Somebody needs a biology lesson

As I walked the girls back from the common today, a man walking his dog fell in behind us, and I couldn't help overhearing him:

"Wasn't she meant to be having it today?............But if the doctor said today then it's probably the right day.................why does she have to wait for labour? Can't she just do it now and get it over with?.....................That's ridiculous. Tell her to just push it out. Like a big crap."

Babysitting duty

Baby: Bye bye Mummy, bye bye Daddy! Be good! We gon look after Aunt Megs!

That pesky magnet again

Cravat-wearing man in bar: I am an artiste, you know. Eet ees my job to make people teengle! And if they do not want to teengle, I am making them teengle anyway.
Me: .............

Faintly embarassing

Yesterday I had a bit of an incident at work, and managed to faint in the corridor on my way to the office. Despite my assurances that I was perfectly able to work (which I wasn't), and would no doubt feel much better soon (which I didn't), my line manager insisted on putting me in a cab home. I dozed on and off during the journey, picking up odd snippets of opinionated peoples' commentary on the Greek economic crisis from the radio, and experiencing strange moments of not-quite-lucidity. At one point the cab pulled up at a set of traffic lights and, out of the window, I glimpsed a huge shiny sign for an 'agnostic centre'. My addled brain was churning with the idea of a centre hosting endless debates on any and all subjects, none of which could ever be permitted to reach a conclusion, when the car moved on a fraction, and the sign was further revealed to read 'DIagnostic centre'. How disappointing. But by then I had nodded off again, wakening a little later to be struck with intense pity for the headless mannequin in a nearby shop window, which was reaching out its hand, with a peculiar gesture of yearning, towards another mannequin which, despite also being headless, was quite clearly turning dismissively away.

Needless to say, I was hugely relieved to get home and safely tucked up in bed, where I spent the remainder of the day wavering between sleeping and waking, periods of feeling fine, and others of room-spinning vertigo. So far this morning, the bad phases seem to be much fewer and farther between, but I still feel decidedly wobbly. I don't know what to blame for it. Labyrinthitis has been suggested, but I don't really think it's bad enough to be that. Besides, wouldn't I have an earache? All I have is a headache. Oh well. If I don't feel better by Monday, I'll go to the doctor. Until then I shall just self-prescribe a quiet day, and hope that I'm well enough to help L with her van loading tomorrow as promised.

Pavlova

I used to watch episodes of QI on Youtube late at night when I was supposed to be writing essays which were due in the following day. The theme tune still fills me with an overwhelming "I have something far more important to be getting on with" feeling. I get a similar sensation of guilt whenever I consider opening the cellophane on the first series of Battlestar Gallactica, which was purchased around the same time. Evolved I may be, but I'm still no better than a dog responding to a bell.

April showers. Except it's June.

I've been shopping for a flat online today. Don't worry, I wouldn't actually buy one online. When it finally arrives it's never the same colour as in the photo, and if it doesn't fit the postage to return it is outrageous. Anyway, I found one that looked really rather nice, and was flicking through the photos when I was distracted by the picture of the bathroom. Lovely bathroom. Looked brand new, shiny, clean and possessed of all necessary furniture. Everything one could possibly desire from the room in which one keeps one's bath. But still, my first thought on seeing it was "I'd have to buy a shower screen". And why? Because it had a shower curtain, and I effing hate shower curtains. Seriously. They are the work of the devil. For me, showers serve two main purposes. Either I'm in a hurry and looking for maximum cleaning efficiency and speed, in which case the last thing I want is to spend half my potential washing time peeling off the chilly, clammy sheet of plastic which is drawn by some kind of magnetic force to repeatedly adhere itself to my skin, or I wish to relax and luxuriate under the hot water, in which case the last thing I want is to spend half my potential washing time peeling off the chilly, clammy sheet of plastic which is drawn by some kind of magnetic force to repeatedly adhere itself to my skin. As tactile sensations go, damp and clingy like a cuddle from a horny turbot is not one of my favourites. Give me a nice piece of frosted glass any day.

Seal of approval

I was in a bit of a hurry this morning, rushing to get myself out of the house smartly dressed to meet exhibitors. In my fluster I turned to one of the babies and asked her "Do these shoes look ok with this outfit?". She tilted her head to one side and slowly looked me up and down before nodding her approval. Now nobody can diss my shoe/outfit combo. It is officially sanctioned by a two year old.

Night terrors

I've just had a really horrific nightmare, and now I can't get back to sleep. I dreamed that I was trapped in a coffin, fighting to get out. I'd pounded my hands and knees into a bloody, splintered mess before I finally managed to rock the coffin from the table with my struggles, smashing it into pieces. When I emerged from the debris, I found that I was at my own funeral. There was only one person there, and he was asleep.

And the clumsiness continues

Last night, we were walking down my road, when I spied a cat across the road, which I thought might be Bob, the traitorous ex-kitty of mine who went to live with a neighbour. It wasn't him, as it turned out, but I was so busy squinting through the dark at this cat that I managed to walk, with a resounding clang, forehead first into a lamppost. It was so like something out of a bad film, that I couldn't help laughing, even as the tears filled my eyes, while J managed an impressive display of sympathy and concern, which only occasionally dissolved into disbelieving giggles. After careful examination this morning, it appears that I have managed to avoid adding still more bruises to the plethora which already adorn my body, but I should probably start taking a little more care when on the move, before I do myself a serious mischief.

Nice trip?

I attempted to run for a train this morning. There are many reasons why I should never be allowed to run anywhere, including 'Because I run with the grace of a lolloping, obese giraffe' and 'Because I risk giving myself two black eyes with my flailing bosoms'. The most crucial of reasons, though, is 'Because I am stunningly clumsy and will almost certainly fall over'. You can tell where this is going, can't you? I landed flat on my back on the concrete stairs with my decorative but surprisingly sharp hair bow driven into the back of my skull, the zip of my dress biting into my spine and one lonely shoe tumbling down to the platform. My fellow commuters stopped and stared concernedly at me for a moment, before I loudly declared "Well that was rather inevitable, wasn't it!", at which point they all started laughing. I choose to believe that this is because, even lying prone on a staircase, I am still quite extraordinarily witty, rather than because of my uncanny resemblance to a horizontal version of the afore-mentioned obese giraffe. A motherly-looking woman returned my shoe to me and gave me a little hug as she picked me up. I strongly suspected her of being either a nurse or a primary school teacher, and was momentarily tempted to bury my head in her shoulder and have a little cry. I managed to restrain myself from this regression however, and sheepishly slunk off down the platform to lick my wounds. Metaphorically speaking of course. If I were literally capable of licking my back, elbow or the rear of my own head, the necessity of commuting to work would be removed by my incarceration in a freak show.