Eyeballs in the sky

Today has been a day of signs and omens, omens and signs, and wonders.

I am not sure if this means that I should run around shouting: ‘The sky is falling in’ and digging a nuclear bunker out of the frozen earth with my tiny paws, or whether nice things are going to happen.  As I fear exercise I am going for option b, in which I hope for nice things and sit back and wait for them to happen.

The first omen was when I got to mum and dad’s house at lunchtime to find a toad casually perched on the doorstep.  He was facing outwards towards the sunshine. He looked as if he had just popped a note, or possibly a small piece of decorative pond weed through mum and dad’s letter box and was on his way back home, job done.  I crouched down to look at him.  Oscar sailed by without a backward  glance.  When he got into the hall he turned to ask me what I was doing.  I put on my best David Bellamy ‘Isn’t nature a marvellous thing? face,’ and whispered to him about coming to look at this amazing toad.  He took one glance at it over his shoulder in utter disdain, and started to tell Granny what he wanted for lunch.  Clearly a much more interesting proposition.  I took a photograph.  He demanded to look at the photograph.  I demurred, pointing out that the real, live toad was sitting on the doorstep in the sun, and he would be much better rewarded by looking at the genuine article.

He refused, and whisked off into the kitchen to confer further about lunch.

So much for my attempts at an impromptu nature lesson.

Later, while we were eating lunch I kept thinking that there was something odd about my dad.  It took me a long time to twig on.  He is, after all, generally an odd man.  He fathered me for a start.  It was one of those times when you look at someone and you just can’t put your finger on what is wrong.  You know, like when someone has had their eyebrow shaved off?  I checked his eyebrows and they were both intact.  It was bugging the crap out of me.  Anyway, eventually I noticed that his sweater looked a little strange and sort of pulled around the neckline.  When he turned round I was able to solve the conundrum in seconds. He had his jumper on back to front.  I mentioned it to him.  He got quite defensive about it and said quite brusquely: ‘Hrmph! Well. I don’t know how you could possibly know.  Are you sure?’  I pointed out that I was entirely sure, due to the fact that it was a V necked jumper.  He was quite sheepish after that.

So, like I said; signs and portents, portents and signs.

Not much, I know, but I don’t know if I want to live in an age where portents are volcanic eruptions and people finding the face of Cheezus in a Garibaldi biscuit. I’m all for the low key revelation.

Plus, not much has happened today. I worked hard.  Oscar went to nursery, and I’ve only just gotten the girls back from school.  I’m writing now because it is another marathon session with the hypnotherapist at six, and by the time I’ve sorted out homework, cooked tea and gotten over there and back, the day will be gone, and will probably be much more stressful and upsetting.  It’s kind of nice that there isn’t much to say.  It won’t last.

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