Persistent ear worm of All That Jazz from Chicago. This because Tallulah keeps singing it. I am now also obsessed by the idea of why anyone would ever want to rouge their knees (as it says in the song). I just cannot imagine this being sexy, although my friend on Twitter tells me it was a ‘thing’.
Thank fuck Jason is not expecting me to rouge my knees on a daily basis. In fact, were I to do so, he would probably have me committed to the basket weaving department pronto.
I might draw smiley faces on them with biro though, which is another matter altogether.
When Tilly was very small she used to paint watches all up her arm in black poster paint. Perhaps this will be a thing of the future and in generations to come people will be singing about painting watches on their arms and wondering what the fuck all that was about.
I went for a walk today. I was motivated by the thought of wearing my new Adidas Gazelles, which I am rather in love with. I had my first pair when I was seven, and rebelled bitterly because they were not cool. I knew they were not cool because my mother frowned upon fashion. The problem with fashion, she was always explaining, was that it always went out of fashion. I did not see this as a problem. I saw this as the POINT of fashion. Our views were never to meet on this issue, and the moment my protesting feet were thrust into a pair of Gazelles I knew that months of torment would inevitably ensue at school.
So it came to pass. This was despite the news that everyone else in the country thought they were as hip as all get out. How unfair is this? The one time in my life I actually managed to be bang on trend and my entire town was behind the times. Bloody typical.
Anyway. I had another pair in the Noughties when they were cool all over again, and I am now on my third pair, not caring whether they are in fashion or not. I just bloody love them. I’m going to wear them until they fall off my feet in tiny gazelle shaped shreds.
I bounded people. I absolutely bounded. Although on the way back I was hampered by my insane desire to borrow forty metric tonnes of library books even though I now have eleventy million squillion books on my to read pile in my own home. On the way home I shuffled, but in a cool, gazelle like way. The way of a gazelle who has exceeded the limit on his library card and is rather regretting the way things have gone but can’t back out at this late stage.
That sort of gazelle.
The sort of gazelle that would never rouge its knees.
A zebra might, but a Gazelle would have more pride.
The fasting thing didn’t go so well. I made excellent soup, which was both nourishing and entirely soupy. It was also splendidly healthy. I then ruined it by eating it with half a loaf, a chunk of Caerphilly cheese the size of Caerphilly itself, and 17 biscuits.
Still, at least I stopped at seventeen.