Look, the launch of the shiny book that’s going to make us all famous by extension:
Updated to add: book is called “The Out of Office Girl” and you can get it here. I hope this link works or I will be fired from my role of publicist.
Look, the launch of the shiny book that’s going to make us all famous by extension:
Updated to add: book is called “The Out of Office Girl” and you can get it here. I hope this link works or I will be fired from my role of publicist.
March is full of excitement. Mr. Waffle’s birthday falls on the 19th. On the 16th I was scheduled to pick up the large copy map I had got him from the framers. The night before, I said casually, “I might drive to work tomorrow, the forecast is for rain.” Note my cunning.
When I arose from my slumbers, Mr. Waffle proudly informed me that he had taken the car to the garage to get that wonky light fixed. “You don’t mind cycling, do you?” “Not at all,” I said untruthfully as I contemplated the prospect of walking home from town in the rain with a large picture under my arm.
You’ll be pleased to hear that he really liked the map.
Acquaintance: You speak French, don’t you?
Me: Yes.
Her: Would you chat to my daughter before she does her [terminal school and very high stakes] oral examination.
Me: Of course, but I know several native French speakers and that would be much better for her, perhaps I could set that up.
Her: Oh, no, no, that would be no good.
Me: Sorry?
Her: Well, will the person giving her the oral exam be French?
Me: I shouldn’t think so but…
Her: Well then what advantage would it be to her to speak to a French person, it would only put her off. Of course, if you don’t want to do it..
Me: No, I’d be happy to, but you know, if you’re learning a foreign language, it’s best to speak to a native.
Her: That’s not true at all, I really don’t want to do that. It would be no good to her.
And she remained immovable. I despair.
Final paragraph of (typed) letter received on my birthday:
This letter is supposed to be from both of us, but you will not be surprised to hear that your mother refused point blank to have any part in composing it. However, I expect she will subject the text to an analysis similar to an exegesis of a sacred text by one of the Church fathers, so I suppose she will have an input into the content one way or another.
You should know that my mother married my father on the condition that he would undertake all her correspondence for her and she has held him to it for more than 44 years.
I came home from work one day to find that the Princess had written her will and got the boys to draw up wills also. She had given them a fictional €100 to dispense. I said to Daniel, “Will you read me your will?” He started out cheerily enough. “I leave [herself] €15. I leave Michael half of the money and the parents all the rest. Signed Daniel.” And then his voice broke as he read, “I wish that all of my relatives never forget me.” He’d drawn a tombstone with RIP on the back.
Honestly, she’s like Wednesday Addams.
I noticed on Sunday that the neighbour’s child took off her runner and had a good sniff inside while sitting on the altar. I think that this puts us ahead. On the other hand, maybe nobody noticed. We had the American priest again and he exhorted us to “Come Alive”. We had to shout it out regularly during mass so we all stared at the ground covered in mortification and trying not to catch anyone’s eye. Someone will have to talk to him about cultural differences.
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