Poetry In Motion

So I'm sitting here at my kitchen table, surveying the world at large through a big window which now faces our lovely, ENCLOSED terrace. After too many recent sunny days when I became aware that some of our neighbours were taking a more than appropriate interest in our goings-on, I decided (with too much fervor my husband would say) to get us some privacy.

And so with the same zeal normally reserved for a big West End shopping sale, I proceeded to order some bamboo screens and bully my husband into helping me put them up at the weekend. Job done, everyone agreed it was a good move, and now I can enjoy my morning cappucino without fear of inspiring lust (on a good day) or pity (on a normal day) from the youths who live in the building behind us.

Dumpie just shoved a loaf of bread into my lap, begging for his second breakfast of the day. (He's already polished off a giant bowl of banana-blueberry oatmeal, two glasses of mango smoothie, and is now angling for a stack of peanut-butter toast.) Poor Dumpie hasn't recovered from the emotional abuse levied by Egg a short while ago when he pushed Dumps off the sofa and wouldn't let him watch cartoons with him because he was 'dirty' (Ok Dumps did have dried oatmeal remnants stubbornly hanging off him from breakfast, but still...)

Having set the boys up at their mini kitchen table with a box of crayons and a huge pad of post it notes (don't ask - Egg LOVES the small square pieces of paper), Egg has resorted to his favourite arts and crafts hobby, which is scribbling like a madman on the post-it notes, then taping random pieces together and depositing the whole mess into a plain white envelope. Bless.

Yesterday we had a bit of excitement as Pest Control showed up to eradicate our mouse problem. Ok, so maybe it's not a full-blown problem, but we did spot a mouse dashing across the kitchen floor (URGHH!) two days in a row, so that qualifies as a national emergency in my book. Two hapless Asian lads turned up, for about five minutes, laid down a few traps, mumbled a bit of nonsense, and then promptly relieved us of a huge sum of money, with a promise to be back in a couple of weeks. Okey dokey then (sigh)...

I do wonder whether it is possible to live in this city and not come across a rodent. Apparently everyone in London is only ever a few feet away from a rat/mouse at any given time. That's a nice thought to start the day with. Give me bugs any day. Termites, cockroaches, spiders...it doesn't matter. As long as it doesn't 'scurry', have a tail, or beady eyes I can handle it.

Yesterday at Egg's nursery I noticed that the mean French lady (who got bigger than a person should humanly be able to expand unless they are having quadruplets) FINALLY gave birth...to a little baby girl. Hmmm. She also chopped her cleopatra bob into a close-shaven androgenous do and now resembles a flabby pensioner from behind. (Will I go to hell for mocking a new 'mommy'? Do i care?)

Anyway, I've got bigger fish to fry. Dumps STINKS and has to be changed and fumigated. Egg is taping up everything in site in the kitchen and my cappucino sits beside me getting cold. Will this be a good day? Maybe. Or maybe not. Perhaps I'll learn something about the world, develop a new friendship or prove instrumental in changing someones life.

Or maybe nothing will happen and I'll potter about picking up after the boys, mopping up the floor, doing the laundry, absentmindedly applying lipgloss and daydreaming (a la 'Walter Mitty') about a life not yet lived...one where I am not an overworked domestic slave, covered in crumbs, with too-long hair, too short a fuse, and dish-pan hands.