Those of you fortunate enough to know me will be aware that I am rarely lost for words. Any potential struggling around in difficult social situations can usually be avoided by my finding some witty or pertinent remark, about 5% of which land me in trouble. But it’s worth taking the chance. Usually.
Mrs 6k hit the speechless nail on the head with her Christmas gift for me this year, though.
In fact, speechless was just part of the reaction. I was stunned, overwhelmed, overcome and speechless. All at the same time.
It took a strong brandy or eight before I could even react at all.
Of course, those who are fortunate enough to know Mrs 6k will be aware that she has always been known for her imaginative ideas in the field of gifting.
But this time she completely outdid herself with a couple of tickets to a little farewell concert in December 2010.
Just 341 sleeps to go. Oh Emm Gee.
Father Christmas has come a day early and has bestowed a chest infection upon my daughter.
We were up for the greater part of last night looking after her.
A lack of sleep can lead you to do strange things…
No, not quite.
All’s not quiet,
All’s not right.
Little girl is full of snot.
Coughing and crying in her cot.
Everything was green.
‘Til we wiped it clean.
Oh little girl from Cape Town,
How still you just won’t lie.
And in thy deeply fitful sleep,
You sniff and cough and cry.
Yet in the bedroom just next door,
Your brother’s trying to sleep.
Your wails and tears are ringing in his ears
And causing him to weep.
I am putting my faith in some festive third-generation cephalosporins.
Just a quickie today as I have been playing with a rather snotty K-pu for most of the day and we’re out at a party this evening.
Who knew holidays could be so very busy?
Last night was spent braai’ing, drinking plenty of red wine and wrapping presents while listening to next door’s dog howling because it had been left alone at home all day and all night again. Really – what is the point of having a dog if all it does is sits alone annoying the neighbours because you’re never there?
It’s like being a non-smoker in a pub – adversely affected by the totally selfish choices that other people have made. And it’s not like I can even make the choice not to go to this particular drinking establishment – I live here.
One thoughtful soul told me that if I wanted to live in a dog-free environment, I should move back to the City Bowl.
“Suburbia is for dog owners,” he boldly stated. “You have to accept that when you move there.”
But sod that – it shouldn’t be my problem: it should come down to the dog owner – when they make the choice to get a dog, then they should also accept the responsibility of making sure it doesn’t annoy their neighbours. I paid (and continue to pay) a lot to live here, they move in and make life a misery for everyone around.
I shouldn’t have to put up with the noise of their sodding mutt (yet, as I type, it is still howling).
Simply, it comes down to respect – and evidently my neighbours don’t have any of that for anyone living nearby.
Ever wanted to know what side of the road they drive on in… Burkina Faso?
Of course you have.
It’s one of those questions that comes up at virtually every single dinner party, isn’t it?
But it’s also one that no-one seems to definitively know the answer to, prompting discussions at dinner and palaver at pub quizzes.
No longer, for step forward http://www.whatsideoftheroad.com/:
This is surely the definitive guide as to what side of the road various nations drive on.
And it’s got a cute little animation thing going on as well. I might get my Mini done out with that Manx flag once the JCW boys have finished tinkering with it. Cool.
And as for Burkina Faso… you’ll have to go and look.
A couple of photos taken this morning.
One of mine, taken in Cape Town, featuring my boy and False Bay:
And one of my Dad’s, taken in Sheffield, featuring his back garden:
And although for many it might seem to be a no-brainer, I’m actually struggling to decide where I would rather be right now…