Monthly Archives: May 2005

Keep up the ‘negging’

And thank you, Jack for your kind advice as to the word count. I’m sorely tempted, I must admit. Never mind. The work is well on its way now; has kept within the wretched limit, been checked by Mr M, and is now tucked away to rest for a few days. Though ‘days,’ may stretch to a week here, as most spare time from now on is going to be taken up by ‘Joseph’.

Ms M seems to be over her heavy arm (caused by the typhoid jab). Could be worse – BF, who was in Uganda last year and who’ll be trekking around S America this, had to have a rabies shot! Let’s hope none of it ends in tears. And while we’re at it, our supply of tea bags has shrunk alarmingly, to the extent that I’ve told Ms M he’ll have to put up with green tea with ecchinacea until I next get to the shops. They went off to the ‘the other’ town today, ostensibly to house hunt. Not much doing on that front atm. Unfortunately, Ms M – who’s been short of a spare time job since she left Anita Roddick’s Emporium, was thrilled to find out that a certain well-known chain of ladies’ ahem… umm…how do I say this? Begins with an A, ends with an S (think tupperware parties – not! ;)) is looking for summer sales assistants, and she’s collected an application form! What did we do to deserve this?! I blame myself for getting her a library ticket at 14 months old. Or maybe it was all that one to one intelligent conversation that did it. ( We even had a back facing buggy so that she could keep my happy, smiling face in view all the time). No doubt someone, somewhere will blame her potty training. And she must be the only baptised, confirmed (if lapsed ) member of the C of E to…. Oh the shame! I’ve an inkling now of how my father must have felt when my brother (same name, same place of work) once stood for the All Nite Party!

Passing from the sublime to the ridiculous – I was honoured, thrilled and delighted to receive a form letter this morning from the organiser of a certain well-known Christian exhibition that I went to last week – a certain Mr Brett J Pitchfork! Yes, really! It made my weekend.

‘Negging’ needed again

…plus a stiff drink. Although the latter isn’t possible as it’s only 3.30 p.m. Shame. Yes, it’s assignment time again, and with the prospect of most evenings next week being taken up by singing, I’ve been forced to get my act together. Though it’s hardly an essay with the word count St J’s ask for. I can see why they do it, but for a poor middle-aged absent minded INFP Miffy who could waffle for England it’s absolutely impossible to do! 750 words!!! As Ms Miff said to me – ‘That’s not an essay, Mum. That’s a precis.’ She did offer to write it for me; an offer I declined as I don’t think the departing Year 13s would appreciate my reciprocal efforts to compile the Yearbook offspring is working on. Never mind. I have got a fair way through the wretched piece. And Ms Miff’s BF kindly made me a mug of strong tea before they waltzed off into the far blue yonder.

Ah, young love! Although not the best of timings, with A Levels coming up and all. It only seems yesterday….But you don’t want me to start wittering on about those heady times as a student in the 70s, do you? (She says hopefully). It’s also absolutely no use me reminiscing in front of DD about the rate of breakups that occurred during the first couple of years of college, either. At the moment, it seems to be a case of ‘I only have eyes for you,’ (just about), spurred on by the fact that they’re soon to part for the summer; one to S. America, the other to Cuba. Ms M has typhoid and Hep A and B jabs starting tomorrow. Ouch! (I think I need that drink, after all). Never mind. I’ll keep quiet and make sure the kettle’s boiling on the hob.

Is something important happening tomorrow?

I answered the phone this afternoon to be asked – did I want to hear a short word from Michael Howard? Press 1 if ‘Yes’, 2 if ‘No.’ I blush to admit that I didn’t hang around to hear what the other alternatives were before pressing the former. Shame there wasn’t the facility to enable Michael Howard to hear a ‘short word’ from ME!

Either way, most of the canvassing we’ve experienced chez Miffy seems to have been directed at the female portion of the family. Well…to be exact, myself mostly. (Although Ms Miff has had a few missives directed her way as befits one who is voting for the first time tomorrow. ) Poor spouse is feeling most put out…and left out here.

So, we’ll mosey on over to the church opposite at some point and do the needful. No excuses as it’s literally a stone’s throw from where we live.

Changing the subject – ‘Joseph’ time looms ever nearer. Wonderful moment at rehearsal. We were running through ‘Pharoah’s Song,’ complete with actions. (I fear there’ll be several black eyes amongst the chorus come the end of the run from overethusiastic arm waving in a confined space!). Anyway, we reach the end – when as Pharoah implores Joseph to interpret his dream for him, we’re meant to raise our arms – moving gradually higher and higher as the song comes to a climax. It’s only then that the musical director notices what she’s not noticed before. The sight of 80 plus cast members, arms pointed heavenwards, certainly, but with palms quivering enthusiastically, looking for all the world like a gospel choir in full spate. Oops! It transpires that this WASN’T at all what was intended; she’d originally used the shaking months ago when we were learning the song in order to help with keeping time. And we’d all obediently followed suit every rehearsal since! I don’t know! Move to a churchy setting and it makes me wonder how many ways of doing things are there not for any deep theological reason but simply because someone, somewhere once had a ‘senior moment.’ Picture the scene way back in Days of Old when Knights were bold etc… It’s stiflingly hot and it’s been a long service. White-haired, doddery old priest starts to pronounce The Blessing. And wouldn’t you know! At the vital moment he becomes aware of the resident church spider zooming up his nightie and making a beeline (excuse the pun! ) for his armpit. Panic plus plus! UP goes his arm! Et voila. Enshrined in liturgical practice for evermore. At the risk of being struck by a thunderbolt, let’s be thankful it was only his armpit Incy was making for!

Happy voting.