You'll never guess what....

The unthinkable has happened.  I, the ultimate reluctant housewife and extraordinaire, have found a job.  That is to say, a paid job.  Now you might think me a bit of a fraud, continuing to write under the old name, but as any of you working mothers out there will testify, a woman remains a housewife to some degree, whether she works 8 or 80 hours a week.  Yes!  Such is life.  Please don't think me ungrateful, for I am truly over the Bavarian moon about having found gainful employment - what's left of the salary after 50% income tax will come in most useful.  I can upgrade my mop and buy more expensive furniture polish, amongst other things.  Buying myself an authentic dirndl, for the rare occasions when I might wish to mingle with the good burgers of Bovinia, is now an obtainable goal (they cost as much as a mini-break in Venice). All this is well and good.  It's just that, as a working housewife, you don't get less housework - only fewer hours to complete the existing amount in.  But let's look on the bright side.  I won't be here so much to notice the housework I don't do.

I had thought that blogging about a job would be boring, particularly a clerical kind of job, but then I'm the one who managed to write about housework and countryside for nine whole months and people still read it.  I thus have faith that I might find some interesting snippets to impart about my new life.  And never mind the future.  I've really missed writing this blog over the last few weeks.  Not a day has passed without some gem of an observation, that I would previously have relayed, faithfully, to you via this medium.  None of them springs to mind at this very instant, apart from a lady I was sitting next to at a recent parents' evening. She had on a pair of fine, black velvet shoes - most inappropriate for a sweaty June evening, but smart nevertheless - and I was idly admiring them while the headmaster droned on about I don't know what up front.  I suddenly realised that the shoe-wearer had excessive foot hair.  How unfortunate.  The hairs were blonde, all smoothed in the same direction (probably brushed) and overlapped onto the black velvet, giving the air of a fine golden rim to the shoe.  In other circumstances, it would have been quite beautiful.  I couldn't stop staring at them, and as a result left the meeting little more informed than I had been at the start.

I start my new life on 1st August.  Until then I remain reliant on the German government to keep my head above water, which I must say it has done so quite well for the last ten months.  Bovinia, as it transpires, comes into its own in the summer - there are no end of wacky things going on - so have no fear, life will not be dull, and even if it were, I'd try and liven it up a bit.