so I try not to talk about it. Ever. But I'm slightly panicky right now.). It has taken me three days to write this much. It was also L's birthday, so we spent much of the weekend making cakes (I didn't do a crap, Cakewreck phoenix, laziness won out over child-teasing), or in "City Kart", which is a concrete lined hangar of sweat and testosterone in a far-flung suburb, or driving backwards and forwards, failing to respect priorité à droite and cursing. The youths in the back of the car distracted me by repeatedly using 'fashion' as a slightly ironic compliment, telling each other 'tu es trop fashion'. 'non, Je suis fashionista'. Which was odd for a gang of twelve year old boys, but what do I know about youth, I was born aged about 45.
Got back into bed for half an hour after children went to school to finish my grim Icelandic murder and do not regret it for a second. More and more often, I find myself sneakily retiring to bed. I'm there right now, as it happens in a self-imposed lull between rat cage cleaning, making the dinner, Dutch homework and guitar practice. We have form for this in my family: my mother spent most of the early 1990s in bed and I don't blame her. The more time you can spend hiding from your family in bed, the more likely you are to preserve good relations with them, I feel.
M has just sent an email entitled "turd in a tree and a large pumpkin". There were pictures associated. She knows me so well.
Yesterday I rode a horse and then had cheese on toast for lunch which is pretty much the dictionary definition of living the dream if you are Emma. For full Nirvana you would only have to add: hmm. An eclair and a cashmere nest in the shape of Totoro? Failing that, I have a Cadbury's Caramel and my bed, so the creature comforts are pretty much covered (I basically haven't stopped eating rubbish since that hideous juice fast - link here - we're greatly looking forward to the angry comment loons weighing in on this one).
A cat running into a door during a French patisserie programme.
I have watched some excellent (ie. appallingly lowbrow) television recently, particularly 'Animal Hoarders' which featured a woman in Hull with fifty rescued ex-battery hens living IN HER HOUSE. Her HOUSE mind, not her garden. One of them was called "Twisty" and it had had a stroke which meant it could no longer support the weight of its head, which dangled around the level of its chest at a rakish angle. The woman carried Twisty around all the time and when she had to put her down, she would put her in her desk drawer. I thought they were both great.
Freezing rain, weather fit only for huddling in a cashmere Totoro nest. Apparently it is set to ran forever, so that's lovely.
The Latvian Eurovision entry "Cake to Bake" was not selected for the final and I for one am furious.
I was actually henpecked today by an actual hen (whilst trying to let it out) and it drew blood. Thanks, hen, you pea-brained asshole.
I wrote three big sections of text in the present tense in a pretentious fit of artistic fuckery and now I'm trying to restore them to the past tense to match the rest of the MS and it's horrifying.
Just sliced through my nail with a blunt knife trying to chop bacon. Not whilst in bed, that would have been stupid, I got out of bed to slice bacon. I think that was my first mistake. If I had stayed in bed this would never have happened, so that is the moral of the story.
Ongoing rat decline is ongoing. We are back to the vet on Saturday. L is prepared - again - for the worst, poor soul.
L is "doing" the Second World War (for the first of presumably 8 hundred times in the next 8 years, much like "the water cycle" and "the Egyptians"). Concretely this means that in the midsts of a conversation about eg. chocolate biscuits or why I need to give him €10 or rat care, he will suddenly say something like "why did Hitler kill lots of Polish people?" leaving me scrabbling for age-appropriate and accurate answers. Challenging. Apparently they are going on a school trip to a fort from where Belgians were deported to concentration camps soon.
It is the Gulag gymnastics "spectacle" this evening. F is taking part. Apparently there will be over an hour of vigorous calisthenics and he has to dress as "a buffoon". So that sounds.. interesting. And perfect Friday night entertainment, obviously. One of those events for which the hipflask was created. I have to go because F is refusing to take part in the normal school end of year show, because his class is doing a Disney princess medley. Fair enough, frankly. I am also, soon, expected to go to L's "Fête Laïque" which is an curious beast: basically, they (no idea who 'they' are) have devised a sort of secular first communion for the heathens, which takes place in the 1970s concrete splendour of the Forest National stadium and which involves... I have absolutely no idea. L told me yesterday that apparently they are getting their hair and make up "done" by professionals. The whole thing is shrouded in depper and deeper mystery the more I hear about it. Will it be like the brownie's Festival of Queens at Central Hall in York? This is my only point of reference, except of course the brownies were into God (the Woodcraft Folk had no equivalent that I recall).
This plucky little soul keeps venturing out in the daytime which I know is a bad sign. She's about 700 hedgehog years old anyway, so I'm not really sure what to do about it, except keep the cat food going and not allow crows to eat her. STOP DYING, PETS.
This is really boring, sorry, I will try to do better. Or at least report back on the gymnastics 'spectacle'.
20% back in black opaques
20% unable to concentrate due to dog whining at my feet
10% Twisty the hen