I got my swine flu jab on Monday and it’s still sore. The Princess got hers on Tuesday. She’s still sore too. I’m more whiny though. I regret not being more sympathetic to the boys when they got theirs. Mr. Waffle is the only member of our family still at risk from the pandemic. On the plus side for him, he doesn’t have a sore arm.
Mr. Waffle took the children to visit his parents an hour ago and isn’t due back for another 2 hours. It’s all peace and tranquility here. In a moment I am going to take a black bin bag upstairs and fillet the children’s rooms of forgotten toys lurking at the bottom of the toy baskets.
What, you ask have I been doing in the first hour of my freedom? Did I read the Sunday papers while having a relaxing cup of tea? Did I replace the inner tube on the back wheel of my bicycle? Did I just play on the internet? Oh no, I did not. I organised the children’s lego. By colour and brick size. I also made a tractor and a police car to make sure that we have all the pieces. We laugh that we do not weep.
The Princess loves Hodge.
She spends her time poking Hodge in the eye and putting her hand, daringly, in the cat’s mouth.
When she is not carrying her around.
I tell her to put the cat down and leave her alone. But, surprisingly, the cat sticks to her like a limpet.
Still, Hodge sometimes likes to get a good tree between her and us.
Also she sleeps with a gun under her pillow, just in case.
Incidentally, did I mention that Mr. Waffle finds himself speaking in French to the cat which is hilarious.
My mother always calls the radio “the wireless” and now technology has caught up with her again. My loving husband got me a brilliant radio for Christmas. It does normal, it does digital and it does internet radio. It’s fantastic. No more cricket on radio 4 for me. Manic cackle. I can choose stations by country, by genre, by whatever you are having yourself really. I listened to a US comedy channel, an NPR end of year special and Bel RTL and I didn’t bother with Money Box Live (if you have to ask, lucky you).
Now, internet, my friend, do you have a favourite radio station – local, regional, national – something you would recommend to someone with a brand new Roberts radio. If yes, please, please tell me what it is and I will tune in.
My husband is doing a bit of occasional lecturing work to keep us from starvation. He gave his students an essay recently. The texts are now in and it appears that the majority of his students are completely illiterate. His last lecture of the term focussed on what is likely to come up in the examination in January. He prefaced it by announcing that the thing most likely to increase their success in the examination was gaining a working knowledge of the use of the apostrophe. “How did they take that?” I asked. “They only started writing when I told them the topics they needed to cover for the examination.” I understand that Sophocles had similar problems with the younger generation.
Meanwhile, I too suffer for my love of grammar. Consider the following email exchange.
From: Former colleague A
To: Former colleague B
CC: Me
Subject: Lunch
I had mentioned to Anne we were meeting up and took the liberty of asking her along on Tuesday – is that ok with you? We can always gag her if she keeps talking about Cork!
From: Former colleague A
To: Me
Subject: Lunch
[In response to indignant reply from me]. So, is next Tuesday, ok?
From: Me
To: FCA
Subject: Lunch
Good.
From: FCA
To: Me
Subject: Lunch
Is that an endorsement of my literary style, a reflection of inner well being, or an indication of attendance?
From: Me
To: Former colleague A
Subject: Lunch
No, no and yes.
From: Former colleague A
To: Me
Subject: Lunch
How dare you insult my writings
From: Me
To: Former colleague A
Subject: Lunch
You forgot the question mark.
From: Former colleague A
To: Me
Subject: Lunch
I see your own literary style still tends to pedantic.
Daniel: Is there actimel in my lunch box?
Mr. Waffle: No, but there is fruit: grapes and apple.
Daniel and Michael in chorus: I don’t like grapes.
Mr. Waffle: No Michael, there is a banana for you.
Michael: I don’t want a banana.
Mr. Waffle: Well, Michael, every day you get a banana for school and it doesn’t come home so, I assume, something happens to it in school.
Michael: Yes, I put it in the bin.
And in today’s link section, an appealing post by a woman whose school sandwiches are never rejected because (insert really terrified gasp here), she homeschools her children.