Tuesday, 20 September 2011

I'll be getting my oats soon


About this time of year, something you do or see indicates the turn of the season. For some people, it's the first time they have to jumper-up. For others, putting on the heating. I did smell a bonfire a couple of doors down the other day at 5:30pm; not great when your washing is still out. (Isn't the watershed 6pm?) 


For me, the changing of the season is encapsulated in the moment when I fancy a bowl of steaming hot porridge for breakfast. Not Jamie Oliver's pukkolla that I've been eating for ages now - the definitive summer breakfast, an amazing alternative to my winter favourite. But hot, gooey, creamy, rough oaty porridge. Topped with honey as a treat, goji or blueberries and nuts. Yummy. You still go to work with the orange Ready Brek glow around you even when you nowadays buy Waitrose's Duchy organic oat and barley porridge, and you don't feel hungry til lunch time. (But don't even start me on Oatsosimple - no link there!)


If only I could get Elf to eat porridge...

Monday, 19 September 2011

Foreign shrapnel

 
Elf emptied out his silver Darth Vader money pot and with Mr Humdrum's help, separated local legal tender from foreign shrapnel.

Mr Humdrum said "You can spend that pound coin in England."

Pointing to the foreign coins, Elf said "Do I have to go somewhere else to spend this money then, like Nana and Grandad's?" They live in Cornwall.

Saturday, 17 September 2011

Competitive tiredness

This is a get well soon card from one of Elf's cohorts. As you can see, there is a great big cross on his right ear, depicting the awful ear infection that Elf has suffered this past week. In fact he is still suffering. And so, dear reader, are we, his parents. From Competitive Tiredness. Well not that much actually, but it does remind me of all the times that we have.

This week, I spent three nights with Elf sweating and screaming in my bed, while Mr Humdrum snored in the spare room. After all, he did have to go to work. The hourly (yes) screaming is obviously Elf's way of dealing with the hideous pain that is otis media, but after 45 minutes of howling, you either wish you had glue ear yourself, or you think the neighbours will report for you for child abuse. Not even a cuddle could help, it was that bad.

Last night was my night off. Elf's superstrong antibiotics were taking effect halfway through the dose, at last. Elf has taken to calling them anti bionics, which is ironic because too many anti biotics, in my opinion, will make you unbionic.