Read in the Guardian Saturday about Tim Dowling’s anniversary woes. Or lack thereof. Depends on how you look at things.
We are pretty much the same here. We see little point in celebrating a day when I literally had to force the Resident IT Consultant to take the whole day off work, and not just the far more efficient afternoon only.
The first anniversary I suppose we believed we had to act normal (hah), so planned a meal out. The night before was eventful in that a stranger who was ‘being chased by Mrs Thatcher’ broke our front window in an effort to draw attention to his situation. After a night talking to the police, I spent the day waiting in for the return of the glazier who had promised to be back ‘lunch time’. Asked the Resident IT Consultant for the phone number and then phoned up and was rude to someone who said he’d be more than happy to help, but he hadn’t actually been the one who’d come earlier…
We then mostly ignored the day when it came by, until I carelessly mentioned to Esperanto Girl that it was our tenth. She was horrified to learn nothing was planned or even intended and forced us to go out for dinner.
And then we lived as happily as Mr and Mrs Dowling seem to do, with me occasionally disappearing off to book events which just happened to happen on that day. Gothenburg Book Fair, or Bloody Scotland. That sort of thing.
Judging by Tim’s column about their pearl anniversary, it’s fairly close to our ruby one. Which we spent in Daughter’s soon-to-be home hoovering up sawdust and taking cardboard to the tip. It was perfect!
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Tagged Tim Dowling
I love Tim Dowling. I just had to mention this. His column in the Guardian Weekend ten days ago was almost like a re-run of Daughter’s attempts with her pub quiz book and me.
Parents are amazing! Especially so since their children appear to have little, or no, concept of what makes for relevant knowledge.
At last Tim was able to show his sons what he’s made of! (Mostly old sitcoms, it seems.)
I know very little about some areas of pub quiz terrain. I don’t mind this. But how Daughter could believe, even for a minute, that the Resident IT Consultant or I would know 1980s pop music is incomprehensible. We’re ancient!
But ‘What is the name of the pub in Emmerdale?’ is a different kettle of fish. I’ve not even heard of many later television shows/soaps, let alone would know who’s in them. It’s just not important.
‘The Woolpack,’ I replied.
‘How the **** do you know that???’
I hadn’t given Thai orchids a moment of thought. It would be wrong to say I don’t care. But most of any care I have over the lack of orchids from anywhere, would be to do with loss of income for those whose livelihoods depend on them.
Until Monday evening we didn’t know whether Son would be able to turn up here this morning, and for a while it looked as if he’d be one of the lucky ones, with flight not yet cancelled and due to arrive 15 minutes after Manchester airport reopens Tuesday morning (if it does). But it was not to be, which I suppose should have been expected after he has narrowly avoided other air traffic disruptions this academic year. Son has a certain talent for ending up with travel disruption where his education is concerned, so why would now be any different?
But let’s return to the subject of Eyjafjallajökull, which Son can pronounce almost to perfection after his year in that place where he’s stuck for the moment. The Resident IT Consultant was amused at the Icelander interviewed on air on Thursday when it all began, because he reported that ‘the ways were closed and the cows were in the houses’. Of course they were.
Son has found himself increasingly annoyed with the BBC on this subject, and has resorted to Icelandic news on the internet. And as the orchids above indicate, I’m a little intrigued at how our trusted newspapers are reporting things.
It’s worth covering the repercussions of businesses going under, and possible shortages of tomatoes, say. But the Thai orchids can’t be unimportant only at Witch Towers, surely? Or the pre-washed salads. Convenient (and yucky, when you think of it), but hardly essential. I noted to my surprise that elusive ingredients for medicine is bad for the pharmaceutical companies. I’d have imagined it’d be worse for those who are ill and may need the medicine to survive. And I’m not going to lie sleepless if Robert Downey can’t make his film premiere next week. Will you?
Why do papers report such silly news? I’m the first to enjoy Lucy Mangan or Tim Dowling poking fun at stuff in an entertaining manner, but who checks what gets into the news pages?