Also, we have nearly sold our car. A man came to test drive it on
Saturday and fell in love with it. I didn’t meet him, but Mr.
Waffle thought he was dodgy. He said that he was a private
detective and he needed a new car urgently as his last one exploded
while he was tailing someone on the job. And he was very
keen. Mr. Waffle agreed a price and then became depressed.
He felt that we were ignorant foreigners being taken for a ride and we
would be paid, if at all, in counterfeit notes. And he pointed
out, when the man rang on the phone, he never said his name, a
suspicious sign, he thought. Professional idiosyncracy, I
decided. Anyway he turned up this morning to pay the deposit with
his wife and daughter in tow and it all seemed a little less
dodgy. It’s funny to think that, if all goes well, our
little car will be out and about tailing errant spouses or whatever it
is private detectives do in Belgium. The only problem now is
logistical. Before we can close the sale we have to all kinds of
technical things and this may not be a great week for us to take the
car for tests and hand it over. Oh well, doubtless everything
will work out.
And finally, even as I write, Mr. Waffle is picking my mother up from
the airport. She is going to stay with us for 10 days to provide
moral support to the Princess and more practical support for us.
Hurray for mothers. Of course, now I’m worried that the twins won’t
actually be born before she leaves.
on 26 September 2005 at 22:21
Anyway, as I was saying, one day something happened when I was writng on the board, and I turned round and demanded who had done it in a truly scholmasterly way. And several of the pupils pointed to the culprit, and to this day I remember their cry, “It was him, Mister, the black one!”
So there. Even coloured kids notice colours. “They’re colourblind at that age” say the PC brigade. Total, absolute, fur trimmed, bollocks. It’s just that they don’t know that colour’s at all significant – THAT they learn from adults.
on 27 September 2005 at 11:14
(And I expect the Princess was indeed confused by the the white parent/black child combo, and not anything more than that …).
It’s one of these chain mail thingies.
“A woman, while at
the funeral of her own mother, met a man she didn’t know. She thought
this guy was amazing, so much her dream guy, that she believed him to be
just that! She fell in love with him right there, but never asked for
his number and couldn’t find him. A few days later she killed her
Question: What is her motive in killing her
Answer: She was hoping that the guy would appear at the funeral again.
If you answered this correctly, you think like a psychopath. This was a
test by a famous American Psychologist used to test if one has the same
mentality as a killer . Many arrested serial killers took part
in the test and answered the question correctly. If you didn’t answer
the question correctly good for you.”
I tried this on my husband. He said “because the guy she fell in love with was the funeral director”
Me: Of course, not, then she’d have had his name and number.
Him: OK, I give up.
Me: Cos she was hoping he’d come to the funeral. It’s ok, you don’t have the mentality of a psychopath.
Him (indignantly): But that’s what I was getting at.
Me: OK, you have the mentality of a not very bright psychopath.
on 26 September 2005 at 09:55
Me: Um guy who went to the antartic with Shakleton?
Him: No, hero of the war of independence. From Tipperary. (Pause). I think you’re thinking of Tom Crean.]]>
Since we got back from holidays, I’Â’ve spent a lot of time at home communing with my couch. Saintly Mr. Waffle has taken the Princess in and out to the creche. This is a bit stressful for him because it means that his working hours are somewhat curtailed. Friday morning was particularly trying. He couldnÂ’’t sleep and arose at 5.15 to do some work (I know, extraordinary and somewhat alarming dedication). Madam woke at 7.15. Following a lengthy breakfast, some story reading, a little drawing, some dancing and some running around the house to get her dressed, she and Mr. Waffle finally left for the creche at 9.00. I thought that he was going to have a heart attack. I may have mentioned that I am married to the only punctual Irish man and he really HATES being late for work. I heaved a sigh of relief. Two minutes later, an upset husband and a serene toddler re-entered the premises. Apparently, no sooner had she sat into the car than she announced Â“I want to do a pooÂ”. I sat her on the pot with some trepidation; if she doesn’Â’t produce this poo, we could all die horribly. You will be delighted to hear that all was well and at 9.15, a mere four hours after getting up, my loving spouse was able to depart for work.