belt up

Hurrah. I saw the nephews last night. As is the tradition, on seeing me the youngest, F, immediately had a go at something I was wearing. He said my belt was weird. When I explained that it used to belong to a big pop star he looked close to taking it back. “Who?” he demanded, “Vince Clarke.” My brother’s eyebrow twitched to represent impressed. He’s a man of few words. “Who’s he?” F cried. “Depeche Mode, Erasure” I said proudly. “Who?” he repeated as I lost all cred. Something similar happened later when he asked me, as he does every time I see him, what I do for a living. I told him that I work for a record company and for once he looked impressed…..until I rolled off the list of artists and again he said “who?’. Pah. He’s a strange one. Everyone likes their parent’s music when they are young, but Keith Moon! Is this healthy in a 6 year old? Imagine my delight when I noticed a small pair of Converse baseball boots in Mum’s hall. “Oi” I said, “how come when I wore a pair of these last year you said they were “weird” shoes?”. A ha. One up.

I like to bring them something every time I see them and this time I brought a huge fabric balloon that inflates with a hair drier. Brilliant I thought, even though I was on the way to my parent’s house. They are nearly 80 and are unlikely to have a hair dryer. My Mum always used mine when I lived at home. But I thought my Dad would have some contraption to inflate it with and went ahead and bought it. He didn’t let me down and we went to work with an air compressor. On seeing how slow it was my Dad said to leave it for half an hour. But 5 minutes later big bro arrived and laughed at and unplugged our contraption. He then proceeded to inflate the balloon in minutes with a hot air fan blowing through a long plastic tube, supported by a metal saw, as it was so hot. The show off. But you can see where I get it from. The kids, big bro being the worst culprit, took about 3 minutes to hit the balloon so high that it floated in the neighbour’s garden on a gust of wind. It’s brilliant though and they gave it back. I’m going to give one to Lovely L next weekend. It’s his birthday and I’m going up to Meeshy Moo’s for 4 nights to celebrate it with them. That's more or less a holiday.



Don’t think I that I don’t like my garden anymore but I’ve been decorating inside today. I hate the colour of my bedroom walls you see. This picture will probably only mean something to Sharkster, TH and the firecatster. Before the New Yorkers left for Oz they came around to visit my pad on their last night, oh no, their ‘second’ last night in London. Te he. Everyone loved it, although the finned one took on an immediate horror to the pseudo brass airbrick covers in the bedroom and living room. Shark, the horro has ended. I’m decorating my bedroom, which as you can see is a disgusting shade of mustard. In time honoured tradition I shall be painting it purple. 2 nice shades of warm purple, one dark one bright. Yum.

On my fresh air breaks today I’ve been bird watching in the garden. I’m proud to say that the tits that built a nest in the bird box have become parents. How big are the balls on these tits? (Pity my nephews aren’t about to snigger at that.) I mean, they have to face next door’s cat everyday, me screaming and yelling all the time and even a Long Good Friday with a chainsaw (more of that some other time). They feed constantly and totally ignore me, on the way in and out, less than a metre away. A bit brighter that the wood pigeon then. After I had a sandwich earlier one of the pair came right up to me to eat the crumbs I had shaken away. That’s brave I thought, until it noticed my foot and shat itself.