Barmy old April. Rain, rain, and more rain. Three weeks have passed (or more) since I blogged within these hallowed virtual portals, and on awaking from my post-prandial nap this afternoon I realized that if I didn't write now, I may never again.
So much has happened, yet so little. It is all so wonderfully Bovinian and predictable. Luckily there are the occasional ripples of excitement on the calm mill-pond of village life. Titus 'did' parts of the body - that is to say ALL parts of the body - at school. Some mothers were up in arms, saying the little innocents are far too young. Titus shrugged his shoulders and claimed to have known it already (HOW? I blame Gaia for letting him watch her Inbetweeners DVD). Hedda's teacher - a delightful young woman - announced that she is expecting her first baby - conveniently, just after the summer holidays have ended. How nice of her not to disrupt the school year. And Gaia has got her first boyfriend. I'm going to call him Maurice, but you shouldn't read anything into that. He had been lurking around for a while, staying in the shadows, cigarette cupped in hand, just a shape passing by our window. Last week, we finally got to meet him properly. CG shook his hand jovially - not a word one can often apply to CG - then spied the giant love bite on his neck. "Quite a mole you've got there" he says. Maurice's face aflame. Gaia (matching love bite) a-cringing. Then the punchline - "just make sure you're always kind and nice to Gaia, and everything will be alright". It put me in mind of the Godfather; I am still not sure why. So Maurice retreated back to his shadows, and Gaia is hardly to be seen inside the house these days. Her interest in the forest floor is such that she washes her coat three times a week.
An influx of visitors made for a busy Eastertide. We were prevented, however, from hiding the little foil-wrapped eggs in our garden by six inches of snow. Two days later, it had all melted and we were climbing a mountain wearing t-shirts (us, not the mountain). And so it goes on. Extreme weather conditions - at least from a European perspective. The biggest news from Bovinia is that they moved the recycling depot shed ten metres sideways to make room for another building. It was like a miracle. One day it was there, standing solidly with its containers and skips and pile of rotting Christmas trees. And the next we were blinking in amazement to see it relocated. It reminded me of those cards you get when moving house, showing a trailer with a whole house on top of it. I'll have to get the number of whoever did it, as it would sure save a lot of hassle.
After a week bumming around at home I shall be back to work at the drone factory on Monday. Quite excited, as they are finally letting me loose on their unsuspecting employees to give English lessons. Ha! How I shall enjoy putting some of those crusty old so-and-sos through their simple/continuous paces. I have already thought of the three cardinal rules I shall enforce. One, absolutely no German to be spoken within lessons. Two, naughty ones are not allowed to sit together (there are, unbelievably, a couple who have threatened to disrupt proceedings with paper aeroplanes). And three, no slippers. You may laugh, but many men lounge around our office in birkenstocks. It's an international business, surely, not a drying-out clinic.
So much has happened, yet so little. It is all so wonderfully Bovinian and predictable. Luckily there are the occasional ripples of excitement on the calm mill-pond of village life. Titus 'did' parts of the body - that is to say ALL parts of the body - at school. Some mothers were up in arms, saying the little innocents are far too young. Titus shrugged his shoulders and claimed to have known it already (HOW? I blame Gaia for letting him watch her Inbetweeners DVD). Hedda's teacher - a delightful young woman - announced that she is expecting her first baby - conveniently, just after the summer holidays have ended. How nice of her not to disrupt the school year. And Gaia has got her first boyfriend. I'm going to call him Maurice, but you shouldn't read anything into that. He had been lurking around for a while, staying in the shadows, cigarette cupped in hand, just a shape passing by our window. Last week, we finally got to meet him properly. CG shook his hand jovially - not a word one can often apply to CG - then spied the giant love bite on his neck. "Quite a mole you've got there" he says. Maurice's face aflame. Gaia (matching love bite) a-cringing. Then the punchline - "just make sure you're always kind and nice to Gaia, and everything will be alright". It put me in mind of the Godfather; I am still not sure why. So Maurice retreated back to his shadows, and Gaia is hardly to be seen inside the house these days. Her interest in the forest floor is such that she washes her coat three times a week.
After a week bumming around at home I shall be back to work at the drone factory on Monday. Quite excited, as they are finally letting me loose on their unsuspecting employees to give English lessons. Ha! How I shall enjoy putting some of those crusty old so-and-sos through their simple/continuous paces. I have already thought of the three cardinal rules I shall enforce. One, absolutely no German to be spoken within lessons. Two, naughty ones are not allowed to sit together (there are, unbelievably, a couple who have threatened to disrupt proceedings with paper aeroplanes). And three, no slippers. You may laugh, but many men lounge around our office in birkenstocks. It's an international business, surely, not a drying-out clinic.
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