Since I don’t do twitter I have to keep you in the irrelevant minutiae of my life this way.
Am rather excited: A molar, top left hand side, last in line, has made itself known. On a Friday evening. Brill. Excellent. You can’t beat it for entertainment value. Not least reminding me that I am still alive.
Hope you are looking forward to your weekend too.
Despite your assurances and my total and utter character defect of not knowing when to give up I can now confirm that red Bambi has gone to the big wide heaven where all staplers meet their forestaplers. On the upside I have found pages 489 to 490 of my Paperback Oxford English which will now allow me to look up and use words like monocolyledon, mop, mood and mother country. Mountain ash being a rowan tree.
Magpie being a continuing source of disappointment to me denies all promises he made to translate wisdom of Graf Herr von und zu Klutter, Monsigneur de Clutteur – the most noble of many a ghost in the loft. As I neither have a loft nor a cellar (not even a broom cupboard) I have now turned into my father’s daughter and am so organised, sorted and recylced I have just started tackling the last bastion of anyone staring their last will and testament in the face: Old letters and photographs. Oh dear. Phoned my mother this afternoon, inquiring whether it really was necessary to send THREE congratulatory cards on occasion of arrival of her grandson no. 3 (Apple of my Eye). Her being in grip of acute tooth ache I was not able to extract coherent answer. Did you know (how would you) that my maternal grandmother was one of the first female dentists in this country? Oddly, and my four year old self was baffled by this, when that ghastly drill went the way of her own mouth she immediately needed to go to the loo. It was my first introduction into the – to me – fascinating subject of how soma (body) and psyche connect and use each other to express mal content.