Mr B is watching footie. Spurs are playing West Ham (I tell you this because I want (i) to impress you and (ii) to set the scene.) I think it may be a long evening.
Not much more than ten minutes ago, when I enquired after the start time of said match, Mr B was grumbling that he wouldn't be able to watch it on account of us having too many programmes
being recorded at the same time. Bearing in mind that it is Mr B, and Mr B alone, who programmes our lives in terms of our TV consumption, I can be forgiven, I reckon, for thinking that the solution was In His Own Hands.
Which must also have occurred to him, for the match is now being played out before our very eyes and Spurs are in the lead by one goal to nil. If you like, I will keep you in touch with the score as
I write this blog - if you'd prefer not, then perhaps you could just skip the sentences concerned? I am afraid to ask which programmes are not now being recorded because I don't want to upset myself and, as a wise person has been known to affirm, what you
don't know can't hurt you. Which is quite, quite ridiculous when you come to think of it.
You can probably tell that I don't have too much to write about today
or I wouldn't be relying on 22 men kicking a ball about to provide me with copy. Nevertheless there have been one or two highlights to report. Firstly, I have located no fewer than six small toys left behind by the Trio of Rampaging Rascals on Sunday. These,
in order of importance, are (I) a dinosaur torch; (I) a racing car from Faris’s Kinder Surprise egg; (iii) a Hello Kitty doll complete with swim goggles and water ring from one of the Twinkles’ Kinder Surprise eggs; (iv) a yellow duck; (v) a Kellogg's
van circa 1976; and (vi) a game which requires the player to shoot shiny silver balls into four holes.
You are doubtless wondering how I arrived at this
precise order of importance so I must admit that I am only really sure about the first and the last; the first because I had solemnly promised my youngest grandson that I would do my utmost to find his dinosaur torch, the loss of which was causing him much
grief when he left for home on Sunday evening. If it's in my house, I told him, I will be sure to find it. As claims go, it was a pretty bold one. As for the game, I rather think this was left behind on purpose as I remember the Middle of the Darling Daughters
telling me that nobody could complete the shooting task. Fortunately Spurs are better at shooting than The Trio because they have just scored a second goal. Mr B is quietly content. Half time arrives and I head off into the kitchen to make us both a hot drink.
It's tradition, don't you know?
The other highlight of my day: my fortnightly crafty class - I've been absent for at least two sessions so I have been missing
out big time. When I phone the Lovely Linda to warn her I will be a little late, I make sure to speak in a cheerful, breezy voice in case she immediately thinks, on hearing it is me at the other end of the line, that I am calling off again.
We are making Christmas decorations and, despite being late, I manage to catch up pretty well, all things considered. Both baubles involve the use of pointy pins, silver
for one, gold for the other. Except that not all of them were. Pointy, that is. There are few things more frustrating - not to mention damaging to the fingertips - than blunt pins. “Where was the quality control?” one of our number despaired
- though to my mind, being in charge of quality control of blunt pins must be the most soul destroying of jobs. I mean, what's the, well, point?
I carried home
the results of my afternoon’s labours to show Mr B. He was gratifyingly complimentary. Making Christmas has taken a whole new turn, thanks to the new skills I have gained this afternoon. Plus, if you're concerned about my fingertips, don't be -
the Lovely Linda has gifted me one of her thimbles, of which she appears to have a great many.
Football? Please, please don't mention it in Mr B's