The Fat Lady Sings

23-04-2014 Wednesday

I should consider myself lucky and not just because I haven’t heard ‘Cuz I’m happy, clap along with me’, but also because nothing really embarrassing happened while Evelyn was here. Mum’s cooking was better than average, Dad controlled his thoughts and Cheddar controlled its butt – trust me, you don’t want to smell the farts; you’d think the dog was rotting away on the inside – and there were no unexpected visitors, though Unice was looking mighty curiously out of her window when Evelyn rang our doorbell. I waved at her and she quickly drew the curtains (she probably feels very happy she’s able to do that again).
Evelyn and I spent most of the time up in my room talking, reading, listening to music and … (drums, please) … creating our own music. I think I mentioned this before, but I’m going to say it again anyways, Evelyn wants to be a singer in a band one day. Evelyn can sing really well, she’s got a lovely voice and she can play the guitar a little bit (better than I can). Though she will have to work on her stage performance, as she can’t even give a presentation without sweaty palms and a shy look. But, we figure that’s something that one will learn over time.
We wrote something of a song together today. She sang like a nightingale and I tried my best not to sound like a crow. While writing it we figured we should think a little bit outside the box for a change. Most of the times we like reading morbid things, especially when it comes to poetry and such, so we figured we’d change it around a bit and write about something incredibly happy. That’s when we got the idea of writing about a circus. What’s more fun than a barrel of monkeys? A circus! Here are the lyrics we wrote this afternoon. I was really happy with the fact that we could work so well together and even without arguing or fussing; it just went naturally.
The song is about a couple (us) on their way to the circus, but the woman feels that they’re running a bit late and she is trying to rush the man as she doesn’t want to miss a single thing. Along the way they talk about all the things that they wouldn’t want to miss for the world.

The Fat Lady Sings

Can we get there in time                       (Arthur’s Verse)
You’re asking me now
Sure dear I answer
But I don’t know how

If we get there in time                           (Evelyn’s Verse)
We’ll see cannonballs a flying
Hear elephant’s trumpets
See a mime that is crying

The night is still young, girl                 (Arthur’s Chorus)

We should get there in time                 (Arthur’s Verse)
So there’s no need to shout
We’ll see lions jump rope
If tonight’s not sold out

Will we get there in time                   (Evelyn’s Verse)
To see clowns and their gags
With funny red noses
And crappy old bags

The night is still young, girl                 (Arthur’s Chorus)

We will get there in time                      (Arthur’s Verse)
Toute le monde will be there
To hear the band play
And breathe in fresh air

We must get there in time                    (Evelyn’s Verse)
To see old men cry
Hear the fat lady sing
See red roses fly

The night is still young, girl                 (Arthur’s Chorus)

Before we knew it it was about ten o’clock and Evelyn had to be home by nine. She called up her parents to say she was sorry and Dad offered to give her a ride home. Her parents had forgotten about the time themselves, otherwise they would have phoned us themselves, so they weren’t really mad at her (I’m glad about that). They even said that it might be time for them to meet me. I overheard the conversation and her father literally said (with a very posh voice),’ I think it’s about time that we meet this Arthur character, as this thing you are having seems to be getting rather serious.’ It sent shivers down my spine, but not the good ones. She got home safely and I spent the entire evening singing our song. And now it’s time to sing myself to sleep. See me tomorrow.

