In geography (which seems a lot more interesting than it was when I was at school), the Princess’s class are doing a case study.
It was about housing and the teacher showed them a number of pictures of a place she called “Fatima“. As the Princess looked at these gloomy pictures, she thought, “I had no idea Portugal was so rainy.”
The motto must be, if you’re a teacher assume nothing.
Herself: Superhero comics are sexist. Female characters wear ludicrous costumes. Name a male character who dresses up in a swimsuit.
Her Friend: Aquaman wears a swimsuit.
My favourite aunt is 87 and lives next door to my parents. She is well in pretty much every way and is still driving around and going out for lunch and looks fantastic. But she fell today. She just tripped when going from the pavement on to the road. Even as I write she is being x-rayed but it looks like a broken hip. Sadly. Oh dear. I spoke to her on the phone and she sounded cheerful but it is not very cheerful. She said that people were very kind; they helped her up and when it became apparent that she wasn’t going to be able to get up, fetched a seat from a nearby pub, got her a cup of tea and sat with her until my saintly sister and the ambulance arrived, in that order. Send cheerful thoughts towards Cork, please.
I have just completed the shopping online and bought all of the ingredients to make Christmas pudding (including brandy, my God, the cost of brandy). These will be delivered on Thursday. Now, I will begin the annual hunt for pudding bowls and lids which always fails and sees me scurrying round the shops trying to find lids/bowls to match our orphans.
Despite feeling that I am well ahead of the game here – next Sunday being the first Sunday of Advent – I note, to my chagrin, that I should have begun the Sunday before the first Sunday of Advent. Next year, perhaps.
Let me give thanks that I am not from the US because I think, if we had this whole Thanksgiving thing, it would utterly tip me over the edge.
Herself: I have a problem with baby centaurs.
Me: How so?
Her: Well, think about it – horses can walk around a few hours after being born and babies can’t even hold up their heads for months.
Me: Mmm.
Her: Think about it.
Herself (who has been elected to a national student body and is talking about a workshop): One of the boys in my group was a bit mean about Irish.
Mr. Waffle: How?
Her: He said that it was a dead language and why did we bother learning through it.
Mr. Waffle: What did you say?
Her: I said that they studied Latin at his school and it was a lot more dead and he didn’t seem to have a problem with that.
Mr. Waffle: Incendiat.