this is a bitch of an unsatisfactory situation

Sunday, February 26, 2006

I am sick. This is an outrage. How can I be sick when there are books to alphabetize? And our new CD tower (rimu, first ever Trademe purchase) is still unstacked? Doesn't the universe realise it can't manage without me? Foo.

Had our first dinner guests last night: the lovely Ben and Julian. Dragged myself from my sickbed to prop myself languidly at the dining table for evening's witty conversation, political analysis, DIY tips. Now my face looks like someone has taken a cheesegrater to it. Am going back to bed to sulk and read Iain Banks. Whom I don't, officially, even like.

Saw the gay cowboy movie the other night. A bit slow to get going and featuring rather less rumpy-pumpy than I was expecting, but otherwise mighty fine. Jack mistook my continuous bubbling into an economy-sized box of tissues for emotion, but it was actually just prodigious snot production from this sodding cold. Blergh.

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doodle doodle doo

Friday, February 24, 2006

There's a rooster living in the front yard of house in front of us. Rebecca is delighted: 'Doodle doodle doo!' she yells in response to his raucous crowing. Fortunately he keeps fairly civilised hours; what's more, the farmyard noises are attenuated by distance as well as by the house, garden and demobbed solid steel shipping container, housing a decaying Landrover, that stand between us and him.

She's meant to be in bed and she's escaped. It's been one of those mornings. She's balanced wriggling on my lap, reaching for the keyboard and pronouncing 'Mummy email dere!' See, this is why I never blog during daylight hours.

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lynette moment

Thursday, February 23, 2006

I think blogipation might be a more apt name for this journal. Although it's not that I have nowt to say, it's just that I have no time to say it in.

Since I last wrote I have: moved into our new house; trawled endlessly around showrooms and warehouse in order to furnish same; taken delivery of a consignment of Chinese furniture that looked like it was from the Land of Giants and wondered what the sod to do with a camphorwood chest big enough to bury someone in (prised the lid off with some trepidation but it turned out to be full of carpets); taken up yoga; taken every single book on or by Christina Stead, whose biography I'm meant to be writing, out of the public library and then neglected them for four weeks; started Rebecca on swimming lessons; also started her on music and movement classes (harpsichord lessons start next week); attended a bluegrass and old-time fiddle workshop; dipped a digit into the world of working mummyhood; pushed Rebecca up many hills; acknowledged, for the first time, my Tupperware fetish and joined a support group.

We're having the lovely Ben and Julian around for dinner on Saturday and are planning a menu of hilarious ethnic English food. Anyone know where I can procure prawn cocktail flavoured lard?

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