Talking About

22-04-2014 Tuesday

‘On the 3RD day of Easter the things I got to see: three Easter Bunnies, two hands a burning and a drunk Uncle up shit creek.’ Dad smiled when he heard me “sing” it this morning. Mum looked a bit annoyed. I was just singing the truth. Jonesy was drunk the day before Easter and honoured us with a visit. Sunday he went to the hospital to see if his nose was broken; it was. We hadn’t heard from him after he had gone there, then it turned out he had to stay there because they had to reset his nose. Dad said it might teach him to stay off the booze. I kind of doubt it. Sometimes I feel I’m surrounded by alcoholics. At least they are all perfect examples of why I should refrain from drinking.
Talking about drunks: Grandma didn’t bring a live chicken last Sunday. This was a true blessing for everybody. She brought a dead one. The head and feathers were still on it and somehow Dad has a feeling she didn’t buy that at Sainsbury’s. She also brought some Cadbury Creamier than Creamy Eggs and two chocolate Easter bunnies (filled with genuine air). Grandma didn’t get drunk for a change, just a little tipsy. So, she didn’t dance on the table and she kept her nickers on. It was a good day.
Talking about chickens: Unice’s hands seem to be a lot better. They’re still wrapped up in bandages, but not as badly wrapped up as first. Just some small bandages that make her look like a penguin a little. How do I know all this? Well, she went round some places this late afternoon to tell everybody how she was doing. I reckon that nobody had thus far asked after her wellbeing and that she just decided to go round everybody who had attended the ‘party’ to let them know how she was doing. That’s so Unice. Dad wasn’t here to slam the door in her face, so Mum let her in and made her a cup of tea. As Unice was having problems holding onto the cup, she drank it through a straw. It’s quite silly to see a grown up drink tea through a straw. Out of pure solidarity I drank mine through a straw, too. Should I change the smiley face into a penguin?
Talking about Unice (And please don’t tell her this). She’s got something of a little garden in front of her house. There’s absolutely no room for it in our narrow cul-de-sac, but she just removed some tiles, planted some flowers and placed some pots and plants out in front of her door. Though I must say it looks nice, it’s wrong! She’s blocking the road and you’re not allowed to just remove some tiles just like that. Anyways, Cheddar is very pleased with her little garden as the first thing it does when we’re going for a walk is make a beeline to one of the pots and sprinkle the plants. I’m waiting for the day she’s going to come over and complain.
Tomorrow I’m going to see Evelyn, because she is coming over for dinner. I am very happy about this. I do so hope we don’t get any unexpected visitors this time: no Unice, no Grandma, and definitely no drunk Jonesy. Maybe I should make some signs and put them on the door. Like the ones they have in shops when dogs are not allowed in. Don’t think Mum and Dad would allow me to put them up on the door. On the other hand, I’m not so sure about Dad. Mum would go berserk, for sure. Dad might just agree with me. God, I love holidays; so little to do and so much time to do it in. See me tomorrow. 

Another Day Another Liebster

Lydia Devadason – go follow her wordpress this instant: – nominated me for the Liebster Award. Some time ago I was already nominated, but Lydia said,’ You can never have too many Liebsters’. I decided to answer her questions, because that’s the least I could do for being nominated by such a wonderful person. Here’s to you, dear Lydia.’

1. What inspired you to start a blog?

‘It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life.’* At the end of 2013 I decided it was time for a big change in my life. Well, actually, Grandma decided it was time for a big change in my life. She told me to get a Facebook account even though she had no idea what it was. I was – and still am – socially awkward (I write a lot, but I don’t really say a lot in real life) and I didn’t have a lot of friends, we kind of figured this could help me. I think it is helping me a lot, though I still don’t have a lot of friends at school, I have made a lot of friends here.

2. Do any of your close ‘real’ friends blog?

Actually, I don’t know if my classmates are bloggers, though I don’t think they are. Most of them are too preoccupied with having ‘swag’ or leading the ‘thug-life’. I think that I can safely say that I have talked about more interesting things and more personal things to some of my fellow bloggers here than to most of my so-called friends at school. To that respect you are my real friends and I can say that all of my ‘real’ friends are bloggers.

3. Have you any strange, embarrassing, or frightening blogging experiences?
No, and let’s keep it that way. 

4. If eating at a restaurant what would be your favourite meal –with or without dessert?
You are right; my favourite meal would be dessert. I’d prefer eating it at the Restaurant at the End of the Universe.

