Wednesday, March 15, 2006

While I've not been blogging...

Oh dear. Yet another fortnight (almost) with no blog update. Sorry. Too busy living. It looks like MC is also taking something of a blog-sabbatical, so I don’t feel too guilty. But it is rather ironic that now that I have something vaguely exciting to blog about I am actually blogging much less than I used to. Makes me wonder if the cyber-detractors are right when they say that blogging is for those with no life who make up for it by blogging about crap.

That said, I’m not quite ready to throw in the towel on SuburbanHymns just yet. I just have to find cryptic ways of getting my news across without breaking the promise I made to you-know-who that I wouldn’t divulge personal information. I could try telling you what I haven’t done and let you fill in the gaps. So, for example, I could reveal that we recently went away to York for the weekend and we didn’t see the Minster, the Yorvik Viking center or the Castle museum. Or indeed any of the tourist attractions. We were kinda busy. (Mind you, I was rather upset not to visit Clifford’s tower. I recall visiting the Tower a couple of year’s ago with Scrappino. At the entrance gate, the woman in the ticket office asked him – he was aged 6 at the time- in thick Yorkshire accent, “Do you want a Jewish Massacre Leaflet?” I replied that I didn’t.)

I love going away for the weekend. You get all the benefit of starting the working week feeling like you’ve been away for months but you don’t lose any holiday from your annual leave. And York is a brilliant distance from London for a quick weekend’s break. It’s far enough away to forget all about London but near enough to get back in time for the Antiques Roadshow. Or, in our case, for the second half of the Spurs match. Actually, that was the result some rather delicate negotiation. We were booked on the 3.00 pm train back to London when early on Sunday morning you-know-who realised that if we left on the 2.00 pm instead, he would be back in time to watch the second half of the match. Would I mind if we left York an hour earlier? The quid-pro-quo would be that he would remain silent for an hour and 15 minutes while I listened to The Archers Omnibus. He even promised that he would resist the urge to make tractor noises and repeat, in a voice of disbelief, “Do you actually listen to this horseshite?” I thought that this was a pretty good deal and agreed to lose an hour of our weekend away.

Back in London it was interesting to see the reaction from friends and family. Female friends were clearly disappointed by the blow I’d struck against my Feminist ideals and tried to give me advice along the lines of ‘start as you mean to go on’ and ‘give an inch and he’ll take a mile’. Male friends were actually impressed (either by you-know-who’s audacity or my understanding) and considered nominating me for the Girlfriend of the Month award. But then Brother #2 just asked why you-know-who hadn’t insisted on taking the 1 pm train so that he could watch the whole match?

Meanwhile, Purim has been and gone. Scrappino dressed up as a clown – not very original, I know, but it was better than being the 197th Harry Potter that turned up at school that day. There was the obligatory Fancy Dress Competition that he didn’t win. I tried to warn him that he didn’t stand a chance since he was wearing shop bought costume and didn’t have any face paint on him. There are certain unwritten rules that you have to comply with if you want to win the Purim Fancy Dress Competition.

1. You have to wear a hand made costume. (You’re in with an even bigger chance if the costume looks like a child with learning difficulties made it, rather than your parents. If it falls apart as you’re walking across the stage, you’re a safe bet for First Prize).

2. Your costume has to be based on a terrible pun that your parents thought of. (9 Caret Gold – where the kid wears orange clothes and 9 carrots strung round his waste is very popular. Ant and Dec – where the kid wears black, 2 extra legs and a pack of cards stuck to his back is also a sure winner.)

3. Your costume should be Purim or Jewish themed. (If you dress up as anything Purim/Jewish related, you’re gonna win because the judge is invariably some Rabbi that the school hauls in for such occasions and they love all that Jewish stuff. So dressing up as a Hamentash, Queen Esther or a Sefer Torah is a clever idea.)

4. If all else fails, cry. (This tends to work especially well for the girls. If you refuse to walk across the stage when it’s your turn, cry, run over to your mum and then change your mind after the judges have made their decision and cry some more, you will invariably win something.) [These girls tend to grow up into women who do not return home an hour earlier than planned so that their boyfriends can catch the second half of a football match].


Anonymous Aaron Bishibashi said...

Interesting that people are worrying that if you give him an inch, he'll take a mile. Normally it's the man who worries about the woman in that way. Eight miles on good day, only three on a frosty morning.

6:13 pm  
Blogger bangedmyhead said...

you could always try the "call yourself a judge" trick, that always lets you win!!!

8:44 am  

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