Have read two chapters of Ballet Shoes to the Noodle. Had no idea that it was so funny and brilliant to read aloud. Feel vaguely ripped off about reading it silently in my head all these years. The Noodle, unexpectedly, finding it hilarious. He nearly fell out of bed with laughing and had tears of mirth. Tears! Is much better than the TV show.
A day of odd happenings. One of the school girls at the bus stop came over to me today and asked if I was a fashion designer. Now, any one who has ever seen me in any circumstances can vouch for the fact that I look as unlike a fashion designer as it is possible to look while still wearing clothes. I look like a person who is not unaware that there is such a concept as 'fashion' but has not spent any time researching it. I am related to fashion in the same way that someone who once watched Catalyst is related to Buzz Aldrin. So I felt chuffed, shall we say. And awfully relieved that someone on the planet thinks I don't look like a public servant.
And then on the way home from work, someone left two tyres in the middle of the road presumably maliciously. They were being cleared away by a car load of young men who looked very like the kind of person you would imagine leaving tyres in the middle of the road, or perhaps blowing up letterboxes with fireworks*. But no, these young men were sputtering indignantly in the manner of a crusty grandfather (possibly one who has just had his letterbox blown up by wayward yoof). I wished that A Current Affair had been there to observe the noble and selfless yoof protecting the good suburban residents from random tyre damage. But no, it was just me.
*Apparently blowing up letterboxes on Queen's Birthday weekend passes for fun for a small but effective portion of the ACT. Luckily, everyone will have sent their birthday cards to the queen some week's ago, so as to allow for shipping time.
Uh-oh. Have turned into knows-nothing-about-apostrophes-woman. I'm leaving it here to shame myself into better proofreading. As if that'll work.