The embarrassment.

This morning, I saw a strange, dark looking crust on Emma's head.

I know what that is, I thought. It's a tick. My friend's son had one: they are sort of crusty-looking, she said. You get them in forests, she said. You must go to the hospital to get them specially removed. Otherwise they leave their jaws in and get infected, she said. And they can give you Lyme's disease for which there is no cure.

*brain goes click click whirrrrrrrr*

We were under some trees yesterday.
There is a tick on Emma's head.
She has got Lyme's disease.
She is going to die.

We went to the hospital. We waited 2 hours in casualty. We saw the doctor.

It was just a scab.

Struggling to think of something interesting

Ho-hum, I am having a dry spell.

Anyway, here it is, the 11.54am news from family Scho:

• Gloria starts solid food! Banana (yum), papaya (yum), carrot (not sure), potato (bit constipating.)
• Emma says "mine!" alot! "My towel!" (yes it is yours, dear) "My bed!" (well, technically it's Mummy and Daddy's, but I'll let it go) "My knife!" (ARRGHHH! NONONO!! PUT IT BACK!")
• Switzergent is fretting that he has over-watered his chard (that is not a euphemism for anything rude)
• I have pulled a muscle in my neck and can't turn my head properly.
• It's hot
• I have a soft spot for Peter Crouch. The French commentators call him Peeeteerr Crotch.
• That's all. Told you it was dry.

Well, I'll be Amsterdam'd!*

Here we are in de Nederlandsh! Well, here is Emma at least, sitting on the shoulders of her Dutch uncle, Pete. In truth, he is neither Dutch, nor her uncle. But he could be either seeing as a) he is very tall, like the Dutch and b) er...he's just a great friend and might as well be an uncle too.

What we did:
- played by de canaalsh!
- drank de coffee in cafeesh!
- went to de Van Gogh museum! (Rembrandt and Caravaggio exhibition. Paintings fantastic, but a bit of a bun fight)
- ate baacon paancaakes and watched the raain go splish-splaash!

Pete and his sweet, kindly mother were unforgivably horrible to us all weekend, giving us nothing but dry breadcrusts to eat. Can't think why as a result, my jeans would'nt do up and we laughed most of the way home.

Now, about yesterday's test. You'll notice that to every question, the answer was 'yes', apart from question 7, where the answer was 'no'. Though she might have thought something like that, Emma didn't actually express it as such because she is only two. It was a trick question!

*groan

End-of-term exam time

Please answer ALL the questions below. No talking. No mobile phones. No eye contact. No hand gestures.
Time allowed: 1 minute.

Question 1: Is the Pope Catholic?

Question 2: Do bears perform their ablutions in the woods?

Question 3: Will England exit the World Cup after a penalty shoot-out in the quarter finals?

Question 4: Does Gloria have another cold?

Question 5: Is Switzerlady exhausted after getting up 5 times a night for a week to tend to her?

Question 6: Did Emma fling Brian across the room instead of taking him to bed?

Question 7: Was she also heard to remark "This is not my monkey, this is an impostor"?

Anyone achieving less than 100% will stay down a year. Results to be published tomorrow.

New arrival

Guess who arrived today, all the way from Scotland?

Everyone, meet Brian: Brian, everyone.

Doesn't he bear a striking resemblance to you-know-who?

I got a message from the Lost Objects today, saying no results. I think that means original monkey is no longer just M.I.A but D.E.A.D.

I hope Emma and Brian get on.

Another loss, but planned at least

Yesterday I wrapped up the dress in this photo in brown paper and gaffer tape and sent it, courtesy of R, to an address in Kent. Its final destination (if it makes it, that is): Burundi, central Africa, to a wedding dress rental shop in need of stock.

I'd been rather a slack wedding dress shopper. There was too much flounce, too much choice, too many gleeful shopping assistants camping it up. I'd had fun trying some on, but always ended up in the department store cafe, dressless, guzzling another cappucino and the clock ticking.

So I asked my designer friend Jeanne to make me one. "What did you have in mind?" she asked, looking me (rather rudely) up and down.
"Umm. Something simple but classy. Not shoulder-less. Something that doesn't make my bum look big."

Soon after that I came to her flat with my arms full of oyster-coloured Duchess satin from John Lewis. (I had learnt that no-one really gets married in white, it's always not-quite-white: hence oyster, pearl, etc.) And some properly white, Maribou feathers. "How about this for the trim?" I gushed. "You'll look like one of Santa's little helpers," she replied waspishly. As the fittings progressed I discovered that she wasn't deliberately rude or blunt - she just had an instinct for what looked good and she wasn't afraid to tell the truth. I was grateful for that instinct. Still, like a truly neurotic bride-to-be, I burst into tears.

Not only did I scrub up quite well, but Jeanne added some flourishes of genius: there were little built-in hooks to hide bra straps, an invisible zip, and because it was December, the whole thing was heavily lined and very cosy indeed. (That might be a problem in Burundi, come to think of it.)

We had a wonderful day, and I loved the chance to wear such a beautiful frock. But that was 3 and a half years ago, and though precious and lovely it was still just a frock, mouldering in an attic. I feel much happier about it ending its days working for a living. I just hope it's to the taste of some small-chested, big-bummed Burundian ladies.

The monkey saga continues, though the news isn't good. More later.