not from round here

Wednesday, August 31, 2005

This morning a new lady librarian took over Rhyme Time. Much dark muttering among the mums concerning how she is not as good as Anna, her predecessor. Which may very well not be true, and we should give her a fair go. But at least Anna knew not to fill the tots with squash and biscuits and then expect them to sit lamblike on our laps joining in with the action songs.

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you wouldn't like me when I'm angry

Tuesday, August 30, 2005

This morning on some commercial packaging I read the following spurious pronouncement: "During ovulation a woman's sense of spatial awareness improves, so parking in small spaces is a doddle."

'ALWAYS^TM: Because if one thing is guaranteed to cheer you up when you're on the rag, it's being patronised by a feminine hygiene product.'

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pars pro tot

Monday, August 29, 2005

Rebecca has started to refer to the television as 'Bob'. ('Bob? Yeh? Yeh? Bob?') Not sure whether this is metonymy (or should that be synecdoche, I always get them mixed up) or whether she specifically wants to watch Bob the Builder as opposed to whatever technicolour commotion happens to be on Cbeebies at the time. Rebecca's friend Robert used to refer to his parents' computer as 'Bob' because he was convinced that the computer's prime directive was to provide access to Bob-related material online. (See above link.) So who knows what goes through the little baby brain?

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jaws

Rebecca is currently going through a biting phase. Does anyone know where I can procure industrial quantities of that stuff you paint on to stop kids chewing their nails?

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ttdblb#7

Friday, August 26, 2005

This was the orchestra we (Melanie, Andy and I) went to hear at the Proms last weekend, queuing for about 4 hours in the rain for standing tickets. Worth it though, not just because we managed to get actual seat seats, (nor even for the entertainingly anthropological queuing behaviour): this was one of the most electric classical concerts I've ever attended - the Prom vibe multiplied by the audience's acute awareness of the political context, further thrilling to some devastating ensemble playing by the young and very talented musicians. Programme was Mozart's Sinfonia concertante for assorted woodwind, followed by Mahler's 1st. Encores were a very restrained but powerful 'Nimrod' from the Enigma Variations - I assume I'm not the only one to have taken this as unspoken tribute to the victims to the London bombings - and finally the Prelude to Tristan and Isolde, prefaced by an address by the conductor, Barenboim, explaining that it was an act of defiance. As a both a first and a last Prom before leaving the UK, it was a good'un.

This Saturday we're back in London again to see Ewan in Guys and Dolls. Luke, be a Jedi tonight!

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states of play

Thursday, August 25, 2005

Still marking time until the exchange of contracts on the house goes through. Haven't been this pissed off about something taking far too long since I was nine and a half months pregnant.

Latest battle of wills has been over whether Medium Bunny, Rebecca's current favourite transitional object, is allowed in the bath. We have yet to ascertain Medium Bunny's views on the subject but we, Mummy and Daddy, think no.

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quote du jour

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

'Having your work reviewed is an exercise in being condescended to by your inferiors' - John Irving, on this morning's Today programme.

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jack william

Monday, August 22, 2005

Yesterday we reconvened at the Bridge Hotel in Huntingdon for Wee Jack's naming. It was a simple, beautiful ceremony: his parents, choked with emotion, explained why they had chosen his names and made him a series of promises: to bring him up as a decent, tolerant person, always to offer him unconditional love. His guide parents each read him a poem, and offered the family their support, as did Jack's grandparents, the distaff side having flown in from Toronto for the occasion. At the close, I played 'Summertime' on the violin for wee Jack while he boggled at me, never having seen or heard anything so strange.

Afterwards we had tea and scones in the sunshine, while trying to prevent Rebecca from escaping into the carpark, and beyond.

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teeny angst

Sunday, August 21, 2005

Rebecca seems to have entered a very premature adolescence - she grizzles, whines and when she deems it appropriate, throws herself full-length, wailing, on the floor. It's a situation I'm hard pressed to derive much amusement from, although more experienced parents smile ruefully when I describe her behaviour. At least I think it's ruefulness: might well be Schadenfreude* for all I know. Curse this British reserve.

*Given that some Grauniad journo has coined the term 'Blondenfreude' to describe collective salivation over the public downfall of Britney, Martha and other erstwhile golden girls, I feel I should point out that Schadentelly is, and always has been, MINE.

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more things i'll miss

Wednesday, August 17, 2005

• Yorkshire tea
  
• Waking up to John Humprhys haranguing some dingbat politician. Especially when he says 'yes, but with the greatest respect' in that tone that really means 'you lying sack of shit'.
  
• Queuing as national sport. The rules are more byzantine than cricket, and a really good queue can last (or seem to last) as long as a test series. And like cricket, foreigners don't really understand it. More on this later when I have time to write up my first experience as a Promenader.

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a domain of one's own

Sunday, August 14, 2005

Welcome to Blogorrhoea! Thanks and love to Jack for hours of patient toil, from snagging the domain name in the first place to translating 'I want it to be sort of purplish and blurry around the edges with photos along the top' into actual web design. As ever, far above and way beyond...

Incidentally, if you're at all interested, h-blog archives are still available linked off the sidebar. Just a little to your left. No no, up a bit. That's it!

This morning experienced what I can only describe as a Stephen King moment with my sewing machine - had it serviced a couple of weeks back and spent a couple of hours fiddling about with it. Just when I was about to put it away, the sewing arm thingy began pumping frenetically up and down as acrid smoke poured out of the side of the machine - all this while I was on the other side of the room. Somewhat nonplussed, I phoned the sewing machine man, who chuckled knowledgeably and explained that it wasn't possessed, it's just something to do with a capacitor that needs replacing. He's promised to come over next week and perform the electronic equivalent of waving a dead chicken at it: in the meantime I will regard the episode as vindication of my aversion to all things arty-crafty, and from now on vow only to buy mass-produced cheapo clothing made in sweatshops. Far safer that way.

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