Ya Dig?

So this is kind of how life is right now.  I spend at least one and a half hours each morning in the park, walking myself ravenous.  Tiny birds thread through the edges of my vision.  I still can't get over the red squirrels and suspect they are grey ones in drag.  The paths take me through isolated woods, and I'm kind of licensed by having a pushchair.  A woman wandering in the woods by herself might look a bit mental; a woman with a pushchair just looks desperate to get out of the house.

And then I turn into a digger-groupy.  They are laying new sewers outside the house and The Boy is obsessed.  The diggers are like mechanised dinosaurs and are both clumsy and elegant.  Again, thank goodness for the child with me, or I probably would have received a restraining order by now. 

Afternoons I head towards Schuman, this week dodging the razor-wire barriers stacked on the street in readiness for a summit.  The EC building resembles a cruciform refrigerator.  I am glad I never bothered applying to work there.  It would make me mental working in a fridge.  The first task at the crèche is to extract the pushchair from a nest of interlocked pushchairs left by scarpering parents.  It is like separating Bonobo monkeys.

Afternoons are a sort of medley of giggling and abuse and one can never tell how it will go, or in what proportions these will be dispensed.  She's met her match though, I can tell you that.

And then I eat an entire jar of apple compote, because I'm just wild.