Paul Davidson
Weeknotes 090: I’m a dancing sausage.
Brown lawns and butter that’s softer than bread. Deadened by summer heat. A torpid evening in the garden, glad for a full weekend behind us after a full week. Open air pool. Strawberry picking. Pub grub. Prince. Paddling pools and barbecues.
The heat has returned our fruit flies. About as welcome as Tories in our house. It has been fun watching them eat themselves1 at least. Gallows humour, because we’re stuck with them. If only they were as susceptible to a glass of vinegar.
I’ve been availing myself of the office air con during the week. I’m coaching my first full-time intern and needed to be in every day to give the complete “Welcome to Corporate” introduction. Sitting in on meetings with everyone in the team makes me realise I don’t talk to my colleagues about their work anywhere near often enough. Time though, innit. Maybe we should all write more.
As I was in all week, I took with me the best gift I’ve ever received: a tear-off calendar with a different daily photo of Piglet and me. It usually sits by my monitor at home. I’ve never not smiled when I peeled back to see the new picture.
I timed my week in with one where The Chef was working from home. On the upside, she got to use the comfy home office. On the downside, we missed out on family lunches. On the sideside, I was cycling. It was so windy at the start of the week, I had to pedal to go downhill.
Mid-week was the, I guess, regular pub quiz outing. Nearer my house this time. We won. Which either means it was too easy a crowd or we’ve become the old beardy guys who know a weirdly large amount about cocktail recipes.
New types of epistolary fiction stay true to the form but update the medium. Like the speculative fictional wikipedia entry on simulated brain uploads2. The medium shapes the story.
Having cleaned the house thoroughly and talked Piglet through her expectations, we had the home visit from her new teachers. They’ve spotted she’s a shy one, but it all went smoothly on the day. It’s impacted nursery with tears and cries of, “I just don’t want to see my friends,” while she processes unvoicable concerns. Her teachers tell us she’s fine when she’s there. Ice cream in the park afterwards helps.
She continues to grow. She’s a dab hand with her trainee chopsticks and is shockingly good at the nonsense rhymes that Raa Raa has inspired her to start. Her Geordie accent is coming on a treat too.
By Friday the fullness of the week had topped me off and I spent the evening vegging in front of the TV while The Chef played video games. Thankfully she was hero enough to have filled our weekend with the delightful plans above.