Me (while writing letter): What are you up to?
Mr. Waffle (typing on computer): Hmm, what’s that?
Me (patiently): What are you doing on the computer?
Him (vaguely): Computer, what?
Me: Are you booking something, buying something?
Him (stopping typing and waving hands in front of face): I’m afraid Y chromosone has caused a general protection fault causing this programme to terminate. Would you like to send an error report to the creator?
From the front page of the Sunday before last’s Observer:
“Washington and London accuse Iran of widespread interference in Iraqâ€
I went to a concert this evening in the Conservatoire. I know, it’s just glamour, glamour, glamour. It looks like it needs a lick of paint.
It is one of the Belgian institutions that is supported by both the French and the Flemish community (and maybe even the German speakers too, for all I know). This is deeply unfortunate because, before they can agree to pick up a paintbrush, all the parameters of the action have to be explored and agreed by both communities. I may be mixing up my communities and my regions here, it is all fiendishly complex: I think that there are two regions (Flanders and Wallonia) and three communities (French speaking, Flemish speaking and German speaking) but it’s all a bit of a mystery really. I have already written about the effect on the nation’s young orchestra conductors. Tonight I heard that the in the conservatoire, the bottom of the tympani (or drums as I used to call them before I heard the conservatoire types talking) are funded by the Flemish and the tops by the French. Something has to give.
Meanwhile, on the radio on the way home, I hear that one of the catholic cardinals has put the cat among the pigeons by saying that he disapproves of gay marriage, abortion and condoms. Um, this is a surprise?
The Princess is doing a lot of drawing and writing at the moment. Mostly, she just writes Mama backwards and other random letters (a lot of ls and os). She has drawn a number of pictures of the family and continues to produce abstract works at impressive speed. All of these efforts are “for your office, Mamaâ€. I can barely close my briefcase and my handbag due to the number of folded artworks nestling inside. I tend to cull some of the offerings and select only the very best to adorn my office walls. It was for that reason that I came home the other day to find a furious Princess holding out a number of second tier works of art in indignation. “Mama, somebody put these in the bin!†she said. “Was it you?†she asked furiously. Oh dear. How was I to know that she would go searching in the bin for proof of my iniquity?
Mr. Waffle has an Italian colleague who has given us loads of beautiful hand me down clothes for the boys. Â Â They arrive in big bags in pristine condition, perfectly ironed. Â We got another delivery during the week.
Mr. Waffle: Why are they so much nicer than all of the clothes we buy them?
Me: Because they’re really, really expensive and beautifully made.
Him: It’s as though she’s handing me a bag with €500 in it.
Me: Well, not really, I mean she’s not planning to have any more children so it’s nice for her to give them away to someone who appreciates them.  I’d like to do that.
Him: Well then why is our basement full of clothes our children have outgrown?
The Princess was little Miss Splendid this morning. Little Miss Splendid is even better than little Miss Good. I know, incredible. We left the house at 8.15. It was so early that we were able to go for breakfast before her course.
As we sat in the cafe, the coffee machine was going. The Princess put her hands over her ears.
Her: That coffee machine is so noisy.
Me: Mmm, I know.
Her: And we don’t even like coffee, though grandad does.
Me: Yes he does.
Her: But not as much as he likes beer.
Me: No, probably not.
Her: He likes to go to the pub to drink beer a lot, doesn’t he?
And now, while Mr. Waffle gets in the shopping, I am supposed to be at home packing for our Easter weekend in the Hague where the Dutch Mama and her brood are patiently awaiting our arrival. Must get to it. Happy Easter.