Weevilstepmother

Had a fab morning with StepD today, we walked to the shops to see about getting an outfit for the Cartographer's wedding in July. She was happy and chatty, willing to try on clothes, and not complaining about having to deviate on occasion for stamps, bank paying-in etc. Quite possibly the best couple of hours we have spent together, and a big change from the madam of two weekends ago and the petulant young lady with arms crossed at Poppy's last night. We found a wonderful outfit, which she loves and which looks great on her. I'm really pleased because she doesn't have huge self-esteem but this morning seemed to buoy her up somewhat, and that felt great.

Have been fretting for the last couple of days about a good friend and something he intends to do. He swore me to secrecy with mighty oaths before he would tell me, and forbade me to blog about it (spoilsport). Well he's a cocky devil and lucky too so it will all probably turn out ok for him. But I'm well and truly in the "half empty" team and can't stop bothering about it. Time will tell.

The Sun came home from school with a poem he had written. He had been thinking about Grandpop, who died earlier this year, and came up with this:

L life comes only once
I if you didn't know
F fast it may seem
E ending so soon

Lump in throat time.

Moonfish update:
He continues poorly and gasping but appears to be hanging on by his cuticles. However, sadly, StepD came up this afternoon and said that Gollum was floating lifeless in the tank. The two plecs were recent purchases and presumably found the tank's environment not quite conducive to vitality. Tallboy took Gollum out into the garden and buried him next to Gollumina. Well I say buried, he lifted the rock and put him next to her. Apparently she was doing a convincing wafer impression.

Went to Poppy's this afternoon to pick up recalcitrant StepD and to give Network Guy his birthday pressies. Poppy is Tallboy's ex wife, NG is her husband. We got him a birthday card that has nothing to do with computers, a bottle of red wine, and a toothbrush. He was rather bemused by it as a) it was a green one, and b) he is colour blind. We had to point out to him that it had his name printed on the handle, so no more colour-blind toothbrush confusion. Thinking back now, I hope he didn't think we were taking the mick...

StepD is now in her usual position, holed up in her room. At the moment she is hunting a twenty pound note which has mysteriously gone missing/been spent without her remembering/been put somewhere other than where she has looked.

Newsflash Tallboy informs me mid-post that the twenty quid has been located, in her old purse which slid down the side of the bed. Stand easy everyone.

Moonfish (who continues poorly, thanks for asking) belongs to StepD and lives in her aquarium along with Eely (a rather magnificent loach which, you may be surprised to learn, distinctly resembles some kind of eel), a little Platy (which we have always called a Molly), a Porthole Catfish (until recently there were two but one seems to have disappeared), and a Plec called Gollum which eats the algae from the inside of the tank and slices of cucumber when the algae have all gone. Last week sadly Gollumina passed away - a very sad sight bobbing at the top of the tank on her back with her fins all limp. Tallboy buried her near the pond. Well he said he buried her. Turns out he lifted up one of the rocks round the edge and shoved her under it. Still, it's the thought that counts...

I have just had a chapter of the Magic Faraway Tree read to me most charmingly by Sun. He graduated from being read to at bedtime some time ago, when he became a fluent reader himself, although he does graciously permit the odd story being read now and again. However tonight when I went to kiss him goodnight, he offered to read to me so I snuggled down on his bed next to him, my head on Devon the huge stuffed Orca. And it was lovely. Maybe when I am ancient and dribbly, he will come to visit me in whichever Maximum Security Twilight Home I am inhabiting and read to his poor dear mother...

The Sun came back from Cubs last night in a high state of nine-year-old indignation. "There's going to be a new person at Cubs next week. And it's a GIRL!!!" They're currently an all male pack apart from the leaders, so this is going to be interesting...

Tadpole update:
Still seeming very happy in the washing up bowl by the pond. We have so far fed them with courgette stalk, accidental grass clippings, blanket weed, and nasty green mouldy scrapings. Their favourite? Nasty green mouldy scrapings, for which they go wild. No sign of any little legs yet...

Moonfish update:
He continues to gasp for oxygen and we haven't seen him eat for days. We fear that there may have to be yet another little fish burial in the near future.

Last night we went to Gloucester to see an am-dram production of Terry Pratchett's Maskerade (well, a production of Stephen Brigg's adaptation of Terry Pratchett's Maskerade...)

