I have Scholl sandals with wooden soles. I tend to wear them instead of slippers in the summer. The family hate them; I’m sure they’re good for my feet so I persist in the face of general disapproval. Mr. Waffle remarked, to general acclaim, at one point, “In summer, a mysterious figure stalks the house, I like to call her Madame de Clompidour”.
That is all. Unless you have an annoying slipper story of your own to share?
I played a tennis match this morning (won, thanks for asking), I went to the RDS to the craft fair this afternoon (enormous and a bit exhausting) and I went to “Fanny and Alexander” this evening. I’m not quite sure what possessed me to go to a 189 minute film by Ingmar Bergman initially released in 1982. But I’m really glad I went; it is quite beautiful. Though long and weird in parts.
He came – after all these years. As I write one of the Dublin based children is still in bed, so possibly excitement levels are not what they once were. But look, it’s the thought that counts!
I guess it’s a long time since 2006.
The youngest child has been sick all week. Yesterday morning he dragged himself out of bed at the crack of dawn to go to a 9 o’clock lecture on the Ottoman Empire. Term is over but this lecture had been deferred. I suggested he skip it but he said that he thought he would be the only person there (so it proved) and he did not want the lecturer to have turned up for nothing. Very virtuous.
Today I got a text from Mr. Waffle saying that the student was quite sick in bed. The Ottoman Empire may have claimed its last victim.
My hairdresser is great. He remembers me. I go once a year in December and as he said today “It wouldn’t be Christmas, if you weren’t here.” So true. My hair grows really slowly and the cut is generally good for 9 months and not great for three.
I had my annual haircuts today and despite my very best efforts he would not at all take off as much as I wanted. It’s grand but I wouldn’t call it a huge change. I’ll have to go back to him in July. Sigh.
My cleaner asked me this morning whether we would be getting a Christmas tree this weekend. “Certainly not,” said I, “it would be dead by Christmas let alone January 6 (statutory day for taking down your Christmas decorations etc. I will brook no argument in this regard).”
“I wouldn’t think so,” she said, “your house is so cold.”