I became quite euphoric today at the cold, slightly misty weather. At last! My season. My favourite times of year are coming, high days, holidays and bleak, Scandinavian stay-in-bed days. The hatches are battened and the maple is starting to turn and the fire is lit and I am losing happy hours weighing up the merits of various puritanical advent calendars on line.
The park was looking dank, yet appealing, this morning:
I love staring at these allotments. I am an allotment voyeur.
My good mood continued right up until I became unreasonably irritated at both the price of and the wait for a packet of Strepsils (€7,50! WHATTHEFUCK. HOW? What are they made of? KRAKEN TOOTH?).
(I also loved these pictures of Lucian Freud's house, which looks quite, quite beautiful. He lived very near my father and I used to see him quite often looking wintry and imperious in Clarke's café in the mornings. Obviously, I am also charmed by his great love of whippets).
We had dinner with my father who had been out smiting his enemies all day and regaled the children with stories of his misspent youth of goat ownership and his battles with William the mountain goat to be King Goat.
This was a sort of handbag hook under the table. It looks appalled.
Lovely as it is to see him, it is a good thing he is going home, because my diet in the last two days has been 33% gin, 33% wine and 33% meat. Luckily for my cholesterol and liver, he is leaving in the morning.
On the way back our tram tonight contained a wholesome, fresh-faced pair of Mormon missionaries who were having a full on debate with an impassioned man about polygamy ("I come from a really big family, yes, but we have only one mother"). One of them was wearing a name badge that read "Elder Salmon" which caused us enormous childish hilarity. We also met a busking trumpet player who was excellent - a rarity among Brussels buskers who are almost uniformly terrible accordion abusers - and whose Somewhere Over the Rainbow allowed me to trot out my sister's best ever twisted lyric ("Somewhere over the rainbow/Wear your pie". Or possibly 'weigh your pie".). L revealed that until recently he though the "clap along" bit of Pharrell's 'Happy' was actually 'pepperoni'. I love a good twisted lyric.
Negative self-improvement thoughts of the day:
- I need to stop wearing my beloved Prozac trousers because comfy as they are, they make me look like a bag lady.
- I need to stop chewing my lips until they bleed.
- I need to stop taking three days to write 800 words.
- I need to stop treating a slight fiscal easing as an excuse to buy artisanal advent calendars and Pierre Marcolini eclairs and expensive books for children (AND THE REST).
- I need to stop writing these posts sitting on the sofa because my neck has completely seized up.
What do you need to stop?