Hello. I am still reeling from a weekend of back-to-back child events: the school fête, a genuinely endless guitar recital, and the chaotic Festival of the Godless, where apparently L had to dress up as a binman and lie on the floor for an hour, then throw cushions, both of which actions apparently had something to do with Plato, no, nor me. My only involvement was logistic, thankfully. Apart from that, I have mainly been hunched like a balefully roosting fowl at the kitchen table, working, having got very behind on, basically, everything. My observations on working:
1. I am a really shit multitasker. When faced with the need to multitask, my preferred option is to fling my hands in the air and consider resigning from at least one and possibly all of the things I am supposed to be doing. I don't go through with it though, because I am also a massive coward.
2. I also really need to shut up about Zola. Shame I have just ordered another book about Zola, then.
3. The worst thing to try and do under time pressure is be funny. When you're desperately googling 'Channel Tunnel jokes' you know you're in the shit. I didn't find any, although I did find a massive seam of awful, somewhat racist jokes about the French.
4. That thing about only truly knowing someone when you've seen them deal with crappy wifi = so true. Obviously, I am an arsehole. Though not a fighty, angry asshole so much as a pathetic, whiny one. I lost two days to the broken internet and Bastardcom, my internet providers and it was about as much fun as it sounds.
5. Aromatherapy Associates Deep Relax balm, whilst a good idea, is not nearly as effective as the bath oil, probably because I am not lying in the dark and the warmth at the end of the day whilst using it. I have ended up smearing it all over myself like Vicks Vapo Rub, so I am greased and aromatic, like a leg of lamb, but not notably relaxed.
6. Does that sound gloomy? I am, a bit. Writing and editing again and again about the most horrible parts of you life isn't a mood enhancer. I got really miserable working this weekend (though that could also be attributed to the interminable guitar recital in a dark hut) and then cried this morning at the thought of starting again. Why am I doing this? God knows.
In other news we have had to empty L's bedroom for some building work and it has been a massive nostalgia-fest. I was quite moved to see my old friends "Aaaaargh Spider", 'Diggers are good at dig dig digging', Commotion in the Ocean and, 'Close Your Eyes' in which a weary mother tiger gives her annoying infant some old flannel about the moon and stars and so on (basically a polite 'Go the fuck to sleep'), all of which and more I can still recite by heart. L exclaimed over a range of deathless classics of his youth including 'Pokemon Diamond and Pearl Find the Pokemon', 'That's Not My Digger', 'Les Pelleteuses' (notice an earth moving theme emerging?) and, implausibly, 'The Christmas Mice', which I was trying to shove into a binbag.
L: Noooo, you can't throw that away!
E: Why not? I don't remember a thing about it.
L: Yes! The mice! The mice of Christmas! Someone says that Father Christmas doesn't exist so the mice do his job.
E (flicking through): That doesn't seem to be the story at all. There isn't any story to speak of. Just ... some patches of soft fabric and shiny things.
L: (snatching it back) I LOVE books with soft bits. Look! This one is made of REAL KILT!
(He is twelve)
This was repeated about twenty times with similarly dreary volumes. After two hours we were both dusty, discouraged and hardly advanced at all, but had read a lot of picture books for small children. Also, if any Poké-enthusiasts feel like going through our bins, there are some 100 plus PV Pokemon cards in there now. Just saying.
New Facegoop on orange lipsticks (never)
A photograph, to break up this litany of complaint:
Current scene here. They have the right idea.
Ok, I am just avoiding going back to editing now. Time to gird my loins. That's a peculiar expression, isn't it? Why do loins need girding? Oh. So, 'tuck your dress in', really.
30% awful writing gloom
30% awful writing shame
30% sinus pain
10% Cornetto plans