146. Your suite’s too big…. (with apologies to George Melly)
I called into the nursery on my way home from work, full of end of term good-will. I’d get a Christmas tree up and ready for when ActorLaddie got back and we could start the holidays in piney perfection. The chosen tree had a lovely shape; plenty of needles, smelt of Christmas.
The kids helped me lug it up the stairs to the living room – this being when we had GrannyBorders installed on the ground floor. Decorations ready, festive ginger wine poured. We just needed to put the tree in its stand, take off the netting – and that’s when I found that it was too big for the bay.
145. It’s a world of laughter, a world of tears…
Most people don’t feel nauseous until part way round the Small World ride at EuroDisney. InfantPhenomenon proved what an exceptionally advanced child she was by throwing up the minute we sat in the float; embarrassing but classy, in its own way. So off we went to the Poste de Premiers Secours, and she rested while I read her “The Bed and Breakfast Star”. It was rather peaceful, as I recall.
121. Wish you were here…
Conversation 1
Jellywoman?
Hi Ma. Are you having a good time?
How are things there?
A rat has eaten our toilet.
108. London Pride is a flower that’s free…
“I’m taking eleven Poles to London,” I messaged.
“Is that a crossword clue?” replied DearHeart.”Does it involve a cricket team?”
99. Just between you and me….
“We seem to be heading for the station. Should I have brought my wallet?” asks Pa.
“Should I have changed? I don’t look very smart,” worries Ma.
They have been persuaded by LittleBro to go for a mystery trip in his car on the promise that “he has something he wants to show them.” You’d think they’d know better than to get in a car with a strange man.
“Surely that’s their son?” you cry. Indeed he is. Doesn’t stop him being strange. Probably explains it, in fact.
97 Repentance…
Whan that Aprill with his showers sweet
Is watering the sod aronde my feet,
And weedes do sprout and gentile seedlings harden
Thanne longen I to go and dig the garden
And pick the hyacinths and prune the pentas
And wander lustilly round garden centas.
And this is why my blogging’s gone to pot
And furthermore hath schoolwork been forgot.
But now, alack, I reape what I have sown
And over empty planning folders groane
The thought of class tomorrow mack me shiver
With so few arrowes ready in my quiver.
“It serves you rite,” my inner Ofsted’s chanting,
“For Easter spente in planning not, but planting.”
93. With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nony no…
I’ve come over all pastoral and may descend into madrigals at any minute. You have been warned.
91. Fly away Peter, fly away Paul. Come back Peter…
In the beginning of years, when the world was so new and all, a trip to the pictures gave you much, much more than a main feature.
Not being quite as old as my class imagine, I don’t personally remember cinema-organists; although ActorLaddie had a great-uncle who, rather romantically, met his wife when they were both playing in the pit orchestra for a silent movie.
All I can offer in comparison is a very close relative who met her husband while bunking into a cinema. She was, apparently, the designated chump who paid for a ticket and then opened the back door for the others. She denies it now, of course, and claims they met in a coffee bar. But then she would, wouldn’t she?
Take that, eggboy!
Circular saw, woman with Parkinson’s … What’s not to like?
The Jelly Chronicles 