Last night, politics in microcosm. Private vs state, Jew vs Muslim, old Labour vs new Tory. Ånd only seven people! Inevitably there was discord. Though discord hedged with social nicities. By the end of the evening we'd broken into factions. With me somewhere in the middle. Shovelling down chocolate fridge cake. And Spanish wine. A bad move. This morning I couldn't walk a straight line. Riojas always leave an after-effect. It must be the tannins. Or something. In this zig-zagging state, I was whisked off for bacon butties by my godson. Who, as ever, distinguished himself by having two breakfasts. We discussed the hostages in Iraq and my efforts as a facilitator earlier this week. He laughed out loud when I described how the delegates, who were supposed to provide lively debate, had all agreed with each other. Within five minutes of kick-off. Forcing me to spend the next 55 irritating them into argument. And how the earpiece they'd unexpectedly provided kept flying from my ear like a caffeine fuelled bat. Afterwards we picked up the girls. Who've been with their paternal grandparents this weekend. Coming home, the youngest, apropos nothing, said, "I really miss X, Mummy. I wish you'd never split up." "Me too," said the eldest. "I've been thinking about him all weekend." The spirit of nostalgia is clearly catching. "Why do you think we're suddenly musing like this?" I asked them. The eldest said, "Because it's spring." Ah yes, spring is sprung, the grass is ris, I wonder where the boirdies is?
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Last night, politics in microcosm. Private vs state, Jew vs Muslim, old Labour vs new Tory. Ånd only seven people! Inevitably there was discord. Though discord hedged with social nicities. By the end of the evening we'd broken into factions. With me somewhere in the middle. Shovelling down chocolate fridge cake. And Spanish wine. A bad move. This morning I couldn't walk a straight line. Riojas always leave an after-effect. It must be the tannins. Or something. In this zig-zagging state, I was whisked off for bacon butties by my godson. Who, as ever, distinguished himself by having two breakfasts. We discussed the hostages in Iraq and my efforts as a facilitator earlier this week. He laughed out loud when I described how the delegates, who were supposed to provide lively debate, had all agreed with each other. Within five minutes of kick-off. Forcing me to spend the next 55 irritating them into argument. And how the earpiece they'd unexpectedly provided kept flying from my ear like a caffeine fuelled bat. Afterwards we picked up the girls. Who've been with their paternal grandparents this weekend. Coming home, the youngest, apropos nothing, said, "I really miss X, Mummy. I wish you'd never split up." "Me too," said the eldest. "I've been thinking about him all weekend." The spirit of nostalgia is clearly catching. "Why do you think we're suddenly musing like this?" I asked them. The eldest said, "Because it's spring." Ah yes, spring is sprung, the grass is ris, I wonder where the boirdies is?
