Dolly and her little friend Secco are scrapping at my feet, Heart FM is blaring some ghastly song and Lily is watching a trailer for some wham-bam action-packed movie on the iPad. Not my idea of a harmonious summer holiday.
'What are you watching?' I demand.
'Pacific Rim.'
'It sounds ghastly. What's it about?'
'It's the near future. And from below the Pacific Ocean, giant monsters known as Kajoo rise to conquer the world. Our only defence is the Jay-gers, huge robots controlled by two human pilots whose minds are locked in unison. Ultimately however it's a losing battle and in desperation the authorities turn to an untried novice, Mako Mori, and a washed-up pilot, Ra-lie Becket...'
'Typical Hollywood!'
'... who are tasked to drive an apparently... ob...sol...ee...'
'Obsolete. It means something that's out of date, defunct, has-been, useless, like every piece of technology you buy, the minute you get it out of the shop...'
'...experimental Jay-ger. With the apocalypse imminent...'
'Quelle surprise. Typical Hollywood.'
'... this unlikely pair make a bra....v.....V-U-R-A...'
'Bravura - accomplished, brilliant...'
'... last stand.'
'You see? Typical Hollywood film - imminent disaster, pair two unlikely heroes together, they're going to be totally incompetent, fall out, the whole thing is almost going to go wrong, and then miraculously they're going to pull it out of the bag and save the world. Totally predictable.'
'Well I find it totally predictable when you watch Pride and Prejudice,' Lily says coolly, switching trailers.
'There's nothing predictable about Pride and Prejudice!' I retort. 'You're just saying that to be annoying.' I catch her eye and she laughs.
But actually, I reflect, she's right. The dark difficult bloke always has a heart of gold and the dismissive heroine always ends up with him. Unlike real life. Typical Jane Austen.
Tuesday, 23 July 2013
Friday, 19 July 2013
My child prodigy!
12:25
Lily and I are in a state of high tension and suppressed expostulation. At least I am. She is doing a music scholarship today, under huge duress, for the local comprehensive school (which has a music speciality and, as I keep telling her, is sending its musicians on a trip to Brazil next year).
In teenhood, I discover, bribes and threats cease to work. We are a step short of mutiny. I try to remain calm in the face of her refusal to
b-r-e-a-t-h-e and warm up her voice before launching into her song. I don't rise when she plays her piano piece at double-quick time and stumbles over the tricky sections. But when she plays the sax, I can't help entreating her to stand with both feet on the ground instead of looking like she's leaning against a bus shelter. She glares and refuses to budge.
'Li-ly!' I take on the voice of a robot. 'Stand-up-straight-and-breathe-prop-er-ly!'
'What-ev-ah.' She holds her glare. We burst out laughing. 'Are you still doing your blog?' she asks.
'Just what I was thinking!' I say. We have turned into parodies of ourselves.
13:40
Lily's almost out of practice time. This is disastrous. I gather up her music and the iPad, hoping she'll get a chance to play something she recorded earlier in more harmonious mood, and we get into the car-sauna, whose front windows have seized up.
(As I read through my blog prior to publishing, Lily is standing over my shoulder. 'Can you put in brackets, "Lily thinks we should get an Audi A3, preferably in Phantom Black." I am her obedient servant. This will soon be Lily's and not Eliza's blog. 'Dash, not comma,' she instructs. Sorry. An Audi A3 - preferably in Phantom Black. 'That's a hyphen,' she points out. 'It won't do dashes,' I reply. 'Oh, damn,' she says.)
14:05
Purgatory. I am in a soundproofed room full of steel pans. Hate not being able to eavesdrop.
14:15
Hmmm. Suppose I'd better not play the steel pans just in case the room's not as soundproofed as it seems.
14:38
The door opens. Caught in the act! The head of music smiles knowingly. 'I loved her saxophone playing and she has a lovely voice, good breath control and a great range. I'm able to offer her free singing and saxophone lessons.'
