Paul Davidson
Weeknotes 105: Is that the snackbar’s skin?
I didn’t dodge that bullet—I’ve gone and got Covid. Again. Bother. At least it’s warm for having the windows open. Again.
Most likely I got it while out at the rugby. Yet, I still think I have a moral right to blame the Tories for it. They’ve knacked everything else1.
Not gonna lie, I’m starting to get bored of quarantining in the home office. We farmed Piglet to the safety of grandparents while me and The Chef have taken different floors. I get food left outside my door and when she’s clear, I’m allowed to pop both masks on, move the draft excluder and fetch it. Reverse those steps and we’re ready to videocall while we eat. I’m thirsty for updates from outside.
It might be the confinement, but this video of Gordon Ramsey in Avengers killed me. As sweary as you’d expect. The new JID album is good company and has kept my back from seizing up.
I’ve started following the school’s Twitter account to live vicariously. The speed of development we’ve got coming is astonishing. Piglet’s already a marvel in the confidence leap she’s taken with speaking Chinese. And that was before three nights with Lǎolao and Lǎoyé.
Judging by her impressions, school have started doing fire drills.
In the before times, when I was allowed to drop her at school, the child in front gave his dad two kisses and she turned to me in deathly seriousness to say, “Daddy. You get three kisses.” She’s inherited my competitiveness. It was a turnaround in mood from the disgruntlement she felt when the scaffolders turned up. She’s a territorial beast and was very put out by the men in our garden.
One of her teddy bears is a polar bear called Tillakaratne. The only polar bear in Sri Lanka. I was using the world map jigsaw (don’t ask) to point out where he was born and grew up. Piglet excitedly recounted it to Lǎolao, “He’s from Sri Lanka. And he speaks Tamil. And do you know where he was born? All the way up there!”, stretching to point up, “On the jigsaw box lid!”
As I write these, The Chef has brought back a thoroughly indulged toddler. Her table manners are shot. Going to be a whiny few meals rebuilding them.
In better news to finish, when I get narked with Mercury for ignoring Little Simz, it was just a cut-off date. And the roof is watertight! I’m sleeping in the previously leaky room with success. Almost as big news as being pregnant. Almost.
That lovely interstital period where they’ve got rid of their latest disaster before appointing the next one.↩︎