Howdy blog and new follower from Texas!

November, like February, is one of those rubbish months. Rubbish in terms of weather; rubbish in terms of it’s not yet Christmas (but the threats   bribes encouragements to the kids begin in earnest) and rubbish as it begins with a remember the dead day which is then followed by a remember the war dead day (both important and right but I think it would be nicer to have these days marked during spring).  I think the word I am looking for and which sums up this month is sombre……merde, or is that somber….the dementia: 1 memory: 0.

November, here, down in Nowhere, means beaucoup of rain. So much rain that it makes the grassed areas particularly muddy. So much rain that the mud becomes widespread and slippery. So much rain that when you are trying to park your two tonne….ton…(here we go again….dementia:2  memory: 0) car, the wheels and the mud experience a moment of polarity which almost results in the car ending up half way down the 10 foot bank.


(And when it almost happened…..when I applied the breaks and was not met with the car stopping, my first thought was ‘shit. the husband is going to go mad.’ Not, ‘am I about to kill myself and the child sleeping in the back’ (who has probably choked anyway as he fell asleep with a mouth full of baguette and peanut butter). I did also have a fleeting fantasy of a farmer arriving on a tractor to pull the car out and me driving the tractor…..yep, that’s my fantasy… DRIVE a tractor and not to enjoy a moment with the farmer in a hay stack)

The Prodigal

Well, I have to say, for one who is gifted in telling fiction, he has been slipping somewhat recently and actually admitting things (after only denying them 3 times before the admittance). This is progress.

I have found, in addition to the empty wine bottles (of last friday), an empty bottle of whiskey, 3 beer bottles, a beer can and a water bottle which smelt of vodka. This is NOT progress.

Operation Rayleigh – I’m going to send him on this next year. I need him to be in the most remote place of the planet. IF only they offered a Space Escapade – he’d go.

No escape. no lies. no booze. If it’s not the making of him, at least we’ll have a break from each other for 10 weeks (yep, I checked. There are other boot camps but this one offers the longest stint at this point in my research).

Love’s young dream

I’ve received messages from the Prodigal’s girlfriend in the past. I received one today.

Is it me, or is it odd for a 17 year old girl to seek relationship advice from the mother of her boyfriend?  KEEP ME OUT OF YOUR NONSENSE, THE PAIR OF YOU!

Religion anyone?

Now, I was brought up Catholic. I consider myself a Catholic – a BAD catholic (along with millions of others) but one nonetheless.  To say that over the last 20 odd years, I’ve slipped somewhat in my devotion, would be true. To say that I have lost my faith? Well, entre nous, I actually haven’t. What I have done, however, is question (myself first but also the idea of the Church as an intermediary between me and my God (whatever/whoever that is) what my faith is etc etc.

So, after spending the last few years in the Faltering Faith Wilderness, I’ve noticed that the preferred reading material (or page turning material) of the Prof and Fatty is the New Testament Bible. Now, this is a little odd in itself. What is odder is that (without my knowledge) we have two NT Bible knocking around the place and one or the other child has selected one or the other to have a flick through.  The Prof, in addition, has been asking to say prayers. NONE of this has come from me and certainly not from the Husband. They don’t spend enough time with my parents for that to have had any effect – so where is this coming from?  Should I take it as a sign to bring the kids up as I was?  The Prodigal and the Face spent most of their childhood in Catholic schools – surely, from how they are turning out, I should take that as a sure sign NOT to do that with the last three? The Face, when questioned last year, told me that the name of Jesus’ earthly father was Bernard!

Right, I’m going on (and on and on and on) with half of the dinner on the table and half still in the oven, so I’m saying a bientot without editing (yet again – yes, I promised myself not to do this and yet, here we are). Someone edit for me?