I hardly dare ask the question. 'Does that mean she's got... a scholarship.'
The head smiles and nods.
'Can I ask... Is it a half- or a full scholarship?'
'Full. She wouldn't get the free individual lessons without it.'
Yess! My child is a prodigy! Lily and I head out arm in arm.
'Well that was easy,' she says.
'Shhhhhhh!'
15:05
Lily goes up to her room. I open Facebook to post a status about her success, but I can't find her in my Friends. Curious. I call up to her room.
'Darling? What's going on? I'm trying to tag you in my status and it can't find you... have you Unfriended me?'
'No.'
'You must have - you're not in my Friends.'
'I didn't!'
'Well how else can you have disappeared?'
She comes stomping downstairs. 'Someone else must have done it. It happened once before. Look in Friends.'
I look, and a Friend request pops up from Lily.
'There, you see!' she says triumphantly.
The time of the request is one minute ago. In other words, at the point when I was shouting up the stairs that she must have Unfriended me. I draw her attention to her hasty attempt to re-beFriend me. She can't help grinning as she flounces back up the stairs.
15:15
From the green dot next to Lily's name in my Friends list, I take it that she is on Facebook.
'Pooface,' I write in Facebook Chat.
Sent from Balham
Sent from Balham
Sent from Balham
Lily and I are in a state of high tension and suppressed expostulation. At least I am. She is doing a music scholarship today, under huge duress, for the local comprehensive school (which has a music speciality and, as I keep telling her, is sending its musicians on a trip to Brazil next year).
In teenhood, I discover, bribes and threats cease to work. We are a step short of mutiny. I try to remain calm in the face of her refusal to
b-r-e-a-t-h-e and warm up her voice before launching into her song. I don't rise when she plays her piano piece at double-quick time and stumbles over the tricky sections. But when she plays the sax, I can't help entreating her to stand with both feet on the ground instead of looking like she's leaning against a bus shelter. She glares and refuses to budge.
'Li-ly!' I take on the voice of a robot. 'Stand-up-straight-and-breathe-prop-er-ly!'
'What-ev-ah.' She holds her glare. We burst out laughing. 'Are you still doing your blog?' she asks.
'Just what I was thinking!' I say. We have turned into parodies of ourselves.
13:40
Lily's almost out of practice time. This is disastrous. I gather up her music and the iPad, hoping she'll get a chance to play something she recorded earlier in more harmonious mood, and we get into the car-sauna, whose front windows have seized up.
(As I read through my blog prior to publishing, Lily is standing over my shoulder. 'Can you put in brackets, "Lily thinks we should get an Audi A3, preferably in Phantom Black." I am her obedient servant. This will soon be Lily's and not Eliza's blog. 'Dash, not comma,' she instructs. Sorry. An Audi A3 - preferably in Phantom Black. 'That's a hyphen,' she points out. 'It won't do dashes,' I reply. 'Oh, damn,' she says.)
14:05
Purgatory. I am in a soundproofed room full of steel pans. Hate not being able to eavesdrop.
14:15
Hmmm. Suppose I'd better not play the steel pans just in case the room's not as soundproofed as it seems.
14:38
The door opens. Caught in the act! The head of music smiles knowingly. 'I loved her saxophone playing and she has a lovely voice, good breath control and a great range. I'm able to offer her free singing and saxophone lessons.'
I hardly dare ask the question. 'Does that mean she's got... a scholarship.'
The head smiles and nods.
'Can I ask... Is it a half- or a full scholarship?'
'Full. She wouldn't get the free individual lessons without it.'
Yess! My child is a prodigy! Lily and I head out arm in arm.
'Well that was easy,' she says.
'Shhhhhhh!'
15:05
Lily goes up to her room. I open Facebook to post a status about her success, but I can't find her in my Friends. Curious. I call up to her room.
'Darling? What's going on? I'm trying to tag you in my status and it can't find you... have you Unfriended me?'
'No.'
