(apologies for the misquote)… cut it off. So tempting, after an entire day spent with what appears to be Bob the Builder (with drill) in residence in my shell-like. We’re still exhausted after the weekend. Mr M’s just heard from the solicitors that exchange of contracts is imminent – so he’s taking time off work midweek to do yet more clearing. Little Miff and I now have a date tomorrow morning at minor injuries, to check out whether he’s managed to break his thumb during this afternoon’s rugby match. Oh, and both Mr and Ms Miff have stinking colds. So, we’re fighting fit and raring to go for her special 18th birthday meal* tomorrow night – with friends staying over afterwards. And after that, it’s all go, with no let up until………
Then there’s the little matter of Ms Miff’s college application forms which need to be in by the end of the week. Could someone kindly add an extra 24 hours to each day, please.
*Do you think the restaurant will notice that I’m clutching a hot water bottle to my ear?
Did you know that "What a Friend We have in Jesus," can be sung to the tune of "Love Divine, all Loves excelling?"(Blaenwern) No, I didn’t either… until this morning during the offertory hymn. Not that I had a chance to experiment, as J (leader of my old homegroup) and I had been asked to take up the elements. The warden seemed to be slightly thrown, too, as he forgot to send us up until the hymn was almost over. So off we sailed, coats firmly fastened to conceal the fact that we were both wearing identical eye-searing multistriped cardis.* (We’d have looked like a couple of sticks of rock otherwise!). And to hide the toothpaste mark on my left trouser leg. (note to self: Never sit on the edge of the bath when cleaning your teeth. I got caught out this way last time as well! 🙂 )
According to Mr Miff, I am indeed a rock… of a different kind. This after yesterday’s house clearing and MIL visiting episodes. Stress got the better of both of them yet again, and yours truly was despatched to act as a go-between. Hence the squished budgie strapline. I’m considering changing that to a piece of stretched elastic, which about describes how both Mr M and myself feel whenever we visit at weekends. And by the time we’e even remotely beginning to recover, Monday is here again.
* My Shipmeet cardi, for those who’ve had the misfortune to meet me IRL! [thanks for the reminder, Maddie!]
The phone call to Grannie was conducted to a background of "Mother! Where did you put the A——–L Br—-s, I brought back from France??!" from little Miff. When I stumbled across said mammaries on the study floor the other day, I’d assumed they were props for Ms Miff’s forthcoming school house evening. Well, you’d expect to find them in a Monty Python sketch, wouldn’t you? But no, Mstr Miff arrives home from his educational sojourn at Lycee Jules Ferry clutching a pannini, bottle of wine for us, bottle of ‘Etoile’ scent for his sister’s 18th, and …well, I left him to shake out his own rucksack. Some things are best ignored. And I’d fond visions of earnest teens conducting serious philosophical discussions far into the night. Needless to say this has been rapidly replaced by the more prosaic sight of a crowd of yelling boys and girls waving at the departing coach as their British counterparts press their faces (and les seins artificiel) up against the back window.
So, a good time was had by all, apparently. Mstr Miff found his childhood French returning rapidly, and was chattering away fluently by the end of the week. (He had to help out their French teacher at one point!). And he’s looking forward to the return fixture. I gather that the French family live in a village in some sort of semi communal setup with their next door neighbours, (whose son has also been over here a number of times). Little Miff has been enthusing about the wonders of traditional French family life and has shown us a snap of Mme X, posing next to the family donkey. After that, the Miffyabode is going to be a bit of a shock, I think! Our dear son has expressed an unwonted interest as to our plans (or lack of) for any internal decoration before the end of January. "When are we going to have that wood flooring put down in the hall?" The poor soul’s worried that little X won’t fully appreciate the parfum de chien (et chat) which pervades our ancient green axminster. I’ve assured him that we’ll send Miffdog over to kennels for the full beauty treatment before the French party hit British soil, and that I’ll do a carpet shampoo in honour of his honoured guest.
He’s declined my generous offer to cook them traditional lumpy porridge with golden syrup for breakfast, however. I really don’t know why!
Not easy for a Miffy who lists procrastination as a hobby in her online profile. It’s become blindingly obvious that this should be my topic for the latest course assignment. So after a well-ordered morning (thanks in part to the after effects of the recent retreat) I sit down, pull out my notes from *cough* a month ago (surely not?!) and would you know it, out flows a really quite passable opening paragraph. The house is in decent state for a change, the ironing pile only the size of a molehill, the cat and dog are snoozing peacefully together instead of biting chunks out of each other. Peace, perfect peace, (topic number two). I’m onto a roll now, when….RING RING!!! "Mummy. Are you going into town?" "Why?" " I’ve left my clothes for the gig in my room! And I won’t have time to collect them before I have to catch the train!" Aaaaaaaggggghhhhh! (as yet more of the post retreat calm drains away).
Sigh…So I’ll sign off now, and hie me down to our local Anita Roddick emporium to drop off Ms Miff’s garments. (Can’t see what the difference is between her work stuff and the other; they’re both black….grumble grumble…but what do I know….grumble grumble…)
And I’ve just remembered I promised Mr M I’d phone his Mum to apologize for his bad temper last night. Groan. 🙁 Ah well.