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.
Archives for January 2011
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.
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.
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.
Possibly, You Had To Be There
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“.
Lovely
Me: Michael, stop picking your nose and eating it. It’s disgusting.
Him (extending finger): How do you know, you haven’t tried it.