Despite printing out three levels of maps and studying the directions with almost military precision before leaving, we managed to explore Gloucester for a little while before arriving at the theatre. We only went wrong once (well, once-and-a-half) on the way back. I have discovered over time that Tallboy, although having sucessfully navigated himself around the UK singlehanded on his bike, is adept at getting *to* places, but completely falls down *in* places. I have lost count of the times I have heard "I think that was the turning back there" accompanied with a yearning look over the shoulder at the junction now fast disappearing behind us. I do get slightly snippy at this, as this is definitely one area in which I have inherited Dad's genes. If I am a front seat passenger on a trip to a new destination, I will have the map on my lap and keep my eyes peeled for roundabouts, exits, landmarks and so on and I foolishly expect the same from the front seat passenger if I am driving. Tallboy just looks out of the window or takes a trip to Planet Tallboy. A junction is missed. There are words. Then silence.

**Note to self - give paternal genes a talking-to.

Anyway, the production. As it was first night, tickets were two for the price of one - Bargain! And there was the possibility of first-night happenings, which are always a bonus. The venue was an amazing little theatre tucked away in a Gloucester side-street, and we settled into our seats with a lot of happy anticipation and a little apprehension. The thing is, I love the Discworld books. Not, I hasten to add, that I feel the need to dress up as characters, attend conventions or name my children Magrat Verence or Rincewind. I just love Pratchett's style, the way he weaves reality, other people's stories and his own together, and the pictures he paints in my mind. That's why I'm wary of other people's visual interpretations, which never seem to match mine. (Tangent alert - in a way this is why I didn't discover these books till a few years ago. I used to work at a WHSmith on Saturdays and during the holidays, on the book department. I was familiar with Pratchett in that I would tidy the shelves and I recognised his name. But the illustrations on the books were off-putting and I avoided reading them because I thought that they were some crazy fantasy books that took themselves really seriously and I didn't want to buy into that. It wasn't until 2000 when Dr Prod earnestly persuaded me to ignore the covers and give them a try that I overcame my prejudices. I loved the first one so much that I bought and read them all. In order. Thank you Dr Prod.)

However, back to the little theatre in Gloucester. I wasn't sure if I would be sat there seething at portrayals of some much-loved characters, stifling the urge to jump up and shout "That's not how Granny Weatherwax is at all!" I did have to jump up, but not in protest. In a theatre with no more than K rows, Tallboy had managed to navigate to the wrong seats. He really takes his art seriously you know. To be honest, I think the nice man who moved us on from his seats regretted it rather as he watched Tallboy unfold himself out of the seat, the realisation dawning on him that we were going to move to our correct seats - right in front of him. It's not easy to see the action on the stage over 6'5" of person in front of you, even if he is sat down.

From the very first moment of the performance, I was hooked. The characters were really well done, the acting was very natural, there had clearly been a lot of preparation, and to cap it all, everyone on stage was quite obviously having fun. The whole thing lasted nearly three hours including the interval and it felt like five minutes, I was so riveted to what was going on on the stage. As we left the theatre we chatted excitedly about good it had been and reviewed our favourite bits. The hassles of sorting out babysitters and getting home on time from work had been more than worth it for a great evening's entertainment. This happy state of affairs lasted for at least three minutes. Until I missed the first turning.

I found something the other day. I was sorting out clothes (the nightmarish sight of drawers regurgitating their contents in an attempt to reduce the internal pressure got to me after a while) and there at the bottom of the last drawer I cleared, was a notebook. Lovely thick paper, all different colours. And three pages of handwriting - mine, dating from October 2000, a time in my life when things were not good. I was feeling low and a friend encouraged me to write down my feelings as it would help. So I did. And looking back from three and a half years in the future, it was quite an experience to go back and remember how things were and how I felt.

I only ever made that one entry, I think I knew that there were unlikely to be more at the time. But reading it now made me feel that I would like to record things again, and have a go at doing it regularly. So here we go!

By the way, I was brutal, and ended up with two and a half black bin liners full of old clothes. I put them out for the recycling collection this morning, and fretted that they would be ignored as it wasn't obvious what they contained - so I created a strident label on A4 salmon coloured paper saying CLOTHES. The bags went, as did the *ahem* one or two beer and wine bottles. I tend to put the recycling out after the school run so that the Brazil Nut (wonderful crazy Brazilian neighbour) can't walk past and comment on the contents on the way to school. It just makes for a quiet life that way...