'You must have - you're not in my Friends.'
'I didn't!'
'Well how else can you have disappeared?'
She comes stomping downstairs. 'Someone else must have done it. It happened once before. Look in Friends.'
I look, and a Friend request pops up from Lily.
'There, you see!' she says triumphantly.
The time of the request is one minute ago. In other words, at the point when I was shouting up the stairs that she must have Unfriended me. I draw her attention to her hasty attempt to re-beFriend me. She can't help grinning as she flounces back up the stairs.
15:15
From the green dot next to Lily's name in my Friends list, I take it that she is on Facebook.
'Pooface,' I write in Facebook Chat.
L:
Me:
Yh. It's like. Sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo annoying!!
Yh u wish!!
Monday, 10 June 2013
Communicating with the Young
I know, it's been all quiet on the Gray front. At least it has as far as my blog is concerned, but that's because life itself has been anything but quiet! More of that, possibly, in due course. :)
Yes, I am now an official smiley and sad-face user, now that I communicate with the Younger Generation. I cannot hold back the tide. Lily has joined Facebook. She has a phone. We Like. We text. We :(. We :). She also :Ds and :ps and :/s, whatever they may mean.
Our text conversations go something like this:
L: Heey!
Me: Heeey!
L: Lol
Me: Lol
L: Quit copying!!
Me: Darling it's called mirroring.
[Pause while I open up Facebook to see what she's up to. Hmmm. Wish she were a little more discriminating with her Likes...]
Me: Nice profile pic darling. How was your English exam?
L: Arghh!!!!! It was awful!!!!!!!! I hate xams!!! They r EVIL THINGS THAT SHD NEVER HV BEEN INVENTED!!!!!!!!
Me: :( I'm sure you did OK darling.
L: Only got Latin left!!!!
Me: Good oh. Anybody been in tears or tantrums?
L: Me @ the beginning lol.
Me: :( Which exam?
L: Latin :(
Me: Hang on, you said you only have Latin left, so doesn't that mean you haven't done it yet?
L: Ohhh got confused. Lol. Hahaha. I cried before the xams it's called postexamsyndrome
Me: Darling 'post' as you'll know from Latin is AFTER... Preexamsyndrome perhaps?
L: Don't burst my bubble!! I thought I had made up a gd name there!!! :p
Me: If you cry After the exams you could call it Postexamsydrome... :)
L: *epic annoyed face w a thought saying Can't she accept my name for my illness??
Me: :) Right honey pie. Enough texting and facebooking! Pls do some vocab revision and remember to be precise in your translations. Not just a roughly right one! :)
L: Can I just say...
L: I did a translation (cuz I wanted to) harder than CE AND she said I did WELL!!!
Me: Lily! Do NOT put yr phone no on yr FB page. Delete that post quick.
Me: Well done re Latin. I know u r v g at it
L: Is this u?? 447749347296??
Me: It is me your mother. Who else did you think it suddenly was? The 44 is the English country code. if u r in UK u use a 0 instead but on mobiles both work
L: Ooohh!!!!! Can I get an oyster card??
Me: Yes but it takes 2 wks
L: Dowh :(
L: Cb I gt a tube account?
Me: What?
L: utube
Me: Ah. If u can set up without yr pic or age then yes. After the exams!
L: Kk thanx. Also can I get the NOW THAT'S WHAT I CALL 30 YEARS album??
Me: Stop Lily! Go and R E V I S E!
L: Lol
L: Haha
Me: Good luck darling xxx
L: :p
Yes, I am now an official smiley and sad-face user, now that I communicate with the Younger Generation. I cannot hold back the tide. Lily has joined Facebook. She has a phone. We Like. We text. We :(. We :). She also :Ds and :ps and :/s, whatever they may mean.
Our text conversations go something like this:
L: Heey!
Me: Heeey!
L: Lol
Me: Lol
L: Quit copying!!
Me: Darling it's called mirroring.
