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chaletianWell, it’s been a while since I’ve done a proper update, so I’ve probably got lots to say, all of which will disappear when I actually get down to it. As is the way. Maybe if I start from the end…
1. Back at work after the Easter long weekend. Pah. Am still muddling along with my survival curve for hip replacements, which is looking quite jolly now, even if Excel won’t chart my graph in the right format. Still, at least the data is accurate. And it has all been quite joyful.
2. Xanthe and I bopped back down to London last night with minimal strife (though we were invited by the coach driver to favour everyone else with a spot of karaoke… we declined…), and actually arrived at Victoria twenty minutes ahead of schedule! We entertained ourselves royally by playing Hangman (and good grief but we are erudite souls… yes indeedy…), Qui Suis-Je? and reading aloud (Xanthe gets points for translating random bits of German on the spot – my contributions were limited to recognising the words ‘schwester’ and ‘kopf’). Also eating our rather splendid tea.
3. Visited the grandparentals yesterday morning. They seemed to be in relatively fine fettle. I introduced Xanthe to Willis, and the other half of the grandparental chintz. The mater and grandparentals spent much of the visit being indignant about things (most of which could be traced back to the existence of a Labour government), and grieving over the loss of Jessup’s Hospital.
4. I stole Xanthe away for Easter and took her home to put in a little box. Sadly could not find box suitable to my purpose and was therefore obliged to let her roam free. Free to be poked in the eye by my father, for example. From what I can gather, this was in the nature of a scientific experiment on his part (to see if her eye was real, perhaps?). My mother was on fine form, and in particular seemed to get some kind of bizarre kick over pushing Xanthe round Lyme Park as speedily AS IS HUMANLY IMAGINABLE. The National Trust loses about fifty million points for being crap on the whole wheelchair access front. They get one back for having a house which has arms sticking out of embossed ceiling bits in order to commemorate the Frenchman whose arm was chopped off at the Battle of Crecy in order to provide young Sir Peers with Lyme Park in the first place. And I suppose they can have another one for having pretty gardens. And, let’s go wild, another one for a house with a pretty façade. Still, that’s a deficit of 49,999,997. Not good, National Trust!
5. Socks as an Easter present. Mine are stripy, and look like something out of the Worst Witch. Am rather pleased. I will go so far as to say they are better than last year’s knickers…
6. Saw le petit frere, who seemed on passably good form, though only exchanged about three words with anyone, and those were of a sporting nature. We played catch on Sunday, and he killed my hand dead. The brute.
7. I have probably forgotten about a million things to post about, but that will do for now. Oh, we made scones. They were a bit crap. Made chocolate cake. That was better. Also created the world’s best sundae. Because, y’know, culinary genius.
1. Back at work after the Easter long weekend. Pah. Am still muddling along with my survival curve for hip replacements, which is looking quite jolly now, even if Excel won’t chart my graph in the right format. Still, at least the data is accurate. And it has all been quite joyful.
2. Xanthe and I bopped back down to London last night with minimal strife (though we were invited by the coach driver to favour everyone else with a spot of karaoke… we declined…), and actually arrived at Victoria twenty minutes ahead of schedule! We entertained ourselves royally by playing Hangman (and good grief but we are erudite souls… yes indeedy…), Qui Suis-Je? and reading aloud (Xanthe gets points for translating random bits of German on the spot – my contributions were limited to recognising the words ‘schwester’ and ‘kopf’). Also eating our rather splendid tea.
3. Visited the grandparentals yesterday morning. They seemed to be in relatively fine fettle. I introduced Xanthe to Willis, and the other half of the grandparental chintz. The mater and grandparentals spent much of the visit being indignant about things (most of which could be traced back to the existence of a Labour government), and grieving over the loss of Jessup’s Hospital.
4. I stole Xanthe away for Easter and took her home to put in a little box. Sadly could not find box suitable to my purpose and was therefore obliged to let her roam free. Free to be poked in the eye by my father, for example. From what I can gather, this was in the nature of a scientific experiment on his part (to see if her eye was real, perhaps?). My mother was on fine form, and in particular seemed to get some kind of bizarre kick over pushing Xanthe round Lyme Park as speedily AS IS HUMANLY IMAGINABLE. The National Trust loses about fifty million points for being crap on the whole wheelchair access front. They get one back for having a house which has arms sticking out of embossed ceiling bits in order to commemorate the Frenchman whose arm was chopped off at the Battle of Crecy in order to provide young Sir Peers with Lyme Park in the first place. And I suppose they can have another one for having pretty gardens. And, let’s go wild, another one for a house with a pretty façade. Still, that’s a deficit of 49,999,997. Not good, National Trust!
5. Socks as an Easter present. Mine are stripy, and look like something out of the Worst Witch. Am rather pleased. I will go so far as to say they are better than last year’s knickers…
6. Saw le petit frere, who seemed on passably good form, though only exchanged about three words with anyone, and those were of a sporting nature. We played catch on Sunday, and he killed my hand dead. The brute.
7. I have probably forgotten about a million things to post about, but that will do for now. Oh, we made scones. They were a bit crap. Made chocolate cake. That was better. Also created the world’s best sundae. Because, y’know, culinary genius.
