Well, we eventually managed to help the smallest grandson deliver his surprise to his mother in the late afternoon / early evening yesterday. She was duly impressed. And the small boy was pleased to find that his plan for the roots of the plants in his carefully constructed pot were visible through the open mouth of his creature had worked. Success on all fronts, I think.
Part of the media frenzy run up to Mother’s Day was a series about the best advice readers’ and columnists’ mothers had given them. Columnist Tim Dowling’s mother apparently impressed on him the advantages of being able to raise one eyebrow at a time, as a means of expressing doubt, scepticism, satire, humour and so on. He practised hard and mastered the art. Somebody has to be able to do these things.
My father could famously waggle his rather large ears. This was well before any of us had heard of Roald Dahl’s Big Friendly Giant. Over one Christmas dinner, when we all maybe drank a few too many Christmas toasts, my Spanish brother-in-law and I discovered that we could both flare our nostrils at will. Not as useful as skill as raising one eyebrow at a time but still something that rather a lot of people are unable to do.
In the letters section of the newspaper, Caroline Alexander had this to say:
“Regarding words of wisdom from mothers, a friend’s mum taught her to recite the mantra “Bus pass, dinner money, homework, handkerchief” whenever she left the house to go to school. It still applies in principle. The first two have been replaced by a phone and credit card, the third by reading specs. But the necessity of a simple handkerchief has stood the test of time. Thank you, Mrs Moss.”
My mother also used to insist on our having a clean handkerchief. We all had name labels on ours! It’s a long time since I had an actual handkerchief but I usually ensure ai have a supply of tissues. And as regards the checklist before leaving the house, mine would include mobile phone and keys to the house - an almost paranoid fear of being locked out!
Getting back to Tim Dowling, I think it was in yesterday’s )column that he complained about his dog waking him in the small hours. He went on to say this:
“Every night I go to bed to find the dog already there, in my place, head on my pillow. Every night I shoo the dog off, and the dog obediently retreats to its own bed, and falls asleep. That used to be the routine, until I started waking up in the dark with the dog staring at me.
The dog manages to take up a huge amount of bed without disturbing my wife in any way, because that would be a disaster for both of us
The dog wants to be allowed to climb back up on to the bed. I will relent – if not yet, then eventually – but if my wife wakes up at any point during the dog’s campaign, all bets are off.’
I have made clear in numerous previous posts my feelings about dogs, and other animals, in bedrooms. Our eldest granddaughter has her cat sleeping in hers as he can’t be trusted not to cause havoc if left to his own devices. No doubt Mr Dowling’s dog warms the bed nicely for him but personally I find the prospect of putting my head down on a pillow where a dog has been resting, possible slobbering, I find quite repulsive.
Each to his own I suppose!
Finally, here’s a comment on the madness of the wider world:
You’re just trying to enjoy the view with the squad… when the humans decide to turn the whole planet into a fireworks show
Even the aliens are done: ‘Humans are really stupid”.
Life goes on. Stay safe and well, everyone!
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