[Pause while I open up Facebook to see what she's up to. Hmmm. Wish she were a little more discriminating with her Likes...]
Me: Nice profile pic darling. How was your English exam?
L: Arghh!!!!! It was awful!!!!!!!! I hate xams!!! They r EVIL THINGS THAT SHD NEVER HV BEEN INVENTED!!!!!!!!
Me: :( I'm sure you did OK darling.
L: Only got Latin left!!!!
Me: Good oh. Anybody been in tears or tantrums?
L: Me @ the beginning lol.
Me: :( Which exam?
L: Latin :(
Me: Hang on, you said you only have Latin left, so doesn't that mean you haven't done it yet?
L: Ohhh got confused. Lol. Hahaha. I cried before the xams it's called postexamsyndrome
Me: Darling 'post' as you'll know from Latin is AFTER... Preexamsyndrome perhaps?
L: Don't burst my bubble!! I thought I had made up a gd name there!!! :p
Me: If you cry After the exams you could call it Postexamsydrome... :)
L: *epic annoyed face w a thought saying Can't she accept my name for my illness??
Me: :) Right honey pie. Enough texting and facebooking! Pls do some vocab revision and remember to be precise in your translations. Not just a roughly right one! :)
L: Can I just say...
L: I did a translation (cuz I wanted to) harder than CE AND she said I did WELL!!!
Me: Lily! Do NOT put yr phone no on yr FB page. Delete that post quick.
Me: Well done re Latin. I know u r v g at it
L: Is this u?? 447749347296??
Me: It is me your mother. Who else did you think it suddenly was? The 44 is the English country code. if u r in UK u use a 0 instead but on mobiles both work
L: Ooohh!!!!! Can I get an oyster card??
Me: Yes but it takes 2 wks
L: Dowh :(
L: Cb I gt a tube account?
Me: What?
L: utube
Me: Ah. If u can set up without yr pic or age then yes. After the exams!
L: Kk thanx. Also can I get the NOW THAT'S WHAT I CALL 30 YEARS album??
Me: Stop Lily! Go and R E V I S E!
L: Lol
L: Haha
Me: Good luck darling xxx
L: :p
Wednesday, 1 May 2013
From full-time Carer to Don't-Carer
Yes! Am new fabulous guest blogger for Care.com! My passport to fame and fortune! Hmmm. Had better check what Care.com is. Ah. The world's largest online destination for care. As in babysitters, nannies, childminders, carers for the elderly... Which is all marvellous. (Carer for the elderly! Just what I need. Only ten years to go....) Childcare, though? The thing is, at 13 years old, my daughter apparently no longer needs Care.
Let us wind back the clock to the beginning of term... Lily returns to The Manor with great excitement (our Easter holiday in Nepal was clearly purgatory for her, given that she slept all morning, Facebooked or Garage Banded all afternoon, and only spoke to order lasagne from the menu in the evening). She and her pals are milling around their dorm, where Violet Winkworth is acting Lady Bountiful and doling out Weetos. But what's this? Tallulah Barker is sitting on a mattress with a Tesco's bag over her head.
Let us wind back the clock to the beginning of term... Lily returns to The Manor with great excitement (our Easter holiday in Nepal was clearly purgatory for her, given that she slept all morning, Facebooked or Garage Banded all afternoon, and only spoke to order lasagne from the menu in the evening). She and her pals are milling around their dorm, where Violet Winkworth is acting Lady Bountiful and doling out Weetos. But what's this? Tallulah Barker is sitting on a mattress with a Tesco's bag over her head.
My maternal carer instincts spring
into action. 'Take that plastic bag off your head!' I cry. 'It's dangerous! You
could suffocate.'
Neither Tallulah nor her friends
appear to hear me, and so I do as any mother would, snatch off the bag,
whereupon Weetos spray around the dormitory.
