I’m still here. Feeling slightly less deranged. Hanging on in there.
I’m not capable of coherent thought yet. It is too early and not enough coffee has been imbibed. I’m off to that there Lunnon in a minute. Andrea and I are going to see George Bernard Shaw’s, ‘Man and Superman’ at the National Theatre. From what we can ascertain it is long, and wordy. The up side is that it has Ralph Fiennes in it, and if it is too long and wordy and Ralph is not scintillating enough, we can all go to sleep.
We will also be in London. Which is my great love, next to Jason and the children.
Here is the news:
I have been out to dinner/lunch/tea/coffee/snacks/cake a lot this week. We have a new coffee shop up the road. It is called Northern Cobbler. I went to test it. It was my bounden duty. Coffee was fantastic, cake was peculiar. I had Hummingbird Cake, mainly because it was called Hummingbird Cake. It had no hummingbirds in. Other than that it had everything else in it. I tasted lime, banana, walnut, some kind of candied nut (possibly macadamia) and maybe carrot. It was basically Leftover Cake. I will try others and report back.
My bargain of the week is an Ally Capellino wool/cashmere jacket which I bought for £2.99. I do love a bargain.
Tilly had her first GCSE yesterday. How can this be happening? She is only four.
She had art. It is the first of three art exams. She has another on Tuesday and one more on Thursday. She came home yesterday smothered in ink, with acrylic paint on her knees. She seemed pleased.
Tallulah is going head to head with a biology teacher who believes children must be taught in chunks of easily digestible material which are black and white. Shades of grey are not allowed, fifty or otherwise. Tallulah’s helpful interjection, when asked to sort animals into predators and prey, that some animals were both predators and prey, was not received well. This is the second or third time Tallulah has questioned received wisdom. I feel that there will be mutiny soon.
I am on Tallulah’s side.
I accompanied Oscar on a school trip to Leicester Tiger’s rugby ground yesterday where we spent the morning meeting authors. A strange venue I know, and many of the children were there in the hope that the authors would emerge dressed in full rugby kit and lead them onto the pitch. It did not happen, but Oscar was very excited to meet author Julia Golding, who writes time shift/science fiction/Arthurian adventure stories. I’m thinking Pittacus Lore mixed with Artemis Fowl and Malory’s Morte D’Arthur. Interesting and possibly puzzling. Oscar got a free book and is very excited about it.
My smear test was a disaster. The nurse could not find my cervix, and after far too long fumbling about in my under carriage, decided that I needed to come back in two weeks for her to try again. To say that I am not best pleased is the understatement of the year. I am quite annoyed at my cervix, which seems to have run away to join the war effort. I am extremely annoyed at the nurse. I have had a minor tantrum about going back which included sticking my lip out, much waily waily and a lot of stamping around when I got home.
Epic fail, as the children say.
Although part of me is quietly jubilant to find that my cervix is as unimpressed with the state of modern medicine as I am. Perhaps it is the start of my migration over to the Rebel Alliance. Who knows what will go next.
My pot belly, I hope.