nearly 4

Apparently, a milkshake is a shake that has milk in it. Also if you mix lunch and supper you get slunch. This is the wisdom of Thom.

Here endeth the lesson

Shahid's sandwiches

A new series starts here today. My colleague, Shahid, says that whilst at college his sandwiches were so tasty that he sold them to other students.

Today he is eating a cheese and bombay potato.

More tomorrow

triggers...

... Going to have lunch with my Dad today. There is always part of me that expects some bad news. I discussed this with the boss earlier. The words "James, can I have a word with you" and similar versions have the ability to strike a chill in my heart. She, the boss, had said these words because she just wanted to talk about the arrangements for my Masters next year. I had to explain that my initial reaction is always fear. Its the fear of being found out and told off for something I don't know I have done. This could be hang over from my younger life when there were a few misdemeanors - a healthy teenage interest in top shelf literature, burning down a few nearby farms, overthrowing some minor South American democracies, the usual stuff - which have now been either forgiven or forgotten (Clement Freud, the gourmand, former MP and quiz show panelist says that he never forgives but because he is getting old he does forget). But somewhere deep deep inside there is the apprehension that someone will find out something I did 30 years ago, wave it under my nose (metaphorically of course - I'm not sure you could literally wave the blighted lives of a few million south americans under a nose. Maybe you could do it one by one using a large crane with a net or a very large pair of (cushioned) barbecue tongs. But the queue for a few million people would be very very long and you'd need to bring in catering and possibly shelter (depending which time of year, of course). The transport arrangements would be very complicated as they would, probably, have to come across the Atlantic. For such a large number the use of a pre-fabricated travelator would really be perfect. i had hoped that when they built the new millenial footbridges across the Thames they would have added travelators - a really fun way to travel (natch) and very helpful for doing panoramic video shots of the London or railway lines (depending on what your own personal interest is. Thom, the bright nearly 4 old, is, as previously mentioned, obsessed with trains. So for his birthday on the 27th December, we'll probably just get on a train and see where it takes us. As we will be down at my Dad's (in Budleigh) we'll have the full play of South West trains.)))))

.. so anyway, lunch with Dad and whenever we see each other outside of seasonal visits, I fear news of bad import.

Glenda's shopping basket

Not much in there other than 4 bottles of white wine. Two of which, I think, were Oxford Landing and dry. She was probably having the Chancellor over for a late tea

Glenda Jackson

I was pushing a trolley round Tescos looking for green lentils (which make much better mujadara, since you asked) with two kids squashed into the kiddie seats and Thom says "We need Goats milk." The Goats milk is a left over from Thom's excema and colic - apparently goats don't get either and cows do, so stay away from the cows (lest we forget that they had cowpox before we got small pox, let alone chicken pox, or even monkey pox). I'm not a milk drinker in tea or coffee so could not tell you whether it does have a slightly goatee taste or not when heated.

So anyway, Thom (who you'll remember is "nearly 4") says "There it is" displaying either remarkably developed literacy skills or a good memory for a brand image! We wheel over to the cold shelf and find the way blocked by a woman in a dark brown twin piece with a rather scraggy looking neck. I waited quietly exuding a "don't you realize you are in the way and I've got two small children who whilst being delightful and very attractive do encumber (today's zeitgeist) me greatly and you should give me priority" vibe. Eventually she moved off to the next shelf (the organic stuff) and turned around. It was our Glenda, resident of Blackheath and by this account regular shopper at Tescos Lewisham. I said to her. "excuse me. I think you're fab" and she said "Thank you very much".

The Sound of Silence

Since my lack of bloggin' in the last few weeks, I am reminded of a small Columbian woman, half hidden by a guitar, sitting on my one time lawn singing Simon and Garfunkel songs round an improvised bonfire the day after Tony Blair came to power. House warmings don't come much warmer. Which reminds that we are trying to agree on the style of front door we want as the one we inherited when we moved to leafy Hilly Fields (or should that be hilly leafy fields - both re accurate) is a bit warped and not exactly the best for insulation and heat retention. The work we did getting a new boiler put in by the estimable Mr Chong is evaporating before our eyes (that is if we happened to infra red thermoscopic ones like in the film Predator). Colliding in a meaningful way with one's partner is a skill hard learnt. Collisions of course happen on a regular basis - the 3am "Your turn", the 8am "I'm going to work, I suggest you look after the kids", the 7pm "you bath, I read". But to find time when both parties are a) awake, b) unencumbered by kids, c) unencumbered by wanting desperately to be in bed and get some sleep before the kids are awake, d) unenhanced by red wine, is tricky.

... and I saw Glenda Jackson in Tescos on Saturday.

news from the undead

... have had comments from a shark and a laydee asking as to why no blog. Brain deadness is not condusive to writing anything half way interesting. So apologies, yet again, for the lack of news. General fatigue but, more importantly, lack of brain time and good REM sleep are to blame.

sleep deprivation

... apologies for the lack of blog (especially after my kindly rant at the catster and the laydee). The lack of sleep has caught up on me big time. Its not just a lack of hours (5 or 6 on average, instead of a healthy 7 or 8), but the broken nature. Imagine an early night, say 11pm, a bit of reading with the headphones on listening to Late Junction on Radio 3 and off to slumber by 11.15. 12am Gal wakes for a feed, 1am Madame comes to bed, 3am Thom "has the feeling of a wee wee", 4am Gal needs a feed. You get the picture. And there are no lie ins at the weekend - this is not a concept that has penetrated the mind of either the 3-nearly-4-year-old. And forget "Daylight Saving Time" - a bizarre concept that is only helpful to Scottish farmers - this is temporal virtuality that is beyond 48 months of being.

Apparently for every hours you lose from your regular sleep pattern you lose 5 points on your IQ until you make up the hour again. It accumulates as well so, on the basis that I have an average IQ of 100, I am currently in minus figures. This means that I am technically brain dead.