Monday, September 07, 2009

Talk talk, bang on the door and I'm a writer.

1. Sitting on trains and buses listening to snippets of conversations: "Listen, mum, don't give people my number. I'm sortin' myself out. You know how it is when you are tryin' to sort yourself out." And "Lou, man, she 'ad a tache, like she'd just finished a cappucino." And "...that's the trouble with going to a posh school: always trying to be better than you are. Not like us working class."

2. Ellie likes knock-knock jokes, and has a creaky Scottish voice for the 'Who's there?' line. My stock is soon exhausted, but that's OK, because she thinks they're just as funny the second time round. I also heard a new one:
Knock knock!
Who's there?
Mandy.
Mandy who?
Mandy lifeboats: we're sinking.
3. Ellie, Niamh and I are talking about a hornbeam in the garden, and Niamh asks me: "Are you the one who's got a book coming out?"

Done, moon and Irish fairy tales.

1. A meeting that is over by 9.30am. 2. A big full moon is stuck on next door's chimney pots. 3. By my bed is a large and comforting boo...