If I waited until I had something interesting to say to update my weblog, we would be here for years, so here I am.
I have just come back from delivering a slow painful death by legal powerpoint to some people. I got home and crammed three choux à la crème in my mouth in quick succession and now I feel more human. But also remorseful. Fat, incompetent, remorseful, but human. I'll settle for that.
My main preoccupation today is Sven the Luxembourgeois capybara "free to a good home". I am pretty sure I could be a good home. I have an enormous bath and well, ok, our track record on rodents isn't stellar (my search history may contain some variants on "how to humanely home euthanise a rat", but it was with the rat's best interests at heart) but surely it is meant to be? A capybara? Free? In LUXEMBOURG?
(starting this again a day later due to indolence and Ru Paul's Drag Race)
Now my main preoccupation is Bismarck who we are babysitting. This is Bismarck:
He is a sweetie, soft and cuddly and playful (= the anti-Oscar), but SUCH a heavy breather. It's like having a pervert sitting next to my chair all day making sex noises. As soon as his fevered panting calms, I spoil it by getting up and eg. going to the loo or making a cup of tea and he has to follow me round anxiously, hyperventilating. When I open the fridge he comes to stand next to me and look in at the contents, rolling his eyes and panting. He could become quite an effective diet aid actually. Oscar is sitting in a corner glaring at both of us disgustedly. He has also stolen Bismarck's bed tonight, the arsehole:
The chickens are also behaving like dicks, pretending to be frightened of Bismarck who is then terrified of their loud chickens-being-dicks noises. The tortoises keep coming into the house to steal dog food, causing further confusion. As usual, the only well-behaved one in the household is the hedgehog who has the good grace (a) to be nocturnal and (b) to keep itself to itself. Ok, fine, maybe I shouldn't get a capybara. Bismarck has now stationed himself by the front door and is waiting to be rescued, whimpering lightly. His owners aren't back for 2 days, and there's an insane thunderstorm brewing over Brussels. Poor Bismarck, I think he might have a heart attack. I need one of those plug-ins full of Valium they advertise during Supervet (incidentally, when are they going to invent those for humans? Surely this is overdue).
I have spent the day with M who is in Belgium for the week and it was brilliant. Belgium is an unseasonal 31°C so we have mainly hidden in the shade and eaten stuff. We have eaten choux and superior Pierre Marcolini Mr Whippy ice cream, drunk several pints of lemonade and laughed ourselves sick at the hideous treasures in the flea market (M's Instagram will reveal several of them to you, including the worst pictorial representation of a shark in art history. Is it a shark? A flat fish? A creature from a nightmare? Who the fuck even knows). We have also discussed our career indecision and decided to revive Old School Facegoop, the pre-Guardian version where we were unreservedly rude about stuff. This means I need to source some cosmetics to be rude about, or even like. Has anyone used anything excellent or indeed terrible recently? As you know, I have become a sordid hermit in recent months and personal grooming is a foreign language for me, but I am on the verge of succumbing to the siren lure of a very expensive hammam mit as recommended on St India of Knight's website. That woman could sell me anything.
Time to go, I have a hyperventilating dog to calm.
35% delicious, awful sugar and choux overdose
20% head sweat
20% Perpetual Paypal mule for children's ridiculous purchases (spitballs, jelly beans, miniature Rubik's cubes)
20% watching Koh Lanta out of one eye and feeling extreme scorn at its feebleness compared to Bear Gryll's brutal island.
5% irritation at my childrens' method of watching Koh Lanta (and indeed anything on telly), which involves constant commentary-slash-argument. Dear lord, can we not all stare at the screen in silence in the time honoured manner of our people? Is nothing sacred? HUSH NOW and watch the well-fed French people argue on the desert island.