1. What is the oldest object in the room with you?
Probably the walls. This is an 18th century house.

2. What is the newest?
A book I was recently gifted.

3. What is your favorite object in the room with you?
At the moment, the Christmas tree.

4. What is the most valuable object?
Humuhumu's electric guitar would be up there. The television probably was when we bought it, but it's a few years old now.

5. What is the ugliest object?
Me, I've got a cold and am all drippy. Bleh.
I’m stressed for a specific reason about which I’m obliged to be vague until some point next week (hopefully), which has been inhibiting my ability to write a coherent journal post. I realise this presumes my usual journal posts are coherent. Shush.

I haven’t been to my place of work since Thursday 19 March. I haven’t driven the car since Friday 20 March. We’ve been attempting to home-school the children whilst simultaneously working from home since Monday 23 March. It’s very difficult to judge how well we’re doing at either of those things. I experience a fairly continuous low-level grade of frustration about nearly every activity I perform. We talk to our friends and colleagues via Zoom, WhatsApp, Messenger, Teams and Skype, depending on which we’re connected on, and which form of technology is being least hinky at the time. Every time Keiki speaks to one of his friends, he has a meltdown afterward because he’s so frustrated. He saw one of his schoolmates on the canal towpath last week. He tried to climb the eight-foot builder’s fence to get to him, and spent their whole conversation clinging to the top of it, shouting every piece of news he could think of to him. After we came inside, he cried for twenty minutes because they couldn’t play together.

I want to do the same when I close a Zoom meeting with a friend.

The weather has been fantastic, which is a blessing because we get to spend a lot of time outside in the garden and that has got to be good for us in many ways. (Also we have a garden, which makes us fortunate.) And yet I futilely resent the weather for being so relentlessly and obliviously nice. Has it not read the latest Financial Times analysis with the terrifying graphs that show how the mortality rates are 50% to 400% higher than they normally are at this point in the year, no matter what a given country or city is reporting as attributable to covid deaths? Dark clouds! Icy pelting rain! Sturm und drang! That’s what’s appropriate right now. Do you not get it, weather? Although if the forecast for the week is correct, I’m about to get what I’m not genuinely asking for here.

I’m trying to be patient, but oh, how I want schools to re-open. I want to go back to work. I want to have a moan with my colleagues about late trains and overpriced bad coffee and inconsiderate fellow commuters. I want to see my friends in person.

If you read that, I’m sorry, and have a duckling photo. If you skipped it, well, I’m still sorry, because you’re probably similarly frustrated. Have a duckling photo.

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  • My kids watched Castle in the Sky whilst a friend was looking after them for me over half term this week. Apparently, Humuhumu fell in love with the story and was glued to it for the length of the film. She has been watching it again in “episodes” over the past few nights. Keiki adores the robot who looks after all the creatures in Laputa. I am very happy that they’re so fond of it, because it’s rather a slow burn and the animation looks quite dated now, but clearly the story is timeless. I can’t wait to watch more Studio Ghibli films with them.

  • Sweet Christmas, it’s tedious to wash clothes in a bathtub. The automated washing machine has got to be one of the greatest inventions of the modern age. We are two weeks into the (allegedly) ten-week house extension project and I have already cracked and gone to a friend’s house to borrow her washing machine just to do the laundry. There was a paragraph in Bobby Freeman’s First Catch Your Peacock, about the history of Welsh cookery, which resonated powerfully with me when I read it at the cottage last weekend. She said that when she consulted with older Welsh folk on the old methods of cooking, on open fires and hot stones, the men would wax lyrical about the taste and quality of the food produced thereby, which is hard to replicate using a cooker. The women were pointedly silent. Because it took forever to cook stuff properly in the old ways.

  • The one thing that is harshing my enjoyment of Good Omens: Jack Whitehall is in it. Casting directors: one demerit point.

    On the other hand, David Tennant and Michael Sheen are absolute perfection. Casting directors: seven million merit points. I forgive you.


366 questions meme, Feb 9 to Feb 21 )
I’m dangerously low on spoons for it to only be Tuesday.

Context-free quote from Keiki: “Hold onto your socks, Mummy, because they’re about to get blown off.”

366 meme questions, Jan 22-28 )
nanila: (tachikoma: broken)
( Nov. 14th, 2019 10:11 pm)
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This evening I was meant to be at a whisky tasting with the bloke. We have had this planned for months, including an elaborate child care arrangement involving pick-ups and drop-offs and babysitters and dashing back to Brum to get to the tasting for 7 PM.

Unfortunately, this carefully laid plan was completely blown out of the water by the flooding currently being experienced by quite a lot of the UK.

I dashed for the 3 PM train only to find that it was terminating some distance from the station I desired. When I got to the information desk at that station, I was informed that the rail replacement bus service had just departed and would not be returning for at least 40 minutes. After five minutes of standing in the frigid station lobby, I decided to use my phone to summon a taxi. Once I knew the taxi was five minutes away - yay in-app tracking - I approached a group of women standing near me and asked if they were parked at the station. All three of them were, so we piled into the taxi and off we went.

