I was at a very entertaining dinner party recently. As my fellow diners included, inter alia, someone who works for the IMF and a banker, there was an explicit agreement to steer clear of the bailout. Instead, we talked about books which was quite lovely. At one point our hostess went round the table asking us to recommend a really, really good book that was worth reading (if you care, I said “Gilead” by Marilynne Robinson) and not one but two people recommended “La Bête Humaine” by Zola. Our hostess, naturally interested, asked what it was about. There was a horrified silence. It was a long time ago. I did sympathise as I often only retain the vaguest impression of what I have read but still. Vaguely reminiscent of David Lodge’s “humiliation“.
She’s Not Dead
January has not been a great month, so far. My loving husband and I have both been very busy at work. In addition we have encountered, in our extended circle, grim deaths, redundancy, unemployment, dissolution of a working partnership and the country collapsing around our ears. And I haven’t even mentioned the funerals. Irish people go to a lot of funerals and January is peak time for that.
Then, last Thursday, the wretched cat went missing – she had never been more than 4 hours away from the next meal before. We looked and we looked but, by Sunday, we knew we were doomed. The Princess was distraught. It seemed extraordinary that a small, fat, bad-tempered ball of fur could provoke so much misery. Then, on Monday, at lunch time, without the slightest attempt at explanation, the cat turned up, grubby and hungry and, apparently, glad to be back. Let us trust that this means our luck is turning.
Christian Forgiveness
Over Christmas, I went to the local church in the very small parish near where we stayed. The Christmas collection had been stolen on Christmas afternoon while the families of the parish were having their Christmas dinners. At this point, I expected some noble words about loving the sinner and hating the sin and that we should pray for the thief who must be an unhappy person. Instead the priest advised parishioners to lock their doors and give particularly generously to the collection. Somehow unsatisfying.
What Goes Around Comes Around
Michael: How would you like it, if I threw your hand mirror in the bin?
Me: I wouldn’t like it at all, now put it back in my bedroom please.
Him (waving the mirror menacingly): Then STOP putting my stuff in the bin.
Pedants’ Corner
Spotted on the way to work this morning: a van emblazoned with the words “Clean and Glean – Window Cleaners”. Hands up, if you think that they know what glean means. This should separate the wheat from the chaff.
What are we to make of this?
When I came home from work, Michael looked up from what he was doing and said, “Mum, the babysitter kicked me.” He then went back about his business. I protested feebly, “Don’t call O “the babysitter” Michael, she has a name.” And then I turned to O and asked “Ahem, did you, eh, you know, eh…” to which she said, no.
Nevertheless, the children have not taken a shine to her and, certainly, she is not as good as her predecessor who was terrific. But she seems ok. And she will be finishing in the next couple of months in any event to go back to France for the ski season. So, I suppose we will tough it out.
I discovered that the children have other plans. The boys’ teacher took me aside this morning. She said that the boys had told her that they were working on a secret plan developed by their sister. At her signal they were to scream and only to stop when she picked up the cat. I see a number of difficulties here including both the objection of the cat and the Princess’s choice of co-conspirators. Still, I am experiencing definite unease. This evening the Princess asked me why I can’t sack the babysitter.
Oh dear. Do you think that the babysitter will tough it out?