Au revoir, but not goodbye

I have my French class in an hour or so, and I should be finishing my homework, but instead I’m talking to you, because that’s the kind of blogger I am. And also because we’re doing something I cannot remember having studied before and I’m checking the answers before I even try and do it for myself.

This is the last lesson I’ve paid for, and I think I’ll take a bit of a break from them after tonight. I do love it, I love going along to the Alliance and sitting amongst all that French, and I especially love dredging it out of my memory banks while dreaming of times spent in Paris. But my short story isn’t finished, my memoir seems to be on permanent delay and eldest boy is, as you know, learning the recorder. There’s just not time for French right now.

Better go. I’ve got homework to do, and before that I must finish off a bowl of the world’s second-best hommous.

The journey continues

From miscblogphotos

A rather cliched photo of Adelaide

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Two days ago, a google search asked my blog

What the fuck am I doing in Adelaide

This cracked me up because I mean, really. Asking me that is a bit like asking the Man in the Moon, ‘Are there aliens?’

I wonder whether the person on the other end of the search had a look around and, if they did, what they thought. (yes, yes, I know there are site analysis programmes that could tell me this stuff, but they’re awfully confusing for a person like myself, and, because they just add another layer of procrastinatory potential, they are best left alone).

More generally, it is a source of endless fascination to me the way in which the internet is no longer used simply as a source of yes or no questions (do I have bowel cancer); or of statistical possibilities (what are the chances I will be diagnosed with Alzheimer’s); or of factual information (how to make alpaca milk cheese); or of verification (slow as a wet wig?); but increasingly as a source of divination.

What the fuck am I doing in Adelaide?

I fully appreciate your desire to know, your feeling that there must be an answer, that if you only look hard enough you will find it. But really, I don’t know that google is the answer. Get a tarot reading, read your stars, stay up too late drinking too much with your friends, yell at your partner, read Jenny Diski, speak to whichever spiritual forces you believe. Whatever it is you do, if you are in that frame of mind, you need to get off the computer.

And here we are at the end of April

Friday morning, first day of our weekend, and on account of the extra beer we stayed for last night, I did not go to my absolutely unmissable, always go, never miss it, just love it, 8.30 circuit class. Which is sort of fine, and I’ll be going to the 5.30 pump class instead and I do like that class and that teacher and so on…but now it is 9.30 and by this time on Friday, I usually feel super-good about myself and life on account of it’s only 9.30 and I’ve already done a circuit class, admiring my guns and accepting my buns…and so now the trick is to do something that makes me feel good for the next hour, so that when we get to 10.30, I will not look at the clock despondently and think, ‘Oh, 10.30 already and my life is passing me by.’ And for obvious reasons, that something has to be a little bit simple and not too loud.

penultimate april

Curses. I have missed 29 April, which is like, totally the mister’s fault, because I said I wanted to come home three hours ago and he insisted we stay for another beer.

One good thing I discovered tonight, the One to One’s menu has improved greatly. I mean, it still has nothing more imaginative than a club sandwich and a quesadillo, but at least it’s not just a choice between the burger or the buffet.

Talk with you tomorrow (which is technically today) for the last day of April at which point I will have completed my ‘blog every day for a month’ challenge, and after which we need to decide what I should do with this here blog.

Another question

I’ve had three haircuts in the last 14 months. One at my usual hairdresser in Goodwood, one when we went to Edinburgh and one by Cindy just two days before Christmas. That last one was rather fabulous, and if you are ever in Berri, I highly recommend her.

Anyhoo, the upshot of only three haircuts in 14 months is longer hair than I’ve had for many years. Which is fun. Only, can anyone tell me how to wear a ponytail without having a dreadful headache by the end of the day?

And really, you’d think for the fees they charged they’d at least stump up for a cello

‘Mum! Guess what? Tomorrow, I’m getting a recorder! And we get to bring it home.’

And I say, ‘That’s great.’

Because that’s what mums must say when their children are young and filled with the joy of it all even if said mums are, all the while, remembering their own mother, teaching music in a primary school, and pouring an extra brandy (and sometimes four), on recorder afternoons.