5. If money were not an issue, what would be your perfect holiday destination?
Well, I have met some great people here on the blogosphere and I’d love to meet all of them in person. If money were not an issue, I’d travel the world to meet up with all those lovely people and shake them warmly by the hand in person.

6. If money were no an issue, what would be your perfect evening’s entertainment?
Cirque du Soleil. I have always wanted to see one of their shows. Twould be a dream come true. 

7. What’s your favourite word?

8. What quality do you think friends appreciate most in you?
Well, I do know which things irritate the hell out of most people. I could name those qualities quite easily. I think my honesty is much appreciated, though maybe not always at the time of speaking. That’s why I often say,’ Hate me now, love me later’ when I am being a little too honest again. It’s just that so many ask me to give me an honest opinion when they actually just want you to say what they want to hear. I am not very good at understanding those subtle differences in meaning.

9. What personality characteristic do you find the most off-putting or irritating in others?

10. How would you like to be remembered by those you care about.
Alive and kicking. Who would want to be remembered as a corpse!? But I guess I’ll be remembered mostly by my writings. I still hope to become a successful writer one day.

11. What is your favourite holiday destination?
Let me repeat that partially – I have noticed that this is what a lot of people do when you ask them a question – my favourite holiday destination? ‘Yes, your favourite holiday destination’. Well, I haven’t been to many places and most of what I know from the world I know from books and pictures and stories. India sounds nice, so does Japan or China. One of those countries I guess. But it will have to wait till I’m older and richer.

Dear Lydia, thank you for nominating me for this award. I hope this answers your questions. Keep on blogging in a free world, because I like your style. 

Kindest of regards,



*Nina Simone (gotta love her)

So Many Shades Of Nail Polish

20-04-2014 Easter Sunday

This morning I woke up and started my egg hunt … found them in the fridge and broke last year’s record by a second. Mum and Dad are not very creative in hiding the eggs. I boiled my own egg and because I’m such a nice person I boiled one for Mum and Dad, too. To show them how much I really care for them I went up to their bedroom to tell them that I had boiled them an egg. They would have appreciated it more if it hadn’t been four o’clock in the morning. As they weren’t going to eat them I painted them with Mum’s nail polish that I found in the bathroom. She had three different shades of red, four shades of pink, one blue one and something that used to be a hazy shade of orange. After I was done painting the eggs I hid them and went back to bed.
So, maybe the couch is not the safest place to hide soft-boiled eggs, but how was I to know? Everything gets lots under the seats of the couch, between the pillows, under the couch, under the pillows, and there’s a small hole in the back of the couch where Cheddar sometimes hides his bones. When the remote control is missing: couch. Money’s gone: couch. Lost the phone: couch. Naturally I thought that would be a good hiding place, because the most obvious place is always the last place people look. ‘Unice was not amused’, in this case Unice was actually Mum. Not only had I used up all of her ‘expensive red nail polish (she started throwing brands at me, but I thought she was calling me names), both the nail polish and the egg left some lovely stains on the couch. For some reason Dad was in a cheerful mood today.
You know how grandmothers always have these ancient old remedies and recipes for everything and anything? Mum had tried a couple of things to get rid of the stains, but it had only made it worse. Then she said,’ We’ll just wait to Grandma gets here, she’ll know what to do. Grandma came over at one, and she was immediately dragged inside to come and have a look at ‘The Stain’. She looked at the stains very carefully and asked what Mum had already done to get rid of those nasty spots. Mum said what had tried and Grandma shook her head and sighed a lot. Then she asked Mum when it had happened. Mum said at about 7.30 this morning. Grandma looked at the clock and said to get her a glass of wine, a glass of water, a paper towel and a pair of scissors very quickly. So Mum rushed into the kitchen and got everything as fast as she could. She came back into the room with a tray with all the stuff on it. Naturally Mum said,’ What are you going to do?’
Grandma grabbed the glass of wine, poured it down her throat, threw the water into Mums face, handed her the paper towel and said,’ Now sit down and relax, will ya, it’s Easter and we’re going to have fun. If you want to get rid of this stain, here’s how to.’ And she gave Mum the pair of scissors. Apparently it’s not a good idea to remove nail polish from a couch using nail polish remover. Even though it does what it says when there’ nail polish on your nails, but couches are a totally different story. Sometimes I love Grandma’s view on things.
Grandma behaved nicely today. I think she was a bit upset when she heard about Jonesy’s visit yesterday and she’s not been herself since she has heard about the divorce. She made Mum call up Jonesy to ask him how he was doing. Apparently he had gone to the hospital to see if his nose wasn’t broken. When he woke up this morning he found that his nose was a little crooked and it hurt like you would not believe. Up till now we haven’t heard of him, but maybe that’s because he has just forgotten to call us back. Even though there’s a lot more to tell you, I will have to leave you. There’s some liebster award questions that I have to answer and due to my lack of sleep last night and a very tiring day I feel that after the questions it’ll be time to walk the dog one last time and hit the sack. Goodnight and see me tomorrow. 