There's a stunned silence. Tallulah
looks at me in sullen incredulity. I turn to see a pink-cheeked Lily staring at
me. I pan around the dorm, taking in the newly teenaged faces gazing at me with
open jaws or giggling nervously behind their hands. I look at the plastic bag and the scattered Weetos, and it occurs to me that Tallulah was innocently
pretending to be a horse, eating from her nosebag. Possibly.
Feeling like the butt of a Bateman
cartoon (The Woman Who Snatched the Tesco's Bag from the Teenager's Head), I
mutter an excuse and hasten from their midst.
So, it has happened. My daughter is
Officially Embarrassed. Of me. By me. And I have played into her hands,
persisting in my role as Carer instead of Don't-Carer.
The thing is, the transition from
hands-on to hands-off is hard to make when you have been the sole carer for 13
years, devoted to your child's every need and move. Aside from the early
years when Lily genuinely did need me (at least I think she did, though it's
hard to remember a time when she wasn't more resilient and independent than I),
I have spent days and weeks researching and booking activities, arranging
sleepovers and playdates and parties, helping her with homework, deliberating
which school would be the best for her, coaching her for exams, driving her to
and fro.... For all these years, Lily came first. As any child should.
But now, not only does she
apparently not need me, I am an embarrassing blot on her horizon. How do other
mothers do it? Step back and stop running and ruling their children's lives? While
a) not feeling personally wounded and b) retaining a modicum of influence and,
dare I venture, respect? Or is such a notion laughably old-fashioned?
'It gets worse,' say my friends of
14- and 15-year-old daughters. 'They're 100% focused on their peer group. And
boys.'
Oh God. And this is precisely the
time that Lily is due to return to live at home in London.
Actually, I've done rather
marvellously since I moved back to
London last summer. I used to be driven demented by her lack of communication. Now I don't email her much any more, given that she rarely reads or responds to my missives. Nor does she phone home. Our last email exchange, over the course of three days, went like this:
Me: Lils darling, try calling me ... wd be nice to have a chat.
xxxx
Lily: But with what??
Me: A phone? Using your phone card?
Lily: Phone cards too confusing plus none of the phones actually work properly…
Me: Lils darling, try calling me ... wd be nice to have a chat.
xxxx
Lily: But with what??
Me: A phone? Using your phone card?
Lily: Phone cards too confusing plus none of the phones actually work properly…
I don’t wanna use other peeps
mob…
Can a get a phone this
term???
Then I can keep in touch my friends and I
can talk to after school…
Its wayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy
easier!!!!
BIG TIME!!
Yes. Well, given that she's supposed to be concentrating on her Common Entrance, 'keep in touch my friends' is precisely the thing I've been trying to avoid.
But once she's back at home
full-time, will I be able to reinvent my Carer role? What will we be? Flatmates?
Landlady-lodger? (Is that Lily's tinkling laughter I hear? 'Yes, you'll be the
lodger, I'll be the landlady! Ha ha ha.'). I shall be beyond doormatting. I
shall shrivel up and slide between the gaps in the floorboards and be found
years later, when somebody buys the house.
'Y'wha?' Lily will say. 'Oh, yeah. I
wondered where Mum'd got to.'
Ah. Mr Postman! A letter from my
darling! It’s marvellous the way The Manor makes them write home on Sundays.
'MISS YOU AND DOLLY!!' she signs
off. 'Lots of love from your doted daughter,' which I take to be an amalgam of
'doting' and 'devoted'. And then, in the small print, 'Can you send me a letter
instead of an email sometimes??'
Aw. My baby. I rush to my office, grab a biro and
pull out a sheet of A4 from the printer. 'Darling Lilykins...'
Wednesday, 17 April 2013
A haiku for Maggie Thatcher
You split the nation,
ruling with your rod of iron;
Now you've split for good
ruling with your rod of iron;
Now you've split for good
Thursday, 14 February 2013
Happy Valentine's Day?
10:48
Ah. Here he comes. Mr Postman. With a great red satchel full of red envelopes!
10:52
Gosh, he's spending rather a lot of time at No 6. I suppose it's their teenage boys. All those lovelorn schoolgirls...
