Dot writes: I’m not quite sure whether I have a terrible press of pending blog-posts all squished together stopping each other getting written, or, conversely, nothing to say. Probably the latter. But here are some little miscellaneous slices of what I would have been saying if I’d been saying it.
– the post about the house. In between reading economics blogs and newspaper commentaries explaining why this is the most unfortunate and absurd time to be trying to buy a house in the history of houses, we bid first on one house and then on another in the same road, and have ended up buying the first. When our higher bid on no. 105 was rejected the agent – who was dealing with both properties – suggested we might switch it back to no. 57. So we did. And they accepted. I’ve contacted a surveyor who is going to tell us if it’s about to fall down, and I’ve told our mortgage broker, who replied to say his wife has just had a baby. Rejoicing all round.
– the post about Frank. Frank likes: kissing, especially babies (which is not awfully popular with the babies, but appeals immensely to nearby adults); sliding down the slide on his tummy; pointing to any four-legged animal and saying “goggie” followed by (confusingly) a piggy snort; playing ball; slapping people. I remember Hugh going through a dreadful hitting phase. Sadly we seem to have reached that stage with Frank. He also has the most atrocious nappy rash, despite the eco-nappies, and spends changes plaintively exclaiming “ow!” I have heard that egg-white is a good folk-remedy and have tried it this evening, as the sudocrem no longer seems up to the job.
– the post about Hugh. There are a couple of posts about Hugh. There’s the one in which I boast of how he likes to sing “Mummy is the best, mummy is the best” as we walk down the road. In this post I also talk about his latest efforts at jokes (“Why did the cow jump over the chicken? Because it jumped! Ha ha ha ha ha!”), the artworks he brings home from school, his passion for being read stories, and how handsome he looked in the smart suit we bought him to wear to a wedding last weekend. (He was very proud of the suit, too.) Then there’s the other post, the one I might have written at 6pm this evening when he came through into the dining room in a bad mood because I’d said he had to eat a proper dinner and not toast in front of the television, picked up his plate of pasta, and tipped the whole lot onto the floor. Hugh certainly lends colour to my emotional life.
– the post about the wedding. One of my fellow York PhDs got married in Winchester Cathedral last Saturday. She had asked me to read a poem by Yeats at the service (“When you are old and grey, and full of sleep…”). It’s not a poem with any special associations for me, but I discovered that I can be absolutely guaranteed to get all teary when I reach the lines “But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you / And loved the sorrows of your changing face”. This was rather embarrassing. But it was a beautiful wedding, and my sister and her husband babysat so Ken and I got to go the evening reception by ourselves.
– the post with the memes in. The memes cannot in fact be done by the tapas approach, so I’ll just record here that I still mean to do them.
– the post linking with glee, for those who don’t read the Irish Times, to the story about how a dispute over jetties and fishing rights in the Liffey is entailing appeal to charters granted by Henry II. Let no-one maintain that medieval studies is an irrelevant subject!
– the post about my extremely gorgeous and dignified new bike, which I have acquired under the bike-to-work scheme (your employer buys the bike and you pay them back from your gross pay pre-tax) and which I rode home from Booterstown yesterday. This is probably the longest cycle ride I’ve done for at least a decade: I am a nervous cyclist. But I think I will manage to use my bike for part of my commute, as the roads are quiet round here and I can do some of the route on cycle paths, just assuming I can bring myself to leave my lovely bike locked up in a public place. She is a Dawes Duchess.
– the post about Carter Beats the Devil, by David Glenn Gold, and how I enjoyed it, and how I like books about magic and magicians and would like to read more of them, only of course I should be spending my reading time on work, but am (this evening, for once), spending it blogging.
– and doubtless also some stimulating and intelligent opinion pieces about world affairs. These fortunately go without saying, since I am not perfectly sure what I was going to say in them.
That’ll do to be going on with!