Oscar is poorly. I had to pick him up early from school yesterday afternoon. When I arrived to fetch him, he was a rather interesting grey colour and his freckles were standing out like organ stops. It’s not a good look for a small boy. He was most woeful.
It is not entirely clear what is wrong with him. Apart from the fact that he shouldn’t have grey skin and feel a bit clammy. He has stomach ache, which has yet to manifest itself in any spectacular vomiting or exits from the other end of his person, which is good. He also has a headache. This coupled with the fact that he is voluntarily going to bed and sleeping meant that I have decided to keep him away from school today, even though we have no label for what it is that ails him.
As it is half term next week I am praying that whatever it is he has is a) non communicable and b) over by tomorrow so we can get on with our week, which is cram bang full of things to do, places to go and people to visit. There is not a single day when I am not engaged upon some activity somewhere. We are out and about in the land like a royal procession of Boos.
I have nothing coherent for you today. So here are some random things:
I am reading Elizabeth David’s, An Omelette and a Glass of Wine. I am only a quarter of the way through and it is making me so hungry I have to keep stopping for snacks. I am eating garlic and jalapeño stuffed olives at an alarming rate and feel that my comeuppance is nigh.
But I will be safe from wumpires.
Tilly has gone on an outward bound weekend near Doncaster. I am pushing thoughts of her to the back of my mind about every five minutes. She will be fine. She will be fine. All will be well and all manner of things will be well. It amuses me that I ricochet between worrying that she might not have enough clean knickers to worrying that she might die down a pot hole. The ridiculous to the gor blimey springs to mind. It is good to know that I am an equal opportunities worrier.
I am in charge of the tortoise again this weekend. Woe. I now have to spend the entire weekend with the word TORTOISE written on my hand. I have found no other method sufficient to help me remember that the quietest member of the family needs attention. It is such a responsibility.
I have booked lots of theatre today. My credit card has melted slightly, but I now have squillions of lovely things to look forward to, and there are a few more things in the pipeline once I have myself more organised date wise. If it all comes off and we actually manage not to bugger up with any double bookings etc, it is going to be a most exciting year theatrically speaking.
I got vaguely irritated by the Pope’s pronouncement that it was selfish of people not to have children. I mused on the raging hypocrisy of a devoted celibate pronouncing on this issue. I pondered the idea of writing another Outraged of Knighton blog post about it. I couldn’t be arsed. Popey, Popey, get a ruddy grip, is about the strength of it. You can fill in the gaps from there.
A friend came over for dinner earlier in the week. She is from Mauritius, of Chinese extraction, and speaks French. Her cultural background is amazing to me. She prepared some Mauritian food for us. It was delicious. We had a type of dhal soup, which was really good, but my stand out favourite was a kind of felafel but made with lentils rather than chick peas. She had made an kind of aubergine chutney/salsa to go with them which was out of this world. I LOVE trying new foods.
Tallulah and Oscar have formed a band called The Flaming Munchkins. They have already split up and reformed twice in the space of three days. Passions run high amongst the Flaming Munchkins it seems. I have yet to hear one of their numbers. I am rather grateful.