Middle of August? Really?

Hello.

Yes, it's been a while.
I am nothing if not consistent in blogging sporadicity.
Shall we move on?
Good.
So what's been happening?


Heat. First part of the summer holidays, we basked in the heat. Teabag loved it and we would share a sun lounger, me reading, her swaying gently like a furry teasel. Peggy, found the heat a bore. The only good thing about it was the fact that with all the doors and windows open she could hear every bark for miles around and respond to them. That didn't drive us mad at all.

(Peg in need of doggles and a cooling bowl of tea)


Sorting out bits and bobs for my parents. This is nothing new but since my father's been not so well, there are a few more things to check. Last week it was his new phone. We'd spent ages sorting out his Facebook, email and Twitter feed. Forget calling people. This nearly 81 year old chap likes social networking at his fingertips. Then his Twitter feed suddenly went Dutch. Whatever we did, we couldn't get it back into English. When we eventually cracked it, he said he'd actually quite liked it in Dutch. It's his birthday next week and I'll make a cake. The blue cake with the doe-eyed frog you see here, was made by The Younger One and me for my mother's birthday. It's difficult to get a sense of scale but suffice to say if I sat Teabag next to it, she'd be cast in its shadow. And scared.. There are four cakes wedged inside that icing and you could melt your teeth just by looking at it. Younger One was entirely responsible for the frog and the flowers. I'm thinking of hiring her out as (somewhere) there must be a market in frog 'n flower sculpting.

Meetings. Recently I've had to attend meetings. This is where grown up people sit around a big table and propose different ways of doing things in vaguely the same way. They also present lots of paperwork and eat sandwiches. I'm sure you're all very familiar with meetings but I wasn't. Not meetings like these anyway. I had to smarten up. Sartorially and mentally.

For a recent meeting, I managed to cobble together 'an outfit'. The teenager (the one we call Maya) laughed when she saw me. You look like you've just stepped out of BonMarche . Now if you're familiar with this shop, you'll know that this is the insult to end all insults. It is acrylic. It is pastel. It is old. My mother shops there so I should know. There is an accent on the é of Marché but she refuses to acknowledge it. I know. Infuriating.

But what the heck. No one really notices anyway. They're all too busy trying to keep up with the latest acronyms and not to drop egg mayonnaise on the minutes.

Seeing horrible people: In a local beauty spot, cans and crisp packets were being thrown out of a car. I'd noticed the car earlier - tinted windows, thudding music. I had that horrible 'angry but impotent' feeling because something told me not to approach them and for once I trusted my gut. But then I felt awful, like the most cowardly of cowardy custards and I hated that I'd been so lilly livered. I was plagued by guilt and had fantasies of how I was a super hero - Litter Woman - intimidating and fearless. If they didn't respond to a polite request, I would haul them from the car, slam them face down (gently) on the stony ground, crush the cans on their heads and make them beg for mercy and promise to never, ever drop even so much of an eyelash again. Too much? No, I thought not. And whilst they were whimpering, they would have an epiphany and realize exactly what they'd done wrong and vow to educate all their foul, litter-flipping, no-brain cronies too. And then they'd thank me. Oh yes, I have fantasies alright.

Wimbledon. Yes, I know. How can I mention Wimbledon in August? Well it's just because I want to tell you a quick story I remembered and I couldn't tell you back then because of - well - the not blogging thing. But I don't want to wait another year so ...

Watching Wimbledon and remembering when Virginia Wade won in 1977:

I was at the convent, in what was then called the 3rd form. Sister Marguerita was a big tennis fan so she brought a tiny TV into the classroom and fiddled endlessly with the aerial to get a picture without snow. She grew animated as the match progressed and when Ginny Frilly Knickers finally dropped to her knees in victory, Sister Marguerita leapt in the air, pink in the face, and cheered. We all stood up from our desks to join her. If you knew how dour this particular sister was, you would see that such displays of jollity were shocking - far more shocking than a Brit winning Wimbledon. Sister was Irish of course but her patriotism wasn't limited to the Emerald Isle. Or maybe she just really liked Ginny.*

By the way, did anyone catch that gem on BBC4 - The Great Outdoors ? Gentle, sharp comedy. Loved it but sadly only three episodes made.

* I bet I've told you that story before. Please forgive. My children keep telling me I repeat myself alot. Repeat myself I say. Repeat myself?

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