Thursday, August 31, 2006

a rose by any other name
We’ve been having trouble sleeping recently. It’s strange the conversations two people can have in the wakeful dark.
TA: I can’t believe you just said “willy”.
Me: I can’t believe we’ve been together five years and this is the first time you’ve heard me say “willy”. What do you want me to call it? I don’t have a word.
TA: I don’t know, but not something so childish.
Me: I don’t have any words for my own genitals either; not romantic/erotic ones anyway – everything is either too porno or too biological/specific. We should think of our own words. “Nightstick”, “lance of love”
TA: That’s good, but I think has too many associations with violence.
Me: For me: “Amphitheatre of joy”, “pleasure-dome”…
TA: Would that make your bottom a thunderdome?
Me: That’s not funny! Hey, why are you laughing so much…what?
TA: [stifling giggles] No, it’s too awful!
Me: [getting paranoid] What???
TA: The tagline for Mad Max
Me: Yes?
TA: Two men enter. [chokes laughter] One man leaves.
Me: [In best Muriel’s Wedding voice] You’re terrible!
So, you can add “amphitheatre of joy” to the list of words only TA and I say.

a nugget of purest green
I went to the Iggly Wiggly for a long weekend, returning to a satisfying day of laundry and chores on Tuesday. The Iggles was great – a long walk along the old railway line to Newport; a short walk up a very, very steep hill; scones and clotted cream in Godshill; a barbeque with friends; inspecting my father’s leg (yes, it’s still keeping him couch-ridden); a visit to the show home to see what (ex-beauty-therapist, now a social worker and undergraduate) E’s new flat will look like once it’s built… It was great!
Yesterday, TA put up the blind in the kitchen and assembled a second IKEA planter. I hauled home a huge bag of compost from Lidl and spent a happy half hour repotting all my herbs – parsley, mint, chives, basil and coriander – into the two planters. Then I spent another half hour or so mooning over the glories of my kitchen windowsill and dragging TA in to admire my “farm”. I’ve put my name down on the waiting lists for all the local allotments. I’ve been told that there’s a seven-year wait. It’s going to be a long seven years.

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