A Little Tit For Tat

19-04-2014 Saturday

Why was it again that people got married? Love? According to the Everglots ( ‘liking’ each other has nothing to do with marriage. ‘Marriage is a partnership; a little tit for tat,’ is what Mrs Everglot thinks and sometimes I fear that she might just be right. Especially when I look at the marriages in my own family. I guess Mum and Dad’s relationship is not very different from the Everglots (though they look a lot better), at least as far as I can see. Don’t ask me about their bedroom adventures; I don’t know and I don’t want to know. Nobody wants to know these things about their own parents, right? I hope this didn’t make you think about your own parents … sorry.
Today, as a complete surprise, Uncle Jonesy visited us to talk about his divorce. Dad said he smelt of alcohol, but I think it was the open bottle of Johnny Walker in Jonesy’s hand that Dad smelt, but I’m not an expert in these things. Dad let him in, but I somehow wish he hadn’t. Jonesy tripped over a threshold that wasn’t there and fell on the ground. Luckily he broke his fall with his face. Dad called Mum who was upstairs doing Mum stuff,’ Jonesy dropped by to see you!’ Mum yelled back,’ Let him in, be right down.’ So Dad looked at Jonesy, who was still lying on the floor more dead than alive,’ Come in, she says and then he called up to Mum,’ He’s in!’
When Mum came down Jonesy was still lying on the floor, but he had curled up into some sort of foetus position. He was stammering something about love and wedding vows and kids, but it was mainly inaudible and sounded very childish. Dad said something about rebirthing, but I didn’t understand. It must have been very difficult for Mum to sympathise with Uncle Jonesy. Not only because he had been drinking a little, which made it a little harder to communicate with him, but also because everybody in our entire family was jumping for joy when they heard about the divorce; Nora was – and still is – not really very popular. While Jonesy was crying his eyes out, Mum was doing the very best she could to calm him down and tell him how sorry she was for him and how she wish they could sort out their problems and stay together.  
Mum doesn’t want them to stay together; I know that for sure. Just the other day I overheard her say to Dad,’ Good riddance to bad rubbish’. Here she was telling lies to poor ol’ Uncle Jonesy and she was getting away with it, too. I know of a person who’ll not be getting any Christmas presents this year! It’s too late to tell the Easter Bunny now, but Santa will hear about this. Mum’s lies weren’t of any use, anyhow, because each time she said something like,’ You can work this out,’ or ‘Everything will be just fine.’ Jonesy started screaming like a little kid,’ Noooooo, it’s not, nooo. Go away!’ 
After an hour Jonesy stuck his thumb in his mouth and fell asleep, right there, in our corridor, on the floor. That’s when Mum finally gave up. Dad had already given up. He gave up right after Jonesy had tripped over an imaginary threshold. I hadn’t even started anything yet, so nobody could call me a quitter. Mum walked into the room and closed the door behind her. For a couple of hours life went on as if Jonesy wasn’t here. We started watching a film and then another one. Halfway through that film the door opened, Jonesy walked in smelling even worse than before – I think he shat himself – and he said,’ Has anybody seen my house? I’m sure I left it here this morning.’ Mum took him upstairs and put him under the shower. I felt kind of sorry for him at that point but I no clue as to what I could do so I made him a drawing of smiling chicken. I guess we could all use a smiling chicken these days. 

