I finally got fed up of waiting for Roy to do it and painted two rooms myself, in an amateurish way, staining my clothes, spilling paint, very uneven! But it was so satisfying.
I was insufferably pleased with myself. Roy said, “Well, if THAT’S painting, why do people charge so much for it?”
But there’s no one right way to paint–or do anything else!
That hilarious little Irene sometimes follows Roy and me around with her laptop, recording our conversations, then playing them back to us.
“Could some gift the giftie give us/
To hear ourselves as others hear us!”
A relative gave us a surprise, a generous cash gift.
I was very pleased, but once we safely invested it, I observed to Irene, “See, I told you money does not make one happy. We now have XX pounds, and are no happier than we were before.”
Irene, 10, “That’s because you have not spent it yet!”
Irene, crooning to me, “Mummy, you’re a mummy, and you’ll always be a mummy, but I am an Irene, and one day I will be a mummy.” Me, “Well, I’m not just a mummy.” She, soothingly, “I know. You are a writer, a Mummy, and a chatterbox.”
I was reading an article by a younger friend, and was cross to come across a word I didn’t know.
(I am a vocabulary freak, who don’t often come across words whose meanings i don’t know, and when I do, I look them up immediately).
Roy: “Don’t worry. When people show off, there is one thing less that they know that you don’t!”