Nick and I had our fairly predictable Sunday. Routines seem to evolve to fill a vacuum, even when things could be spontaneous, so there must be some benefit, although I'm not sure what that might be. We sat about until mid-morning, then went to Mc Donalds for lunch and to read the paper. The press induced scandal of MPs' expenses has been in print for weeks. I don't understand the surprise that people are expressing. It is human nature to take what we can, and anyone who makes it in politics must have a selfish, ruthless streak, and a sense of entitlement. That's how those in power managed to get on. The fun is in thinking how long their routine earner has lasted through generations of politicians. They made up the lax rules that let them claim anything from plumbing under the tennis court to a Twix, and then put the claims in, year upon year. We elected them (or didn't). I can't remember the last time I voted, it's always the same guy who gets in here, and whilst I don't identify with him, he is the correct political shade. This is where I might tell myself that people died for my right to vote, and apologise for being cynical, but I won't be doing either.
In the afternoon, we went on a hunt for a cycle helmet for Nina. We didn't find one, but boy did we suffer the fucked-up-ness of Sunday in the supermarket. The debate of the 1990's about whether there was demand for Sunday trading has definitively been won and lost. It wasn't worth it, even for the French Fancies that were on special offer. I like to think their soaring popularity is thanks to my blog.
When we got home, I went to bed, read for a bit, and then fell asleep. It's the only foolproof way of dealing with period pains. Nina brought up the sausages, bread and scrambled egg that Nick had made. I felt a bit bad that I hadn't fed the family anything good for them. Everybody was a bit grouchy, probably because I had ignored them all. That's being a mother. With great power comes great responsibility, but not always a great big payment for expenses.
Meant to say a couple of days ago, I thought of a working title for the writing. 'Two Hours To Taunton Deane'. I was inspired at Bridgewater. Also meant to say that I donated some of the money we got for the car to Richard Herring's programme for Hitler Mustache so that M201DNV will be printed in the brochure. It's a little memorial, and a little bit potty. The money goes to Scope.
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