The possibly sinister night

Once in West Africa, there was a comforting shift to green lushness, the odd elephant and unlimited advocados.  It was invigorating and the sleeping bags in the back of the truck disappeared as we sat up, enjoying the journey again. We stopped at Lome, the capital of Togo with the largest fetish/voodoo market in the world and spent an afternoon, browsing bones and skulls – many still decomposing – blood, wood, carvings, figurines, ringing bells, smells and strangeness. Continue reading

Laughing boy and the mermaids

LB came back from his dad’s house very chirpy indeedy.  He’d watched the fourth Pirates of the Caribbean film and was very, very taken with the mermaids in it.  Turns out he hadn’t come across mermaids before.  Having such specialist interests from a very early age (buses, lorries, Eddie Stobart and the London Met) meant that he boycotted all the usual books/films that mermaids would crop up in.  At nearly 17, mermaids were a revelation.

He’s now become very focused on finding out if they exist, or not.  Since yesterday morning, we’ve repeatedly said they are a myth.  Richy has googled images of manatee’s to talk about where the myth may have come from, but he ain’t convinced.

Today he came back from school with a handwritten note to put in a bottle and drop in the River Thames. The note says;

To the mermaids, do you exist or don’t you? From LB

I’ll keep you posted.

Leaving home

I’ve been a right old weepy wreck since the A-level results and confirmation that Rosie’s off to university this weekend.  I dunno.  What a schmaltz-hound.  Richy and the other kids have been very patient and supportive as I’ve blubbed walking around the supermarket, passing old favourites like bourbon biscuits, hot chocolate and tuna, seeing a box set of Desperate Housewives in HMV, walking past her old primary school at chucking out time.

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Yer mum jokes

Tom was telling us at breakfast about how, in a science class, there was a description of a blubbery, hairy animal and someone shouted “That’s yer mum Tom”.

“Oh,” said Richy, “that’s not very nice”.

“It’s a yer mum joke”, said Rosie and Owen in unison, chuckling into their pancakes.

Richy and I sat there with blank faces.

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The rubbish tooth fairy

Tom’s tooth fell out yesterday.

“I’d better put it under my pillow”, he said. “But I hope there isn’t any more tooth fairy rubbishness…”

“Wha? What do you mean Tomo?”

“You know. There was that time she didn’t come. Then about two nights later she came, left a pound and the tooth. And then there was the time she took the tooth and didn’t leave a pound…”

“And there’s the tooth she left in the bathroom on the travel plug for about three months…” chipped in Richy Rich.

“Oh,” I said, “I hadn’t noticed that”.

 

The border crossing and the camel spiders

From Tamanrasset we travelled South towards Mali. Relentlessly. It seems bizarre now, looking back, but the trip was tedious and boring. Mike-A was obsessively focused on getting the truck to the end point (Nairobi) and used every daylight hour on the road.  A few of us got into the habit of getting up for breakfast around 6.30am (stale baguettes, jam or peanut butter), then clambering back into sleeping bags in the back of the truck to snooze till lunchtime (stale baguettes…).  Passing slowly through miles and miles of Sahel with little changing scenery, hardly interacting with anyone off the truck, was an odd experience. Detached and unsettling.

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Catching up with Good Debbie

Good Debbie and I met up in London today.  For the first time in about five years, 23 years after the overland trip. It took a while to actually meet, as she waited outside the English National Opera while I was outside the National Opera House, but eventually we met up.

It was a lovely, lovely early Autumn day. Covent Garden was bustling with people making the most of a sneaky bit of sunshine. We wandered about, chatted, noshed on Mexican food in Wahaca, chatted and laughed. Laughed and laughed and laughed. A lot of chat was remembering the truck adventures.

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Waiting for the the bus

This morning I was desperate to go to the loo but couldn’t. Because I was waiting for the bus.  The bus that isn’t a bus at all anymore. It’s now a car. The car that takes LB to school each morning.  I can’t nip off to the loo because there is a risk that LB will open the front door if the bus arrives.  The escort at the mo’ is a little person and I’m worried that our dog, who is totally intolerant of difference (I know.. the irony, eh?) may run out and nip her. So I wait. Continue reading

The egg of trust and the GP

LB had an appointment with the GP after school today. He’d had a liver function test to check out the medication for his newly diagnosed epilepsy.  The doc said that there was a bit of a problem because the blood level showed that the drug was at a level that suggested it wasn’t being effective.  Instead of a level (of something but no idea what) of between 40-80, LB’s blood showed 25.

The options were to up the dose to a level at which it was effective, continue the dose (but it wouldn’t be achieving anything) or stop the dose because, as it wasn’t working and he hadn’t had a seizure for three months, he didn’t need it. It was up to me to decide.

Whoa. Hit me with the first example of non paternalistic decision making I’ve ever experienced when the stakes are so high, why don’t you?!  The potential of tonic clonic seizures or even stronger medication with hideous long term side effects.

I got the doc to talk me through it all again, and once it became clear that upping the medication was only really treating the medication, as opposed to preventing seizures, I decided to keep the dose as it is until we met with the neurologist again.  I’m a bit suspicious of stats at the best time and didn’t really buy the 25/40-80 stuff. So the outcome of my first patient weighted decision making; defer the decision.

So home, kettle on, dig out school diary to find out the latest happenings in the sixth form.

“LB has been brilliant today. He has an egg to look after as part of our work on trust and bring back tomorrow hopefully in one piece”.

“Wow! An egg of trust? LB! Where’s your egg matey?”

“In the bin.”

“What? Whaddaya mean???”

“It’s in the bin, mum.”

And it was. Crushed. Barely retrievable.

“Why did you chuck the egg away, LB?”

“Cos I’m ANGRY WITH THE SCHOOL. They wouldn’t let me do what I wanted to do”, he fumed.

“Yeah, well sometimes you have to do what you’re told, matey”, I said, putting on a pan of water to boil a new egg of trust.  “And sometimes you  wish you were told what to do…”

 

 

Clutter: an easy win

After yesterday’s spectacular fail (see here), I’ve revised my de-clutter strategy and now reduce, rather than just re-arrange.  That is a lot harder and I’m struggling to part with all sorts of things that I KNOW I don’t need to keep… but….I’m trying.

So today, it was the turn of the kitchen noticeboard-shelf-thingy. Quite good, I think? I’ll also pay those cheques in today so that’s a double win.

I then turned to my clothes (I realise this is a bit of a random de-clutter strategy but it’s to try and reduce the boredom de-cluttering holds for me).  I (sort of) applied the well known ‘not worn for two years and OUT’ technique.

Here are the victims. So long fuckers! I never wore you enough to keep. Sob.