Last week was weird because I changed my sheets and then simply Could Not Find the dirty duvet cover. I looked everywhere. I had washed and dried the bottom sheet and the pillowcases, but the duvet cover vanished. It wasn't behind the bed, it wasn't under the bed, or in my cupboards, or in the washing machine, or behind the washing machine, or anywhere. Then I went to work and I couldn't find a bag of sweets that I'd bought for myself in France as a treat. I'd had one or two on Tuesday and Wednesday, but on Thursday the bag had, like the duvet cover, disappeared. Then I realised that I'd eaten the sweets. And I got home that night, and looked underneath the clean duvet cover, and found the old, missing one. I'd never taken it off in the first place. That is because I am a nitwit.
On Saturday I drove with Joanna and Andrew down to Wiltshire to stay with Amy and Jamie and an assortment of lovely people, surprisingly charming offspring and a very nice dog, and for the next 48 hours we wove between their gorgeous house and the WOMAD Festival, a celebration of world music that, in Hannes' German accent, sounds disarmingly like the Vomit Festival, although to my knowledge none of our contingent were sick, despite Andrew giving it a good try following an ill-advised birthday shot of chilli vodka. Yuck. It rained quite a bit and we barely saw any music, but we did some beatboxing and Andrew shot things and won a lion and a duck, then I caught a pingpong ball in a net and won a unicorn and Andew hooked a yellow duck and won a pot of bubbles, and he shot more and we won a small monkey finger puppet an a tiger. And we went on olde-fashioned, steam-powered fairground rides and into a Hall of Mirrors, and I cut my arm quite badly following an ill-advised trip down a helter skelter. It was fun. Now I'm back home and trying to summon up the energy to do yoga with Rodney Yee before I fall asleep in a post-work haze on the sofa. Ohm exhausted.
No comments:
Post a Comment