I’m off to bed. I’ll look into this rebirthing thing in the morning, it sounded quite interesting. See me tomorrow (not too early, because it’s quite late already)

Old McDonald Had A Farm

18-04-2014 Good Friday

If you’re reading this it means Dad and I haven’t fled the country and we’re going to have to face the fact that Grandma is coming this Sunday. I hope you remember what I said about Kapparot. I’ve warned Mum about it, too. Mum called up Grandma to tell her not to bring a chicken this year, but that some chocolate eggs would be more than welcome. Grandma asked if a chocolate chicken would be fine as well. I told Mum to say that a chocolate chicken is not the same as a chicken covered in chocolate. Hopefully Grandma understands. Just in case, I’ve been practicing my swings with Cheddar’s rubber chicken.
Mum’s been making paper chickens all day (trust me, they’re not very good for swinging over your head). The entire house is covered in origami chickens and at one point Mum asked me to help her fold them. She showed me how to, but I wasn’t really good at it. Mine looked more like roosters that had been living next to a leaky nuclear power plant. This origami thing is quite difficult. Dad was really surprised when he came home and saw all those paper chickens on the kitchen table. He had probably been expecting food.
Cheddar caught one of the paper chickens. It wasn’t that difficult as paper chickens don’t really run that fast. It was torn to pieces, but Cheddar did not seem satisfied at all. I guess the dog was expecting it to be more like his rubber chicken or like real chicken. There were bits and pieces all over the place and Cheddar looked at it with a bit of a frowny face. Mum said to keep the rest of the chickens away from the dog as she didn’t want her life’s work get torn into tiny bits. The dog’s been circling the kitchen table all day.
On a more serious note, I’ve been reading a lot of Wordpress stories during my holidays and I happen to have come across a lot of stories of people asking the question ‘Who am I?’ It was also a question that I stumbled upon when I was reading the book ‘Sophie’s World’ last year. I find it an intriguing question to which I have no answer. I did find a picture on the Internet of somebody who said that his body was not really who he was, because it was the brain who was controlling it. I assumed he meant ‘we are our brains’. This in turn reminded me of the film ‘City of the Lost Children’. In this film a Brain is kept alive in a box filled with some watery substance (ethanol?). It can communicate through some sort of telephone. This still doesn’t answer the question though. I am my brain, but I still don’t know what makes me, me. Luckily me can live without this knowledge and I think this question only distracts me from living and makes living unnecessarily complicated. It reminds me of a story. I don’t really remember all the details, but here’s what I do remember. 
Once there was a forest and in this forest there lived a grasshopper who could play the violin so well that each night all the forest animals would come and listen to him play. Then one night a centipede had come to the forest and this centipede could dance like no other animal could. Instead of going to hear the grasshopper play, all the animals would go and see the centipede dance. This made the grasshopper turn green with envy and he thought of a cunning plan.
One day he walked up to the centipede and complimented him on his dancing skills. The grasshopper said he was really impressed and he was wondering whether the centipede could teach him how to dance. The centipede agreed and the grasshopper asked the centipede to explain to him how it was done. At this the centipede started thinking, and thinking,’ was it his second foot on the right first, or his first foot on the left?’ and so on, and so on. The centipede never danced again and each night all the forest animals would come and listen to the grasshopper play.
I have no idea who wrote the story or where it came from or if I’m telling it really accurately, but this is what I remembered of it. If anybody out there knows more about it, please let me know. That’s it for now, I hear mother chicken downstairs. She’s trying to tell me that it’s way past my bedtime and that little roosters should be vast asleep. See me tomorrow. 

