1. Things that are hard to do with flu
- Keeping a phone in your hand. It just keeps falling out. One minute you're poking at it like a furiously confused bear just out of hibernation, trying to remember how you access a soothing podcast, the next, there it is, on the floor again. Shit.
- Corporate copywriting. The desk, so cool, so smooth. The words, so wordy. The core values to be communicated, so impenetrably core-y.The forehead begins its inexorable descent.
- Listening to your son's violin practice. Jesus, no. Could we not just both sit and look at the violin together? In silence? I'm just going to put my head on your knee for a second. Sssh, don't speak.
- Fixing the washing machine. Difficult parts: getting down to the basement. Remembering which way you turn the knob to unscrew the … thing. Shouting. Shouting is a vital part of the process but with flu it comes out as a pitiful honk. Remembering why you are in the basement in the first place when you come to in a pool of tepid, mysteriously blue water after what was apparently a ten minute impromptu nap.
- Arguing. So you're telling me you don't need any writing implements whatsoever for this geography field trip? Sure, whatever, that sounds plausible. Go in peace. Close the door quietly.
- Watching Mythbusters. Why is everything so loud? All the fires! The unbearable pathos of the exploded gobstopper, the ginger man's eager face, the other man's noble moustache. Tears course uncontrollably.
- Everything else, including updating your weblog as has been made amply clear, sorry.
2. The kids are (possibly) all right
I was turning off my eldest son's ever-buzzing phone after he went to bed last night and the message on screen was a massive screed of what appeared to be poetry. When I asked him about it this morning he told me that a girl in his class's What's App group (I say What's App, but it is probably something more modern I don't know about, whatever) is writing a sort of epic prose poem featuring them all and circulating episodes. "I was in it for, like, 2 seconds then she killed me off," he said, ruefully. He is angling to come back as a zombie but no dice yet. I find this very impressive. If such a medium of communication had existed back when I was at Quaker school, I know for a fact we would have used it solely for speculating on when the fit man from House and Sons Electricians who looked a bit like Ryan Giggs might be seen again and laughing about Mr Wills's grey slip-on shoes.
3. Hashtag Belgium
Much excitement last night in Brussels when a drunk man in a Range Rover drove through the metro tunnels on the tracks of my usual line, like a boss* (*toddler, knobhead). When he could drive no longer, he just sat on the rails, refusing to get out of his car. This is the mark of a person whose drunken frolic has no thought-out endgame whatsoever and for that, I salute him.
10% Fucking gross and almost certainly useless banana cough syrup
5% Just had a micro-nap while trying to think of the last 5%.