Item – I am writing this, painfully slowly, on an iPad in a hotel room in the deepest, dampest countryside. It’a very nice hotel room, but it’s chilly, or at least, I’m chilly. And baffled by how startlingly clumsy I am without nice clicky solid keys with edges to guide me. I’m a ferociously good and speedy typist usually. This is like being back in school, when we used to troop into the ‘Computer Lab’ to practice touch-typing for half and hour every Thursday.
Item – Someone found my blog by searching for ‘insubordinate trollop’. I can’t tell you how happy this makes me.
Item – Diet, which was going so well I actually PEELED THE PASTRY OFF A SAUSAGE ROLL before eating it, blown to smithereens within five minutes of entering my mother’s house earlier this afternoon. I have eaten chips. I have eaten cake. I have *sob* eaten ice-cream.
Item – My Dad left me the most passive-aggressive message in the history of telephony, complaining that we never answered his calls, we don’t visit, we don’t write, so, anyway, he was going to be our end of the country on Saturday, and wanted to come over for dinner. Of course, we’re at this wedding, 200 miles away, this weekend. I burst into tears, feeling instantly stricken with guilt (God, my Dad is good. He’s like Portnoy’s mother) that we’d missed his call and weren’t going to make him dinner. It took H a while to talk me down, poor lamb. Then I called Dad back, to point out he hadn’t called since my birthday, that calling before 7:30 was counterproductive as we both actually work long hours, that we’d been invited to the wedding months ago, as had he (only he refused the invitation), and that ideally, we needed more than 36 hours’ notice to fling all our plans into the air. Oh, and we had visited him in September, so the ‘I haven’t seen you for YEARS’ was uncalled for. He folded like a table napkin, and I left him a lotus of his own making.
Item – It was actually bizarrely liberating to realise, and in under two hours too, that actually, none of this particular ballsup was anything to do with me. I’m 36 and married and live 500 miles from him and he can still play me like a violin on the (rare) occasions he wants something from me. *sigh*
Item – still, wedding tomorrow. I’ve already met baby Edna. Naturally, she found her impending lunch of considerably more interest than yet another bloody cousin, and blanked me completely. Wise child. Onwards.