1. There was a woman in the background on Antiques Roadshow (what, shut up, I love Antiques Roadshow and so do plenty of people who are under 75) last night with a large cockatoo on her shoulder. No one was even giving her a second look. We decided whilst watching that a Tumblr (Tumblr, so 2010, sorry, whatever people do instead of Tumblrs now) of “People of Antiques Roadshow” would be amazing, but of course cannot be arsed to do any such thing. Also, a lot of the experts on Antiques Roadshow are starting to look awfully young to me. This is clearly an even worse sign than policemen looking young. "But you're really in trouble when the Antiques Roadshow punters start looking young to you," noted my spouse, which is undeniable.
2. Further evidence of decrepitude: M suggested I buy some H and M* trousers (referred to in H and M Belgique’s online store as “pantalon large” which pretty much covers it) and I did because she Knows and they are indeed wonderful but the problem is they have an elasticated waist and are ethereally comfortable and now I fear my style decline has entered its terminal velocity phase. I mean, things were bad before the elasticated waist. It’s going to be novelty cat printed leggings and padded waistcoats soon. I own three pairs of slippers. I also got sent a leaflet on estate planning today (HA HA HA I hope you enjoy your carefully planned legacy of moth-eaten cashmere jumpers and mugs, boys), so I might as well just start preparing for my imminent badly dressed death, apparently.
3. The elasticated waist is going to be handy anyway, because my sister has got me hooked on some expensive white chocolate she found in the posh (if hopelessly chaotic) new chocolate shop round the corner. I know, white chocolate, disgusting, but this stuff is bloody amazing, and I'm in deep. It's almost as bad as my Galak addiction of 1996, which was a dark, dark period. It's this stuff:
I'm sharing it because I don't see why I should be the only filthy white chocolate junkie around here. Join in! You have nothing to lose but your teeth and credit rating; nothing to gain but more chins.
4. I am listening to David Szalay’s All That Man Is on my dog accompanied staggers around the back streets of Belgium and it is brilliant and brilliantly read but has turned me into a raging misandrist. MEN! UGH! WHY ARE YOU SO TERRIBLE? My entirely male family keep getting dirty looks that are really intended for the protagonists and I frequently retire to the basement to fold stuff darkly and mutter about The State of Man. In better news, Uccle gets a tiny mention which was pleasing to me.
5. One of my children (if I say this, I don’t violate their privacy, yes?), has had a mole removed from between his toes due to our family history of skin cancer (not on my side, we the pale, underground people of the north lands fear and flee the fiery ball) but having something removed from between your toes makes for TRICKY healing and the keeping on of dressings, it turns out. We have been struggling, in the period before his next check up, to try and get anything to stay on there and the pharmacists, unusually for francophone pharmacists, are not much help and have offered me much shrugging. I’m on my sixth variety of plaster/bandage/gauze. It’s a shame he isn’t an animal really, because with my intensive study of Yorkshire Vet, I’m pretty sure I could have sorted him out in no time *places child in calving jack* *sprays entire leg purple* wears waterproof trousers* *tries to remember not to do any castration*
6. Someone commenting on a previous post drew my attention to the most exquisitely satisfying hamster eating jelly, so I post it here for wider sharing and appreciation.
7. Less universally pleasing, but did you watch that video of a huntsman sp*der dragging a mouse up a fridge? It is AMAZING (not if you hate sp*ders, obviously). Are you more mouse today or more sp*der? I am 100% mouse, but with sp*der aspirations. I have spent the day comparing stuff to dragging a mouse up a fridge. Bandaging a male teenage toe crack = like dragging a mouse up a fridge. Maths problems involving Pythagorus and stuff like "rectiligne", "on dispose d'un cric de voiture lozange" and "simplifier des radicaux par décomposition du radicand" = MOUSE FRIDGE.
8. Photo that is insufficiently pretty for Instagram of the day:
AT LAST. Out of shot: vast martini. Main food groups are now: white chocolate, pasta gratin, game-based pâtés and custard. It's not even that cold, but I might as well make full use of this elasticated waist, I figure.
30% Oddly peaceful without Twitter rage/envy/reflexive clicking/self-loathing, but
30% Bored and lonely
20% Leftover wine
10% Maths homework hell (not unrelated to wine, above)
10% Delighted to realise Paris is Burning is on YouTube.
You? Has your day been like dragging a mouse up a fridge? Or have you been a triumphant arachnid?
(*why does Blogger hate the ampersand so? Does it not know how often I need to discuss Marks et Spencer??)