I am still here. Jason has trundled off back to Germany, with his knapsack on his back – and the cat has gone back to sulking and chewing the bottom of the stair carpet in protest. I myself should like to do something similar, but there is no time, and finding a way to squeeze myself along the bottom step of the stair whilst still being able to get my jaws round a serious portion of tufted Wilton is something that in my now advancing years would take time, and a level of commitment I can’t bring myself to muster. We shall leave Derek to the stairs, while I mutter and grumble about the highways and byways of the county thinking dark thoughts.
It is only Tuesday and I have already managed to tick off pilates, singing, swimming and a bit of God bothering this week. I have also adjudicated several interesting meal time debates.
Oscar: ‘Tilly, you know that the sun is only a medium sized star don’t you, yeah? Well, I mean I hope you do.’
Tilly: ‘In relation to what?’
Oscar: Shrugging – ‘Some other bigger stars, and some smaller ones…’
We moved on to discussing the phrase ‘Hiding your light under a bushel.’ This was after I said that I had contributed a small banjo interlude to Haircut One Hundred’s seminal song, Fantastic Day. Tilly asked me how much they paid me for it.
I have always maintained to my children that way back in the mists of time I was a musical polymath who was in great demand amongst the popular beat combos of yore. Before they were born, and now, when they are at school, I often make guest appearances on records. Last week I told them that I had sung all the ‘nah nah’ sections in Blink 182’s song, All The Small Things. I led them to believe that I got £5 for every ‘nah’. When asked what I had done with the money I told them I had spent it all on sweets. This is entirely plausible.
So, with Haircut One Hundred, they wanted to know how much my banjo stylings had cost Nick Heyward. I explained that I had done it just for the joy of playing the banjo, and because Jason had done the small trumpet voluntary on the same track and it meant we could work together, so it was well worth it. As for the banjo, I explained, it was such a brilliant instrument to play, it seemed unfair to hide my light under a bushel.
Tilly said: ‘I have never understood why you would want to hide your light under a bushel. Surely you would just set it on fire?’
I said: ‘What do you think a bushel is?’
Tilly: ‘A baby bush of course.’
She pauses thoughtfully.
‘I suppose you could also call it a bushlet.’
P.S. I did not let on that I am pretty sure that a bushel is a unit of measurement and I have no idea why or even how one is supposed to hide a light under one of those either. It is akin to hiding your light under a centimetre.