Swinging Chickens

17-04-2014 Maundy Thursday

Easter is just around the corner and for some strange reason I’ve been seeing chickens everywhere all day. I walk into the living room and Mum’s watching a programme on chickens (please, don’t ask me why). I accidentally turn on the radio when I wanted to listen to a CD and what do I hear (no, not chickens, but close),’Chicken in the bread pan picking out dough’. When I went out to walk Cheddar I bumped into Unice and she was wearing an oversized T-shirt with a picture of a chicken on it that’s putting up a missing poster. The text on the poster said,’ Have you seen these eggs?’ Either Unice has really gone round the bend or she just can’t put on any other clothes because of her burnt hands.
I asked her how she was doing, although I must admit that I tried to get away unnoticed at first and at second I tried to get away noticed but unspoken to … I failed … horribly. Unice didn’t look happy to see me so I tried a joke on her that I picked up from somebody at school. I said,’ Hey, Unice, you dropped your smile.’ Then I reached for the ground and pretended to pick up the ‘smile’ and as I wanted to give it to her, she looked at me and said,’ That’s not mine.’ And she walked away just like that. I guess she was right, it wasn’t hers; hers probably fled the country a long, long time ago.
Talking about fleeing the country, I’d like to get out of here, too. Mum invited Grandma over for Easter. She must be hopping mad. I told her I wasn’t going to dye any eggs again with Grandma, I feel that I’ve outgrown that a little, though some say you’re never too old for these kinds of things. I am sure that one day I’ll have reached a certain age in which things like that will become fun again because they bring back such good memories, but that day has not come yet and probably won’t come for at least another twenty or so years. I’ll settle for some Dairy Eggs this year. Maybe I should call Grandma and tell her to bring some. On the other hand, she messed up my birthday present as well. She’ll probably bring a live chicken.
If she does bring a chicken I am going to perform Kapparot, even though I am not Jewish. For those of you who have never heard of this, it means that I am going to swing this chicken over my head three times. Mind you, don’t swing it once, don’t swing it twice, in order to have them sins transfer to the chicken one has to swing it three times! It has to be a real chicken, though I am not sure whether the chicken has to be a live at the moment of swinging. Afterwards the chicken is slaughtered and donated to the poor. But I think it’s kind of cruel to give poor people my sins for dinner. So I guess we’ll be eating the chicken ourselves.
Anyways, Mum used Grandma as an excuse to decorate the house Easter style, which meant chickens! Chickens everywhere! First thing Dad said when he came home from and saw all those decorations was,’ I can see Darles Chickens has been here. Let me guess, Grandma is coming?’ I told him it wasn’t too late to flee the country. We might even run into Unice’s smile along the way. Dad gave it some serious thought, and he said he would sleep on it. All of this probably means I’m going to be up all night, because Mum and Dad will be having some arguments in the bedroom followed by some loud make up you know what. See me tomorrow (with bags under my eyes, probably). 

