That laboured pun is my way of telling you I'm ill. Stuck at home feeling lousy and bored. Still, it could be worse. It could actually be bird flu, which I've been going on about for years. Catch Your Death, the novel I wrote with my friend Louise about viruses, is with an agent at the moment; 100 pages in, likes it so far, the usual... I've got everything crossed for some good news but don't expect it. Said Eeyore.
Buffy is 25 and a half weeks pregnant now. That means we have approx 15 more weeks of waiting. I know it's going to be exhausting and bewildering, not to mention bloody painful for Sara, but we're so excited and keen for Quichey to get here. Sara's mood swings have lessened now, although we did have a big row on Clapham Common. As soon as we got off the bus, Buffy announced that she wasn't up to walking anywhere. Which would have been fine if I'd been in possession of a wheelchair or known where on earth I was going. I just knew we were looking for the North Side. "I'm sure this must be it," I insisted, discovering ten minutes and several tantrums later that we were in fact on the south side. It was a classic couple argument, but we made up over a veggie breakfast in a weird restaurant. On the south side.
Clapham is overrated anyway. This is Clapham: a smug well-off couple with a baby in a Bugaboo sitting in Starbucks talking about property prices.
Buffy does look lovely in her fully blooming pregnant mode, as visitors to Sara Sizzle will know.
Some of my favourite people in the world are making comebacks at the moment. My musical hero, Brett Anderson, has a very catchy new single and album coming out. I heard too late about his London gigs but I'm keeping an eye on eBay.
Then there's Louis Theroux, who has a new TV series. The first programme reminded me why I don't gamble.
All I need now is for Donna Tartt to bring a new book out and my cultural life will be complete.
Congratulations to Sue and Darren on the birth of little Elyan. It's Arthurian, you know. Apparently, he does explosive poos. I'm scared.
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2 comments:
Sorry to hear you've got bird flu. That's gutting.
Talking about favourite people reforming, I'm going to see Jarvis Cocker and Pulp live in Melbourne. I feel like I'm 18 again, not 36!
Oh dear, the Chicken hasn't laid any eggs of wisdom for nearly a month and Sara appears to have stopped sizzling.
I hope all is well over at the coop.
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