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?"

Coffee, right there and advent calendar.

1. The coffee this morning is very tasty. There is no particular reason that we can discern. Perhaps we were just ready for it, and our bisc...