The weather continues hot. My brain continues slow. I am the three toed sloth of the parenting world.
I am failing at every conceivable parenting activity. I have not visited a park, or a play scheme or any child related activity place. I am mostly carrying on my ideal lifestyle, eating, sleeping, reading, knitting, poking about in junk shops, staring at passers by, desultorily visiting galleries/stately homes, laughing a lot at inappropriate stuff, and taking the children with me. They don’t seem to mind, and are developing a comprehensive knowledge of deli counters up and down the land whilst able to talk reasonably knowledgeably about Adam fireplaces and croquet lawns.
They were already experts at laughing at inappropriate stuff before I met them.
Tilly is on a sleepover at a friend’s house where they are undoubtedly buzzing around doing a million and one activities. In the meantime I shuffle around, looking for a shady branch to hang from while I grow myself a nice winter coat of sphagnum moss.
Oscar, Tallulah and I ventured out for about an hour. We slithered about in a gentle fashion for a bit, agreed that we hated getting hot and sticky and went to a bakery for tea and buns. It is called The Tiny Bakery on Clarendon Park Road in Leicester. You should go. It is lovely. It does exactly what it says on the tin. It is not far from the wool shop, which is excellent, and the brilliant second hand book shops, and the florist and green grocer’s, and all the other boutiques of excellence near our house.
Can you tell I love my neighbourhood?
At the back of the shop there really is a teeny bakery where three days a week they whip up delicious artisan breads. The rest of the week they buy in stock from a local baker. Every day there are fresh cakes and biscuits, and a small number of chairs and tables if you don’t want to take your goodies away and must sink your teeth into something scrumptious right there and then. They do a fantastic Americano and I am a particular fan of their white chocolate and cranberry flap jack. The staff are friendly and super obliging and all in all it is wonderful and deserves to flourish.
It is also very handy for our local library which we are frequenting a great deal due to the fact that we are eyeball deep in the summer reading challenge. This year it is called Mythical Maze, but do not fear, it is absolutely the same as it ever was, but with different drawings. The stickers that you win for completing each stage are scratch and sniff. Today’s offerings were rancid offal and rotting onion I think. The lady at the library (we are still at the old fashioned, nice lady stamping your books stage, instead of the crap computerised do it yourself stage), was very distressed as she has to store about eleventy million of these stickers and it is making her drawer smell terrible.
Although I did laugh when she told me her drawers smelled terrible.
While this idle life style continues apace my mind races with strange thoughts and questions. To whit:
If you plant mung beans (we have just sprouted some), do they make mung plants?
Why is Oscar always covered in food? You would think, given how hungry he always is, that he wouldn’t want to miss anything and would be stuffing it all in like a crazed hamster rather than wandering around with crumbs in his ears.
If you take two pretty tea towels and stitch them together and stuff them with something squishy, would that make an acceptable cushion or would it just look a bit shit? (I am erring towards the shit answer, as if it were aces, everyone would be doing it, surely?)
Why is the cherry tree in my garden dying, and how much is it going to cost me to revive/chop it down?
Is there an invention that makes your toes not look a bit like rhino horns, and if so, where can you get it? (I’m asking for a friend).
Why am I the only person in my house who picks up dirty socks? I wonder if to 99% of the population a sock is invisible to the naked eye once it has been ejected from the bottom of the foot? If so, why am I in the 1% who this kind of behaviour drives bat shit crazy?
Why don’t animals get acne?
and so it goes.