Supper is served

Life in household continues to be dominated by teenage exams. We are now into result season and Drama Queen is developing Convenient Memory Loss Syndrome (CMLS). She claimed yesterday to have forgotten what she had got for Maths, the result of which was handed out in the afternoon, though apparently she does remember her Maths teacher announcing that she was very proud of all of them. The CMLS was justified on the grounds that she “has no head for figures” – bodes well for the maths result all I can say – can’t wait for the report.

It is dark and cold (relatively, we’re talking 10oC) in the mornings now so I feel incredibly virtuous, not to mention saint like as I set off at 6 to either walk the dog or go to my outdoor exercise class. On the dog mornings I go down to a local beach where I am put to shame most mornings by a chap in his late 70’s who rips off all his clothes and plunges into the sea for a 20 minute swim, leaving his Staffordshire Terrier mournfully standing guard over his towel and clothes.

The dog training is going well – on the advice of the trainer I bought some water pistols to shoot at him if he looks as if he is going to wee anywhere. His behaviour is now impeccable; wish I had thought of this tactic when I was in the midst of potty training. The downside however is that the girls’ behaviour has deteriorated out of sight as they hang over the banisters shooting each other with the water pistols.

We’ve reached new heights on the physio front. In addition to rolling myself up and down a rolling pin, I now have to balance myself on a golf ball – I’ll leave your imaginations to picture the scene of middle aged lady trying to achieve Zen like pose on top of small ball, but I would point out I am supposed to be lying across golf ball rather than balancing seal like on my nose.

I had better go and rescue the girls’ supper as we are getting dangerously close to situation normal where the smoke alarm announces dinner is served. In the course of preparing supper I investigated the depths of the fridge vegetable “crisper” as the drawer is labelled – crisp wouldn’t actually be the word I applied to the sad remains I discovered there. Even I didn’t have the heart to turn the debris into slime mix, so the worms are going to get a real treat.