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I spent the morning signing Stone Clearing booklets and witch’s finger/dick boxes and then posting them and 80 stones back to Chris Evans (not that one) in Wales. I had to explain what was in the box at the Post Office but I didn’t tell the lady that it was the petrified digits or sexual organs of long dead sorcerers. I just said it was stones. I hope I don’t get into trouble with the police if they find out.
Everything is now pretty much ready for stone clearer kickstarter backers so you should have your stuff in the next couple of weeks.
I’ve just realised I have to write the rules of self-playing snooker for a tea- towel though. What a fucking idiot.
I went to the supermarket, where the first signs of creeping Covid are returning. A queue to get in and no Soleros. It’s the end of days. Being a parent is a weird thing and perhaps I was a bit tired, but when I was getting some Ella’s pouches and kids biscuits it suddenly struck me that pretty soon we probably won’t be shopping in this aisle any more. We already don’t need nappies and soon enough my boy will move on from pouches and my daughter will want more grown up biscuits. It wasn’t like this was the last time yet, but even thinking of it being the last time I bought these biscuits brought tears to my eyes. That was unexpected. To find myself almost crying in a supermarket over the loss of something that was not only not yet lost, but also had not seemed at all important to me before. It’s not like I have any particularly moving memories of my kids eating those biscuits. But suddenly it symbolised moving on and maybe I was preemptively crying about the time in ten years when I will walk down this aisle accidentally, see this stuff and mourn the loss of the days when my kids were tiny. So looks like I’ve experienced time travel after all.
I held the tears in though.
A fun but fleeting tradition seems to be setting itself up where after their bath the kids run round my daughter’s bedroom with no clothes on. There will come a time soon where one or both of them is too self-conscious to do this any more, which is sad, but probably necessary. It’s already a bit weird given they are both 28 years old.
This event had transformed into a mini disco and at the moment they love dancing to Alanis Morissette’s “One Hand in my Pocketâ€. They have a pretty good routine worked out and it would make a very arty and ultimately unshowable music video. It’s an absolutely joyous way to end the day and I will miss it when it stops. But the knowledge I will miss it didn’t make me cry. So clearly the biscuits are more important to me. Which has always been the case.
I guess if Proust had got nostalgic about nude children then we’d look at him differently.
My daugher fell asleep wearing her dragon hand puppet. It's in the genes.
