#flattenthecurve Episode 47

While there are so many important things happening in the world it seems rather pointless and stupid to send out my rather pointless and stupid blog. I'm still going to share it, I just thought I should explain that I'm not thoughtless or immune to global events, just here isn't the place to talk about them.

If you do prefer more stimulating intellectual and political debate, I suggest you head over to my new blog where I talk in depth about a range current affairs. It's available here:

www.goodluckwiththatitdoesntexist.co.uk

For those of you sticking around here for more of what you know, let us commence!


The Cut of Their Jib

Some people go on body language, others take a person on what they say while still others believe that actions speak louder than words.

Some people swear by personal appearance, the strength of a person's handshake, their political persuasions, their charitable work ... the list goes on.

As for me? Well I believe you can tell a lot about a person by the way they eat a potato waffle.

Seriously, if you can't eat a waffle by cutting it neatly into squares and rectangles along the bars of potatoey goodness, then there is something not quite right.

I put this to the test at home and, sadly, I'm going to have to let two people go. The wife and Henry have proven themselves to be untrustworthy and scatterbrained to the point of chaos. Eva and I looked on aghast as they thoughtlessly cut all sorts of angles and shapes out of their waffles and even, on a couple of occasions, cut through more than one at the same time.

I know, I was shocked too. They seem such reasonable people usually. You think you know people, then they let you down when you need them most. Sad times.


Home Schooling

I've not mentioned homeschooling much recently, so thought an update was due. You'll be pleased to know we've been working the kids hard, but just for a few hours a day, we aren't tyrants or anything.

Eva has made some amazing progress, she works independently, has a desire to learn and takes a keen interest in everything around her.

She does still come out with some absolute mind-numbing stupidity from time to time though. My two recent favourites have been:

"Henry, did mam and dad call you Henry when you were born?"

And

"Mam, if babies are born without hair, how can you tell if they are a boy or a girl?"

Henry, meanwhile, has shown some real, albeit slower, progress. He is up to level 140 on Fortnite and has learned to open his ice lolly wrapper at the stick end instead of the lolly end. He nearly remembered to read all of his maths questions properly one day this week too. Small steps, hey.

He also comes out with some quite unbelievable comments, and is of a giggly persuasion too, so when he recently fell apart in fits of laughter as we were having tea we waited with baited breath for what words of wisdom he was about to bestow upon us.

On eventually calming down he was able to explain that he'd just realised that the Fortnite XP ('Extra Points') coin in the bathroom window of the house behind us was actually the back of a mirror. He'd never wondered why they had a Fortnite XP coin in the window, he'd just taken it for granted that that's what it was. Ah well, at least he can laugh at himself. I suspect it's a skill that will come in handy.


Dreams

My weird dreams have been continuing. Most aren't fit for a family based blog, but last night's meets the acceptable dream sharing standard, so here goes.

The dream that I dreamed ... dreamt? hmmm, not sure the correct past tense there - a bit like dived/dove, that one always trips me up too. Anyway, back to the dream, the dream was about a violent miniature horse. We lived on a farm, and the horse lived in a field with a small polar bear. They both kept escaping, the horse would slither under small gaps in the fence while the bear would sort of blunder his way around, and the horse would go round headbutting people and kicking up a fuss.

The bear always seemed quite morose about the escaping, a little disappointed that the horse was upstaging him but equally lacking in desire to cause problems for anybody.

I wondered whether the horse and bear were metaphors for any people I know, but I couldn't think who.

Anyway, Eva woke me from my dream bawling her eyes out and being melodramatic about some minor slight or other, managing to knee me in the lets-not-go-theres while Henry lurked around in the background looking shifty and grumbling.

Nope, still not worked out what the horse/bear dream was all about.


DIY

I present this conversation verbatim (ish) - no comment, I believe, is required on my behalf.

Henry: Dad, what you doing?
Me: I'm fitting a hand towel holder thing for the hand towel
Henry: (**looks at the hand towel sat quite happily on the radiator) Why?
Me: because your Mam wants it here
Henry: (**looks at the hand towel sat quite happily on the radiator again, then looks at me perplexed) but ... (**points at the hand towel sat quite happily on the radiator)
Me: I know Henry, but your Mam wants this hand towel holder thing so we don't ... so we can ...
Henry: You don't have to do everything Mam asks you know
Me: (** looks blankly at Henry)
Henry: Yeah ... I'm going upstairs now


DIY Again

You can tell you are an accomplished DIYer when you have your own special DIY pencil. I have my own DIY pencil.

It is slightly larger in girth than a standard pencil, making it slightly too large for a pencil sharpener, but otherwise operates like a normal pencil.

I think the extra girth has two functions:

(i) us manly DIYers have manly muscly hands, so like a more substantial pencil to hold on to; and

(ii) you have to sharpen them with a Stanley knife, which is even more manly and DIYish.

I was explaining the mystique behind the manly extra girth DIY pencil when The Wife pointed out it was a training pencil for reception kids who can't grip normal pencils properly, and she has a large pencil sharpener made just for sharpening large pencils.

I still like my manly special DIY pencil.


DIY Again Again

The second worst bit about DIY jobs is starting them. The third worst bit is finishing them properly. I'm writing this while I should be starting the latest job, so I'm going to be in trouble if I don't start soon.

And the worst bit? The worst bit about DIY jobs is when the wife says "oh, I don't know, you decide" and leaves you to work out where the stupid flamin' hand towel holder should go when you don't think you need one in the first place.

Hurrumph.


In Other News

On Friday I bit my tongue, and I bit it so hard that it bled. I didn't deliberately bite it like, that would just be weird.

It did make me realise just how dangerous eating can be, with rows of hardened chunks of sharp enamel sitting in such close proximity to the soft muscular organ that is the tongue.

Crazy.

I'll ruminate for a while on other strange body part designs and feed back to you next week. There's a couple I have on my mind already, but I'll not spoil the surprise for you.

I'm away to load up Google now to do some research, my account is used across several family devices so I'll make sure I use the 'incognito mode' to protect the innocent. And the kids.