I listened to your kind and helpful advice and have started by making a BOOK PAGE on here, which I have crafted with my monkey paws and many hyperlinks. Next step... I don't know. Competition perhaps? I will plot.
E: Please can we watch the Yorkshire Vet tonight? I promise it isn't just castration.
Voiceover on telly: Julian has a busy morning ahead of him. First he must castrate...
Children: .... NO.
Instead we watched Very British Problems which they came to regret mightily since it was all about adolescence and we endured discussions of pubic hair and losing virginity in the traditional silent mortification, being indeed, despite them being half French and me being failed French, entirely British in such matters. I won't talk even about sex to the person I'm having sex with. One of the major advantages of raising my children in Belgium was supposed to be the top notch sex ed they get at school from an age early enough to have Britons clutching their pearls, dispensing me of any responsibility in this domain, but sadly this does not seem to have happened, I feel cheated. On a slightly related topic - not really, but sort of - have you listened to the first story on this week's This American Life? It's extraordinary.
I am in London today, currently in my usual London haunt, the (Belgian, natuurlijk) Pain Quotidien on Notting Hill Gate. The special of the day is 'Roasted asparagus with cashew "cheese"'. If you tried to pull a stunt like that in France you'd be eviscerated by a mob of angry dairy farmers, not to mention Meilleurs Ouvriers de France and your remains would be dipped in molten Comté. It is the usual mix of very elderly cut glass persons eating eggs, hedge fund widow philanthropists and bone broth delivery start up entrepreneurs all of whom are female and very thin. I am trying to eat a beetroot hummus tartine whilst wearing a white shirt, which is high-risk behaviour when you are this physically inept. Even the simple act of putting a piece of bread in my mouth seems to be eluding me, I am flailing at it like a caveman who has never encountered bread before.
(OH MY GOD, the barista has just started doing a complex series of squats. The apocalypse is coming and none of us shall be saved)
I am getting my eyebrows done shortly which is apparently long overdue, given that F - A TWELVE YEAR OLD MALE, FFS - asked me last week when I was getting them done. There is no dignity in parenting, or indeed in baldness. After that I will stagger around with greased up Groucho Marx brows at several social engagements, because that is how I roll. Perhaps I will have interesting things to tell you tomorrow as a result of this, perhaps not. I may just get drunk and forget everything. Now I am off to pretend to look at my book in shops whilst making convincing noises of delight and amusement.
45% 5 am wake up symptoms (30% uncontrollable hunger, 15% constant pratfalls)
25% Trying to remember what I still need to buy in England now we have an M&S in Brussels: cheese and onion crisps, Migraleve, chocolate buttons, what else?
15% Facial hummus, almost certainly