When Unice Is Amused

16-04-2014 Wednesda 

Katie ( told me that she’s got a new catch phrase ever since I wrote about my BBQ adventure ’ Unice was not amused’. I think I kind of like it. From now on when something happens that I don’t like, I’ll just say,’ Unice is not amused’. I thought of using it as an alternative for ‘When Hell freezes over’; ‘When Unice is amused’. Of course, people who never read my stories and who have never read them will not really understand. On the other hand, we use a lot of Shakespeare’s proverbs and sayings and most people understand them without ever having read Shakespeare or even knowing that they are actually quoting the man. Most of the times I don’t know it and I guess that, well, Shakespeare doesn’t know that he’s being quoted at all. Was Shakespeare himself quoting anybody without knowing it? All these questions and hardly any answers.
If you were wondering what happened to Unice after the BBQ, I can honestly say I haven’t a clue. As far as I know nobody in the street has bothered to go round and check on her and she hasn’t been to see anybody herself either. I wonder who’s doing her household chores for her because you can’t tell me she can actually do something with her hands. Her curtains have been open ever since. I know, as I can see her window from behind my desk. Normally she’d take a peek through the curtains every now and again (by the way … the smiley face is up again), but I reckon that she was having trouble opening them. I did catch a glimpse of her today … she was still not amused and my smiley face isn’t really helping.
I haven’t heard about anybody going to the hospital to get their stomachs pumped either, but I did hear about some people having tummy problems. I am not going to go into too many details, suffice to say that they spent most of their time in the bathroom either in front of the toilet or on the toilet, depending on which exit the decided to choose. Luckily my family and Evelyn and I stuck to salads and animal-friendly meat. Now I’m even happier Evelyn came along to the ‘party’.
Last thing I’m going to write about today is something that’s been bothering me for quite a while now. I don’t know if I’m the only who’s noticed but a lot of my classmates seem to be having problems and schools (including mine) have been making all sorts of special rules for these kids. All of sudden my peers and a lot of other teenagers, seem to suffer from alphabetical disorders of some sort: ADHD, PDD-NOS, ODD, ADD, NLD, and so on (note to self: it’s not called illiteracy – at least not anymore -, it’s called Dyslexia. Calling it illiteracy upsets people). The latest addition to this list of alphabet soup is SWAG. It’s quite new (maybe even old already, because I’m always the last person to hear about these things) and from what I’ve heard these kids are mentally challenged and are most likely to end up working at a McDonald’s. If anybody can tell me more about this, please let me know; I don’t think I have it, but I just want to be sure about it. See me tomorrow. 

The Seven Servants

15-04-2014 Tuesday

Okay, I’ve been losing weigh but that does not mean I am now a top athlete. I am still not good at most sports. I can’t handle a ball, not with my feet, not with my hands, not with my head, and even if I were to use all my limbs I would still not be very good at controlling a ball. I’ve given up trying a long, long time ago (school hasn’t). Making big bucks playing football is only for the happy few anyways. I am getting better at doing press-ups, sit-ups and squats on the other hand and I have been throwing in some other muscle strengthening, belly flattening, fat burning exercises, too. That’s why I was down one size in clothing and I felt pretty good about it.
Mum has been gaining weight on the other hand. Even though I said I was changing to a healthier diet some two months ago, she’s still been secretly buying all kinds of bad stuff ‘just in case’. Just in case she wants some, she meant. Dad is not very pleased about it, though he’s not really doing anything to help Mum. He just says his side of the bed is getting smaller by the month (and ‘no’ Mum is not pregnant … I hope). Dad probably won’t start helping Mum until he has to sleep on the couch. That is why I have decided to give Mum a little help. I am hiding some of the bad food, and hopefully I can manage to do it in such a way she won’t really notice anything’s missing. She’ll probably hate me when she finds out, but she’ll love me later.
The next problem I am faced with is how to get Mum to exercise a little more without her knowing she’s exercising? As I believe that Mum really needs to get out more (she’s a wallflower just like me) I guess it would be a good idea to let her walk Cheddar more often or take her with me when I walk the dog. On the other hand, she’ll probably say something like,’ It’s your dog, and I am busy anyways.’ What is she busy with that is so important that it can’t wait an hour? Most of the times it’s watching her favourite programme on TV. I should say ‘programmes’ as she’s got a couple (EastEnders, Coronation Street, etc. etc. and so on). You’ll understand the importance of this, I’m sure.
Don’t take this the wrong way but Mum looks like an opera singer. Dad always says I have the voice of a thousand monkeys in heat, I think I got it from Mum. Her voice is even worse. She doesn’t need a phone to talk to Grandma, Mum can just open the window and people will probably hear the echo in Cambridge. Her voice is so incredibly loud. Yesterday I talked about reading Grimm’s Fairy tales; Mum could have well been part of the Six Servants, her voice is so loud I’m sure she could break anything if she’d really started yelling. Had the Grimm brother known my Mum I’m sure it would have been Seven Servants. I love her nonetheless.

