Ghost In The Machine

Monday, 1^st September

Xanthe’s first day at ‘big’ school, which actually has fewer pupils than Hill House.  In a nice little continuity twist, she has gone into Hill Form.  She managed to look quite smart, but flatly refused to let me take a photo.  At least I didn’t do what some mothers did, chasing their little angels down the drive, waving a camera.  A bloke introduced himself to me as Nick, father of one of Xanthe’s new classmates, George.  ‘I was a bit worried that everyone was going to be quite posh,’ he said, ‘but actually they seem pretty normal.’  He then asked me whether ‘the blond guy’ I was speaking to, was my son.  I was quite startled, and proud, not ‘kid,’ or ‘boy,’ but ‘guy.’

Back home, our shredder seems to have been taken over by some sort of poultergeist, maybe that should be papergeist?  Or in honour of the newest member of the European Ryder Cup, an IanPoultergeist.  It has taken to roaring into life at unexpected moments, completely unrelated to the presence of any paper.  Or maybe it’s a demon, taking over a machine, where angels fear to shred.

Mitzi and Dick came for supper, which was fun, and the kids got to bed a little later than they should have done.  Perry came out with a classic, malaproprism.  When asked why he hadn’t gone to the Wales and West Show after all, he told me that it was because they were ‘full to captivity.’

Tuesday, 2^nd September

So did I, come to that.  I slept heavily, and woke up with Rumpledsheetskin.  Speculation was rife today, that Kevin Keegan has resigned as manager of Newcastle.  On Sky Sports News they observed that viewers emails were coming in thick and fast.  That’ll be the thick ones from Newcastle fans, and the fast ones from everyone else.

Xanthe is taking every chance to ring and text, just how Perry was when he first started at Emanuel.  As I sat in the car waiting for Fluff, he was coming out of school with a girl with long blonde hair, chatting animatedly.  He came over to the car to say ‘hi,’ and I offered him a lift to Clapham Junction.  ‘Nah, I’m good.’  He said, and went back to her, I could see her saying ‘Who was that?’  Well, at least he came over to say hello.  Xanthe emerged a little later, full of news about her day.  ‘Do you know, there’s three gingers in my class?’  I expressed my surprise that they could be educated in mainstream.  ‘Oh yes,’ she said solemnly, ‘they’re all menstrually educated.’  She then told me that she wanted to set up a Facebook group for nerds like her, perhaps she should call it Full Frontal Nerdity.

Wednesday, 3^rd September

I finally had to go to Hemel Hempstead, for the first time since I got married.  Tiba was delighted with her earrings, and we had quite an amusing audit meeting in the afternoon.  I know that sounds like an oxymoron, but it is an opportunity to discuss cases where there has been an element of disagreement.  We were debating by how much a bony canal was reduced in size, when Wendy, in a fit of exasperation, announced that ‘you could drive a bloody Volvo through it.’  ‘Correction,’ I countered, ‘even a woman could drive a bloody Volvo through it.’  Later Jag was asking how I managed to be so cocky on some of the reports.  I told him that I had a voice activated shortcut for ‘It would have been helpful to know which side the symptoms are.’  A short-cut to cockiness, that’s me.