No smug domesticity this weekend, just stomach flu and a long wait for a mystery African translation that never arrived. I have started this morning involuntary whispering my empowering affirmation-slash-mantra several times ("I hate everyone") and plan to spend most of the week staring sullenly at the garden (which is, I concede, looking very beautiful this morning as long as you don't look too closely at the mountains of chicken shit).
(apparently I spent the whole of Monday staring sullenly at the garden, because it is now Tuesday. It's still beautiful out there, but it's supposed to rain tomorrow. Maybe I'll finish this then. Actually, hang on , now it's Wednesday, so let me try. I had about seven draft posts sitting around, but then I got busy and lost my train of thought, perhaps irrevocably)
I tried to take a picture of my new hair for you, but every time I try it comes out 65% giant, red nose (complete with two large spots) and the rest greying, uneven complexion, which is very unfair on my very talented hairdresser. I like it, anyway, it is a little bit longer at the front but still nice and short at the back and we had a good, hilarity-heavy chat as we always do: work, sex, money, hair, home, scandals. I am trying to live up to my hair by not dressing like a hobo and at least putting on a bit of tinted moisturiser, but I confess my success rate is currently running at about 15% basic levels of aesthetic decent maintained, 85% tired blotchy hobo.
My son's phone is somewhere at school "accueil" and the person who has it has gone on maternity leave. This farce has gone on for a week. It wasn't even confiscated, I dropped it off because he forgot it (= genetics).
Do my clients actually concert to ensure that I have long periods with literally FUCK ALL to do followed by intense bursts during which everyone wants something at the same time?
Belgian avocados. 10% rock hard, 60% rotten, 29% seemingly perfect to the touch but suppurating and black once you cut into them, 1% perfect.
I am quite annoyed by the interviews with aspirational young chic people I am currently translating, who have more money/kudos/success/creativity than me. Also tofu is NOT your "vice", hush now.
It is raining. It always rains on Wednesday when I have to trail my younger son around Brussels to his various (SELF-SELECTED) improving activities.
Invitation from my bank (yes, them again) to a "free information session: what is the future of your pension?" Ha. Ha ha ha. What do you imagine this involves? Maybe they show a short film of a post-apocalyptic Uccle, all fire and rubble and desolation, with us, their customers, scavenging for rat carcasses and fighting each other for pieces of cardboard to construct our primitive shelters? I hope they have crisis counsellors and many boxes of tissues.
Yorkshire Vet seems to be over and I had to watch a programme about women marrying their cats instead which was vastly inferior.
MY TREE is in its short hour of glory:
Non-Working Monkey is blogging again! There are many delights for lovers of recorder playing horses and spreadsheets.
The arrival - in defiance of the Belgian postal strike - of the world's most amazing chocolate package from Arianna including those chocolate unicorns, Mocha KitKats.
I have now tested the Mocha KitKat and I like the cut of its jib. It tastes deliciously cheap, like a coffee Revel, but better.
The font on my proofs (and thus at some future date in my actual book, fuuuuck) has the prettiest letter Qs ever. I could stare at them for hours.
30% Failed multitasking, leading to paralysed sitting/blog post writing
30% The return of formless terror after a nice few weeks off from that bullshit
10% Toasted halloumi sandwich craving
10% Facial blemishes
10% Unicorn bemusement (or here in English)
10% Unsure what to read now (suggestions, please?)