Friday, December 14, 2012

Pristine, an interesting cure for morning sickness and sing-song.

1. Our cleaning lady has been, and a man has done the oven. The house feels like a monument to leisure, or a snow-covered lawn, and  I hardly know what to do with myself this afternoon. I don't want to spoil it by living in it.

2. I am rather dreading going to the fishmongers -- just thinking about fish makes my innards heave. But to my surprise, when I walk into Sankey's, the fresh, chilly seaside smell and the bright-eyed produce ranged on ice seem to clear my head and steady my stomach.

3. Alec is clearly very, very tired after a hard day of cleaners and car park attendants -- but he stops nursing, stands up on the bed and then sits astride me. "Or-he, or-he!" he orders.
I am not going to encourage this, but Nick is a sucker for these special, fleeting moments and starts singing: "Horsey, horsey, don't you..."
"STOP" says Alec triumphantly.
Nick continues: "Just let your hooves go clippity-..."
"CLOP! Mummy sing," Alec says, bouncing up and down in a threatening manner.
We go on together. "Your tail goes swish and the wheels go..."
"ROUND. No more." And Alec rolls off and lies back down beside me for more nursing.