Our driver had to navigate some of the flooding to get us to our station. I climbed into my car - it was now over an hour since I had left work - and heeded the advice of a friend who had texted me that my usual route was impassable. I opted for an alternative route. This turned out to be the same alternative route that 95% of the rest of My Town had decided to use. What is usually a ten minute drive from the train station to the school became a 45 minute one.

I was already exhausted by the time I collected the children from after-school club. What I didn't realise was that the worst was still to come: the mile-long stretch of country lane leading to our home.

As I approached the first bit of flooded road, I put the car into low gear and drove steadily but also relatively swiftly through it. It turned out to be quite shallow, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

I caught up with the car in front of me as he very slowly approached the second stretch of flooded road. I waited until he was 3/4 of the way across it and then began to follow him. I was 2/3 of the way across when I suddenly saw he'd stopped moving. He was stuck. I began to slow, and then I instinctively recognised that if I did that I would be stuck too. I didn't have any time to think through my reaction. I swung to the other side of the road, put two wheels up on the incline by the hedgerow, and went around him. I made it to the other side and briefly thought about stopping, but there was yet another person stuck further along who was already out of their car. Did I mention that freezing rain was pelting down and I had two small children in the car who were losing their minds? Yeah, I didn't stop. I gibbered incoherently, trying not to sob.

I hoped against hope that there would be no more stretches of flooded road. I rounded a bend cautiously and there was the third. With a car stuck in it. I once again swerved to the opposite side of the road, ensured two wheels were propped on the incline by the hedgerow, and drove smoothly and swiftly through the flood, whimpering as the water cascaded around the car.

I pulled into the drive two and a half hours after having left work. I got the kids into the house, phoned the bloke, and burst into tears.

And that, my friends, is why I'm having a small whisky tasting of Benriach and Akashi at home, and then I'm going to collapse into my bed.
Are the newspapers not getting bored with repeatedly predicting the imminent demise of Theresa May?

She's been supposedly on the verge of leaving for months, if not the entire term of her leadership. And yet there she stays, seemingly immune to all attempts to unseat her, like a lich queen glued to her throne, whilst the allegedly human ministers gurn uselessly in her toils, unable to deliver the fatal headshot or destroy the final horcrux or whatever the hell it would actually take to get rid of her.

Meanwhile, we continue to lurch toward zombie Brexit, every single one of us sick to the back teeth of the whole omnishambles.

Possibly related: I voted in the European elections today.
I could not have made this day up.

We got up extra early because the bloke had to get the first train in to New Street so he could get to London.

I had a day full of meetings and producing documents for stressed-out academics trying to meet deadlines.

I got on the train home. The train got stuck at a station (but not on a platform) behind another train that broke down because the high winds had damaged the overhead lines. My train was a diesel so it could continue to Home Station, but it had to wait for the broken train to be removed.

We waited for two hours. My childrens' nursery and school shut, and I had to activate my emergency network to have them rescued, separately.

I was standing up. I never get a seat on this service anyway because it's rammed. I was standing with a fellow parent whose children attend my childrens' school/nursery, at least, and we kept each other's spirits up for a while. It was a long enough wait that nearby passengers joined the conversation and people started sharing food, which in British terms means that everyone was convinced the end times were at hand.

I got in, picked up the children, and came home to find...

...the boiler is broken again! Same fault. I suspect we are looking at a New Boiler Situation. :/
Worked a full day, came home, bolted supper, then went for two hours of school governor training.

Also, the boiler is broken again and the engineer is hoping to get to us before midnight.

It is time for whisky and spicy peanuts.
Vienna U-bahn: last train
I'm making a photo book of the past two years' worth of trips to Vienna to try to take advantage of Blurb's substantial Black Friday discount code, which expires Tuesday night.

I had forgotten how much work putting together a photo book is. I was under the delusion that I could finish it if I started at 8 PM. I have just finished 2017 and it's already past my bedtime.

I found the above image in my phone photos, of the U-Bahn at closing time, presumably taken as the bloke and I were toddling back to our AirBnb after several grosse biers.

We've not had the most exciting weekend ever as our boiler broke very early on in the week but neither the bloke nor I were able to stay home from work at all until Friday. (We've been surviving with many layers, dressing gowns, and hot water bottles.) The bloke spent Friday afternoon working from home, only to have the engineer call at 6 PM to say he would come on Saturday morning at 8 AM. Which he did, bless him, but it also took him three hours to fix the boiler. The boiler then worked for a grand total of 24 hours before breaking again, so we spent all of this afternoon at home waiting for another engineer. He turned up at 7:30 PM. It is now fixed again. If it breaks tomorrow, we're stuffed again until next weekend. I have everything crossed that it doesn't.
I’ve had an exhausting single-parenting day which involved a lot of cleanup of a pre-schooler who has backslid (ahem) in terms of his ability to use the toilet. It has been even less fun than it sounds. So here, have a photo of a lovely tuxie cat, rather than any further elaboration on that subject.

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[Telstar lolling on the falling-apart armchair in the front room. He’s lying on a tattered cushion and Humuhumu’s purple mermaid cuddly toy.]

Oh, and I finished off the evening by doing the ironing. I loathe ironing. It is normally the bloke’s Sunday evening chore, but obviously he’s not here right now so I have to do it. This day can be immediately consigned to the forgottenest dustbin of the unswept corners of distant memory.
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