Smokey the Magnificent

1. OK, so there’s one thing I don’t get in The King’s Speech. It was established early on that Bertie didn’t stutter if he couldn’t hear himself speak - when he was listening to loud music, for instance. So why didn’t they just clap a set of headphones on him while he was making the speech at the end? Obviously it wouldn’t have been a workable solution for real-life occasions, but for the on-air wartime stuff, wouldn’t it have been simpler than making him suffer through it? Marvellous movie, but I think this was an oversight. Also, I don’t know why that radio broadcast had to be live in the first place. People wouldn’t have known.

2. I made a chicken dish tonight that tasted like it had bacon in it, but it didn’t. Isn’t that fascinating? Our cast iron frying pan does tend to retain flavours, but the previous meal cooked in it was fish. I don’t know.

3. I have started doing Hypnobabies. It is… interesting. Particularly when the Joyful Pregnancy Affirmations CD includes such Affirmations as “My iron levels are high”. What is it supposed to accomplish, I wonder? I know people can psychosomatically alter their blood pressure - there’s some surgeon bod who talks to patients during surgery, and tells them they need to get to 120/60 or whatever, and apparently they comply surprisingly often - but their iron levels? It seems to me that Affirming they were high might just prevent a woman from buying much-needed Floradix; so I’m not sure I approve. Also, the childbirth education guide that comes with the CDs includes a pregnancy diet based heavily on Brewer, and specifying four cups of dairy a day; and that just boggles my tiny mind. Still, the CDs are relaxing (although really, I could listen to death metal these days and still fall blissfully asleep).

4. If I ever have twin boys, I want to name them Basil and Thrip.*

5. As of yesterday, I am an aunt once more. Sister-in-law gave birth to a large, smallish child, whom the snortlepig has now visited twice in the birthing centre. All seems to be going well, except that the first time we visited we couldn’t see his face, on account of he was having the milks; so I asked sister-in-law who he favoured and she said “Oh, he looks a little bit like [Nephew Pig], but he has funny nostrils like y - I mean, um, heh”. And I was all “Is it”, but seeing as she had just given birth I forgave her. Upon inspecting his nostrils on the second visit, they are perfectly snortly; I don’t know what she was talking about. Anyway, we’re not genetically related.The pig also pointed out solemnly that he had no arms, but his parents insist they were just wrapped up in the swaddle; I suppose time will tell.

The snortlepig likes the new pig pretty well and gives it kisses on the head, but seemed disappointed there was only one of him, and more interested in his crib (”a tiny, TINY bed!”) than his personage.

That isn’t him. It’s a thrip.

6. Can parents override the Sorting Hat? If I sent my small, niceish child to Hogwarts and he got put in Slytherin, you can bet I’d be sending a strongly-worded owl to the management. Surely they would understand.

7. Helpdesk Man and I have been watching 30 Rock, which is greatly amoosing. Best line: someone mentioned the Solomonic “cutting the baby in half” thing to Tracy Jordan, who responded without missing a beat, “And I would choose the top half, for that is the half with the face!“, and I was like “Right on”. Incidentally, the word “solomonic” sounds ironically like a euphemism for dull-wittedness. Innit? A somnolent moron. And yet, “somnolent” sounds kind of wise. It’s a funny old world in which we live.

8. Would you rather die of an embarrassing boil, or be pesked to death by a bat? This question is not a new one; I formulated it some weeks ago and have been arguing with Helpdesk Man ever since. He insists that he could vanquish any bat; I have pointed out that a) that isn’t a possibility under the terms of premise, b) there could be plenty of extenuating circumstances in which one was unable to defend oneself against a bat, such as being tied to a tree, and c) for all we know, the Columbian Mega-Bat has yet to be discovered. The argument eventually grew tangential, with Helpdesk Man and myself deciding to produce a major motion picture about a mad scientist who created a giant mechanical bat, which then got loose and terrorised Tokyo. The title? I, Robat. And it will be awesome.

Anyway, even the shame of being defeated by a regular, smallish fruitbat would surely be less than being known to all posterity as the girl who died from a boil on her *sotto voce* bottom? My sister once had a teacher who was out of school for months with blood poisoning after she picked a pimple on her nose - or was it her chin? - and that must have been bad enough. Discuss.

*It’s funny if you garden. Basil repels thrip.

I have discovered a new love. Shirring.

In a fit of artiness I spent yesterday making the snortlepig a summer dress… and by “spent yesterday” I do mean the entire day. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t meant to take that long, but then, I adjusted the pattern. I did a sort of patchworky thing with three different green fabrics I had instead of just using the one fabric - fun, but it involved carving up the pattern with scissors, which felt v nerve-wracking and transgressive. And I had to make my own bias binding, and continuously-bind the hem of the skirt. Ooh, and I flat-felled the side seams, just to show I could.

The point is, it was time-consuming and fiddly. But when night fell and I realised that amazingly, I didn’t feel burned out, I decided to start on a simpler project - a shirred strappy top. So I looked up this shirring tute to refresh my memory and felt inspired, and then read the several dozen comments saying “Help, this doesn’t work” and felt uninspired again. But it does work! Just like that! I practically finished the top in ten minutes flat, and would have if the snortlepig hadn’t woken up. And now I’m trying to think up ways to incorporate shirring into every other outfit she’ll ever wear. Any ideas?

Last night we went to visit the nephewpig. He is cute in a not-very-good-looking-but-will-doubtless-improve-with-a-steady-diet-and-clean-living kind of way. Lots of hair, big ears, and was missing his left hand, although I was assured it was chillin’ in his onesie somewhere. Sister-in-law had the labour from hell, poor thing - Syntocinon, epidural, continuous foetal monitoring so had to lie on the bed the whole time, threatened C-section due to tachycardia, and had to be put under general anaesthetic afterwards for stitches. She seems remarkably OK with it all though - not effusive by any means, but not curled up gibbering in the corner either.

The snortlepig, to our surprise, behaved in an impeccably cousinly way. Not only was she not jealous when I held the baby for half an hour, but she gave him hugs and kisses (v rare for her at the best of times) and tried very gently to remove a bit of skunge from his eye. She even learned a new word - “baby”. Yes, it is still nameless, although I heard the two alternatives and let’s just say, nobody’s gonna be scratching his head wondering what religion the kidling’s parents are.

So, question: Do you feel the mother has the right to choose the baby’s name, within reason? Do you feel her right to do so increases proportionately to the unpleasantness of the labour?

Also, do you feel virtuous when you eat fish? We had fish last night and I felt virtuous. Virtuous, and full of fish.

Or is it Auntie? Aunty Smokey. Auntie Smokey. Aunt Smokering. Hmm. Anyhoo. Helpdesk Man’s sister was induced sometime yesterday, and gave birth to a nine-pounder at 9AM today. Horrific really, fancy being in labour all night. She must be dead to the world. Anyway, we don’t know the name of the dudeling yet, which is odd because they apparently decided on it months ago. Maybe it just didn’t look like one of whatever they chose. Or perhaps they plan to beat the recession by allowing visitors to each submit a name and a bribe, with the honour going to the highest bidder. In which case, kudos. I wonder if our budget would allow me to spring for “Calvin”, just to shake things up? But these are unworthy thoughts. Mazel tov, sister-in-law-person-and-small-nameless-snortlepig.