The Fount Of All Knowledge

This week I have mostly been eating lettuce.

No I haven’t really. I’ve been off on my adventures. But I have been watching reruns of The Fast Show.

On Sunday it was Roxanna and Jordan’s joint birthday party in Halton – three hours, 25 kids, a soft play area and lots of lovely food!

Guess who almost got stuck climbing up into the soft play bit? Well I’m not telling you – it’s too embarrassing. It’s all right if you’re a child and can wriggle like a snake, but when you’re getting on a bit and parts of you that used to be bendable have become rigid, going up and at the same time backwards and up again and forward isn’t so easy.


Roxy and Imogen were like peas in a pod – well two girls in a toy car made for one - like Cagney and Lacey or Thelma and Louise as they sped up and down the hall a la the Flintstones. The girls did their own thing and why not?

Then there was the eventful night in the hotel . . . but you don’t want to hear about that.

We had another trip to Bressingham this week where Imogen managed five rides on the Carousel despite only being entitled to three. She’s two years old and she got chatting to a five year old boy on the next horse. By the time the ride finished she had his age, name, the day he’s starting school and the titles of his favourite books. About the only thing she didn’t get was his phone number.

Next week Lachlan starts school. That’s kind of been on my mind a lot lately. Seeing them all dressed up in their school uniforms for the first time is a Lump In The Throat moment. He gave me a twirl today and looked so smart and grown up that as well as the lump in my throat I had puddles in my glasses.

I have been otherwise amusing myself by lurking round a forum or two. Amazing what you learn.

A certain male writer who is regularly published in women’s magazines is really a woman! I will have to have words with him as he’s obviously been keeping something from me.

Just to clarify the above - the male writer in question is definitely a man! NOT a woman. I have no idea where the person who claimed otherwise got their information from, but they couldn't be more wrong! I just thought it was a good example of how people can state something as a fact and yet clearly not know the truth.

I wrote a whole list of untruths that I have uncovered, but then I thought to hell with it and deleted it all. Life’s too short to go round nit-picking. I’m sure people mean well when they put in their two-penneth worth.

This morning as I padded back and forth between bedroom, office and bathroom in my usual half asleep state, I paid little heed to the piece of fluff on the floor outside the bedroom door. I may even have trodden on it.

Then I was asked if I’d seen the deceased spider . . . noooo. With my glasses on I saw that the piece of fluff was in possession of eight hairy legs. It has Indy’s paw prints all over it (and quite a bit of his fur surrounding it – I’d guess it was a ferocious battle). I think that it was heading for the baby’s room and Indy took it upon himself to save her – Isabel may be able to crawl now, but she’s not got the speed to outrun a spider.

Usually “Spider” is enough to get him charging in to the rescue – even if you whisper the word for fear of letting the spider know you’re onto it. I don’t make a habit of killing spiders or encouraging Indy to kill them, but sometimes when they have you cornered in the bathroom, cowering in the shower, there’s no choice but to call for canine help.

If at all possible, I go for the large glass and piece of stiff card method of removal.

Tilly is terrified of spiders. She’s scared of most things. She fled from the room the other night because a moth had fluttered in and she went off to hide under the bed while Indy was leaping round like a thing possessed trying to catch it.

I took a photo of the spider using the macro function. Big mistake. When I put it up on the computer screen and it appeared so huge I nearly died of fright – you can see every hair on its legs. I can’t look at a picture of a spider without my skin crawling. So in order not to kill anyone who has made it this far and who may be similarly sensitive I will make the picture small when I add it to this post.

And please, please – if anyone out there thinks it is just an empty spider’s skin and the owner is now stamping about somewhere in my house bigger than ever with a brand new set of leathers – keep it to yourself!

I’ve been having disturbing and vivid dreams for the past week or so. Not all of them nasty I must say.

I also have my spell dish up and running! See here for instructions http://lynnehackles.blogspot.com/2009/08/my-spell-dish.html

In Other News (if you’re still here).

I am happy to announce that as I am in possession of a sturdy pair of chunky thighs (slap – wobble!) I am less likely to die of coronary disease than someone with the kind of slender pins I have always envied!

How many of you have had your tape measures out since the news was announced?

My husband is safe too. I thought he had skinny legs until I got my tape measure out which has led me to a conclusion. My legs are not fat, they are merely too short. If they were as long as his they would look fine.

In case you missed it you need to have thighs with a circumference of 60 cm to be safe from early death.

We have Professor Berit Heitmann to thank for this revelation! More power to her I say! I am sincerely hoping that she will later reveal that a double chin is a sign of great beauty and a large bottom an indicator of superior intelligence.

Well I can dream can’t I?