See me tomorrow. 

The Storyteller

14-04-2014 Monday

So, this morning I woke up, got ready for school, only to find out holiday had started. I guess last night’s events really messed up my brains. When I got downstairs, Mum was sitting there wondering why I was dressed for school. I was wondering why she hadn’t made any breakfast. I quickly changed, Mum made me some breakfast, we walked the dog together and afterwards Mum took me to Oxford Street to buy some new clothes for me as ‘summer is just round the corner’. Maybe she should tell that to mother nature, because obviously she hasn’t got a clue which season it is at this moment.
Today is not about going shopping with Mum. Today is about me and not about my ‘adventures’. Well, maybe it’s not even about me, but more about the people behind me. I’ve been getting some great responses to my writing skills and I feel it’s not really fair to take all the credit. Some of us are really gifted at playing the guitar (I’ve been trying for some time now, but I feel that it’s going to take years before I’ve really mastered this skill), some are good at playing football, and others are really great at painting. I guess I am talented at writing (just don’t expect to see me at Britain’s Got Talent or anything). I’d like to take this opportunity to thank some of my teachers as I feel that they deserve a lot of the credit that has been given to me.
Mind you, I’m not really talking about the teachers at school even though they taught me how to hold a pen and write letters, words and sentences and I am thankful for that, too. We’ve all had teachers at school we liked or disliked. School is not the only place of learning. Actually, I find school the dullest place on earth to learn much of anything, if any real learning takes place there at all. There are some great teachers out there for those who are willing to see, for those who are brave enough to listen and for those who are keen on learning. I talk of great books that deserve reading (and mostly between the lines), films that need to be seen, songs to be heard and great people you should take a liking to.
‘The best place by the fire was kept for the storyteller.’ In this case it was Mum reading me bedtime stories. My first love was for fairy tales, but not the Disney ones, mind you. I read Grimm’s fairy tales for they are truly sublime. Most often they’re not only wonderful tales you’re reading, they’re valuable life lessons. The same goes for stories by Roald Dahl, A.A. Milne, Lewis Caroll, Sue Townsend, Frank Baum, Douglas Adams, and George Orwell. I know that a lot of my fellow pupils at school have read some of their books (just some), but I wonder if they have really read them or read them just for the sake of reading. There’s a difference, you know, and if you don’t, I guess that just proves me right.
The opening of the paragraph above was a quote, but not just any quote. I am a big fan of Jim Henson’s. This quote came from one of his less popular TV-series called ‘The Storyteller’. Jim is also behind some great films, like ‘Labyrinth’ (not to be mistaken for ‘Pan’s Labyrinth’, also a great film, but not quite the same). I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve seen that one and I still can’t get enough of it. Each time I see something new and I try to memorize more of the lines. Sometimes I quote the film at school just to see who’s also seen it (nobody so far). There’s also something about old black and white films and TV-series like ‘The Addams Family’, ‘Laurel and Hardy’ ‘Charlie Chaplin’ and one of my favourite old films ‘The Odd Couple’.
‘It’s time to play the music’. I don’t know whether I should feel blessed or cursed for having parents who listen to eighties and nineties music. I guess it’s a blessing, at least in those days songs actually had lyrics. I happen to like to sing along to songs (even though I can’t sing). Lyrics (as well as poems) have really shown me the power of words and they have taught me how less can really be more. My love for lyrics grew even more when my Dutch friend let me listen to things like Primus, Tom Waits, Tori Amos and a not very well-known musician called Geoff Berner. If only my classmates would stop listening to all that electronic disco and start listening to songs with great lyrics, their English might just improve a little (I’m not going to go into what I feel rap-music has done to my peers’ language).
So, ‘hats off to all the ones who stood before me and taught a fool to rhyme’ – Les Claypool

See me tomorrow.