10:55
Ah. He's crossed on to our side now. No 5. No 4.
10:58
No 3. No 2. No...
Hang on! What's going on? He's turned on his heel and is walking back down the street, his satchel slung nonchalantly - not to mention emptily - over his shoulder!
11:02
Maybe he's gone to fetch his trolley. The one with all the really heavy things in it.
11:09
Maybe not.
:(
Ah. Here he comes. Mr Postman. With a great red satchel full of red envelopes!
10:52
Gosh, he's spending rather a lot of time at No 6. I suppose it's their teenage boys. All those lovelorn schoolgirls...
10:55
Ah. He's crossed on to our side now. No 5. No 4.
10:58
No 3. No 2. No...
Hang on! What's going on? He's turned on his heel and is walking back down the street, his satchel slung nonchalantly - not to mention emptily - over his shoulder!
11:02
Maybe he's gone to fetch his trolley. The one with all the really heavy things in it.
11:09
Maybe not.
:(
Sunday, 3 February 2013
A New You!
Honestly. All the papers and magazines keep banging on about the New You as if it's the Holy Grail of existence. 90 Days to A New You! 30 Days to A New You! 21 Days To A New You! 20 Days To A New You! Any advance on 20 days? No. Going going gone.
Well it's all rubbish. Once you're past 40, you don't want a New You. You want the Old You.
Well it's all rubbish. Once you're past 40, you don't want a New You. You want the Old You.
Thursday, 31 January 2013
Muffin tops and spring cleansing
'I can't bear it,' I say to Lily on viewing myself in the bathroom mirror. 'I've got a muffin top.'
'Is it blueberry?' she enquires sweetly.
'Do you actually know what a muffin top is?'
'Not really.'
'Well this one's pinky-white and fleshy and fatty.'
'Yuk!'
'Precisely. What am I going to do?'
'You should go to the gym.'
The thing is, I hate gyms. The only time I had a personal trainer, and paid him jolly good money I may add, he gave up on me.
'I give up,' he said. 'When we work on a muscle in your calf, your thigh hurts. When we work on your triceps, your neck aches.' I only stayed with him because of the final stretch at the end of the session, where I'd be on my back with my knees up to my stomach and he'd lie on top of me, gazing deep into my eyes with his beautiful green-flecked eyes.
He turned gay soon afterwards.
Ah well. It's a toss-up between the 5:2 and the Alkaline Diet. Except. Darn. Just remembered that delicious lemon drizzle polenta cake Lily made at the weekend. Ah well. I'll start tomorrow.
'Is it blueberry?' she enquires sweetly.
'Do you actually know what a muffin top is?'
'Not really.'
'Well this one's pinky-white and fleshy and fatty.'
'Yuk!'
'Precisely. What am I going to do?'
'You should go to the gym.'
The thing is, I hate gyms. The only time I had a personal trainer, and paid him jolly good money I may add, he gave up on me.
'I give up,' he said. 'When we work on a muscle in your calf, your thigh hurts. When we work on your triceps, your neck aches.' I only stayed with him because of the final stretch at the end of the session, where I'd be on my back with my knees up to my stomach and he'd lie on top of me, gazing deep into my eyes with his beautiful green-flecked eyes.
He turned gay soon afterwards.
Ah well. It's a toss-up between the 5:2 and the Alkaline Diet. Except. Darn. Just remembered that delicious lemon drizzle polenta cake Lily made at the weekend. Ah well. I'll start tomorrow.
Tuesday, 22 January 2013
Winter warmers
Honestly! I feel like some sort of Nanook of the North these days. And that's in the house.
What's everyone else wearing to keep life and limb together in the freeze?
 |
| Today Eliza is wearing: one tatty silk vest c. 1997 from Vietnam, one Uniqlo thermal vest, one Uniqlo lambswool polo neck (not a recommended item since it looks 10 years old after 2 months), one rabbit fur gilet from some posh country barn sale, one Cosi cashmere blanket from Nepal and one wool hat from Morocco |
What's everyone else wearing to keep life and limb together in the freeze?
