Dark days in Belgium and across Europe, the kind of days when you find yourself quite seriously wondering where else you could live. But where is left? I have had to put aside, regretfully, my long-cherished fantasy of goat herding in Larzac. Perhaps Yorkshire could obligingly declare its independence from the rest of England? I am reframing my daydreams to include a bunker somewhere under Wensleydale.
Dark days, too, in Uccle, where my noisy neighbour has acquired not only a saxophone, but a set of bongos, which he has been employing to full effect over the weekend. Prior to saxo/bongo fiesta, the neighbour had slightly deflated my outrage by bringing me a sack of straw for the chickens (you are not supposed to bed chickens on straw, but he didn't know that), but it's ok, now I am all pumped up again. It would be a shame to have any teeth left by the time I turn forty.
Let us revert to the usual format when I have no brain (ie. all the time).
My children are making me watch every tap dancing, dog wrangling, warbly singing second of the Britain's Got Talent this year and the semi-finals are on every night this week. I tried to sneak off for a shower earlier and was dragged back to see some gyrating infants. I have even had to forswear my favourite French flouncy pâtisserie competition, the catchily named "Qui Sera le Prochain Grand Pâtissier" AND they were doing croquembouches tonight.
The rest of the week is basically a write-off: Wednesday (half day at school), Ascension Thursday, Friday "teacher training", hmm yes, how convenient.
The builders hermetically sealed me into my office with thick plastic sheeting today, which sadly did not cause me to work harder.
The rat is back at the vet's (probably for the best given the dust issues, but the prognosis is very poor and very costly).
I have lost one of my favourite pair of earplugs. What? It's a problem.
Our new Prime Minister may be the man who doesn't actually want Belgium to exist, thanks.
F was fiddling with my wig tonight and I said "leave it alone, it cost nearly a thousand pounds" (true, but think of all the haircuts and styling products I don't need) and obviously he was shocked, so I tried to justify my hair extravagance by saying "it's made of real hair" which caused an absolute seismic shock of disgust that has made me laugh and laugh. F looked genuinely shocked and revolted and shrank away from me, whilst L became quite preoccupied with whose hair it was and how I had obtained it. "Maybe it's the hair of a tramp?" It certainly is now.
The hedgehog has taken to waiting for me outside the back door at around 11 at night when I usually feed it. It is fanciful to imagine it gets a little huffy when I am late, but I do sense a certain aura of impatience. Here it is last night, after FINALLY getting served, honestly, the place is half empty but can you catch the waitress's eye? Can you buggery. That is where it sits every night, craning its neck and sighing and vowing never to come back to this shithole again.
Neither up nor down:
Amusingly, I have just been sent a copy of this:
Never have I needed a book more, frankly.
More amusingly still, the reason I was sent a copy is that I am quoted in it. It's ok, I am not giving advice. Ha, imagine.
The unfortunate sequel to what I describe here is that over the past six months I have started to quote somewhat higher for the jobs I'm not desperate to do and this has resulted in me not getting any of them whatsoever. This was not exactly the desired result.
A godalmighty huge swan we met on Sunday. Whilst this one was threatening to break L's arm, half-heartedly, her mate was violently attacking his own reflection in a BMW. Swans: not noticeably peace-loving.
30% should be working
30% fetid aroma of supposedly odourless fake tan
20% tramp hair
10% dry lip picking
10% past best-before date tiramisu.