Eric The Red

I actually managed to remember that it was Jewish New Year this weekend and since I have one or two good friends who are Jewish I thought I would email good wishes to them before being steamrollered by weekend chores, including, no doubt, the construct of a Viking longboat, using C8th Norse tools and C21st Ikea instructions...

Tra la la la. How prophetic! That was exactly SSB's assignment. Thanks to Blue Peter, what I can't do with a toilet roll tube, isn't worth knowing. H2 who invented the meaning of competition, set forth in the garden slaying conifers for hollowing out before retreating to consider subaqua elastic band turbo drive - in case there was a "Float my Boat" race as well. Covert enquiries showed that one child's longboat was a hollowed-out watermelon. Gleeful thought: no competition there, then. But full marks for nonchalance - until I saw the rune-encrusted, stripy sailed effort this morning and realised the subterfuge...Ours wasn't bad at all. I insisted on the oars and oar holders despite the fact that my sprayed hanger and two paperclips had gone missing. Other parents admit that they daren't throw anything out in case we are called upon to build the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. Dangerous though - one man suffocated once from all the newspapers and cardboard cartons that stuffed all the rooms in his house.

Call from la Grande Pancake. Surprising since she rarely calls from abroad, and even rarelier, answers her phone. But she has forgotten to bring a present for someone and needs H2 to get one to save face. Bet she'll want to come and visit when she gets back - but the room is stuffed full - not newspapers this time, but all the furniture from the sitting room while we try to sort that for Christmas.

Christmas - horrors. The best one we ever had was when we were abroad. Still I am a lot better now - my paranoia about Christmas only starts around October as oppose to June as it did before.

Mum asked me this weekend if I might ever have children. "I do Mum", I said, pointing to the SSBs in a photo on the wall. "Are those yours?" she asked. "You never said". No, I never said. But you play with them every weekend. She wonders when Daddy will be coming back home. "A lot of the girls are after him, you know. Have you heard from him lately?" "Not lately Mum. I expect he'll be up when he's finished what he's doing". Daddy will never be back again - but we can't tell her. Her heart broke once when he left and that was enough. There is no point inflicting this final departure. My forgery skills must be put to work again.

H2 is wearing my Chanel glasses and looks quite sharp. SSBs say they look girly. I thought more Yves St Laurent myself. I can see, though that H2 is wavering. We are at the corduroy crossroads - trying to persuade him that casual shirts are better than overly tight washed out T-shirts. As Howie says, "They just don't get it!"