Wednesday, 16 January 2013
Zips, golden shotguns and shampoo
I know, I know. Where, you may well ask, have I been? Well, I've been coaching my poor child throughout the Christmas 'holidays' for a school entrance exam and music scholarship. I know, I know. Since when was I a tiger mother? A pushy Chelsea parent? I, who manage to achieve practically nothing in my day? Yes, yes. Good points, well made.
Anyway, Lily has now returned to the Manor, and I offer you a brief digest of choice morsels from the past few days.
1. The Golden Shotgun
As a post-exam treat, Cousin Jaz and I take Lily to see Les Miserables (OMG, btw! Hugh Jackman, once he's ditched the beard and the brown teeth, is a dead ringer for Duncan, with his salt and pepper curls! Mmmm!) followed by en plein air crepes and cocktails (well, chocolate milkshake in Lily's case).
Lily instantly bags the seat facing the patio heater. Except she doesn't say, 'Bagsy,' or 'Bags I this seat'. She says, 'Shotgun this seat!'
'What?' we demand.
'I've shotgunned it, so you can't have it!' she cries, throwing her head back with wild laughter.
'Shotgunned it?'
'You can use your shotgun to shoot down a bagsy. We all do it in the Com. If I shotgun the sofa, then nobody else can sit there. Unless they Golden Shotgun it and then they can have it. Except I've Golden Shotgunned the sofa, so I've got it for the whole term!' She dissolves into self-satisfied mirth.
'So why don't you just walk into the room and Golden Shotgun it straight away?' asks Jaz.
'Because people bagsy or shotgun places and then go and get changed, and you can't take their seat because they've shotgunned it. You have to Golden Shotgun it when they're there.'
'It's a pity there wasn't a philosophy paper today,' notes Jaz, 'because you'd have done very well.'
'But basically,' Lily continues, 'nobody wants the sofa anyway. They like sitting on the piano.'
'So you shot your bolt unnecessarily,' I say.
'Whaah?' asks Lily.
So much for my marvellous English tuition over the past weeks.
2. Zip
Fortified by our caipirinhas/mojitos, Cousin Jaz and I are quizzing Lily about her exams.
'Zip! Zip! Zip!' says Lily, miming a brisk zipping of her lips.
'Oh come on, darling. What did you write in your English essay?'
'It was about a Margarita and a Mojito and a Bloody Mary which were all £4.50,' she says, reading off the happy hour menu chalked on the blackboard.
I change tack. 'Did you have to do any algebra?'
'Yes.'
'And did you remember to do the same to both sides?'
'Zip! Zip! Zip-zip Golden Shotgun zip!' declares Lily, eyes blazing.
'How can you Golden Shotgun a zip?' I accuse.
'That's an inappropriate use of a Golden Shotgun,' points out Cousin Jaz.
Lily glares at us with more than a hint of menace. 'Zip!'
3. The Pantene Scandal
'And another thing...' I'm having a satisfying putting-the-world-to-rightsy breakfast with Cass, with whom I'm staying after delivering my darling back to school. 'Pantene! The shampoo and conditioner bottles are exactly the same!'
'I know!' she squeals. 'And you need your glasses to read whether it's shampoo or conditioner...'
'...which obviously you're not wearing in the shower!' I finish triumphantly.
'Piers has been washing his hair with conditioner for years,' Cass adds. 'He didn't realise there was a difference.'
You see? I blame it on the young designers. Someone who needs reading glasses needs to take charge! Maybe this is my new vocation? Design adviser for the over 50s market!
Anyway, Lily has now returned to the Manor, and I offer you a brief digest of choice morsels from the past few days.
1. The Golden Shotgun
As a post-exam treat, Cousin Jaz and I take Lily to see Les Miserables (OMG, btw! Hugh Jackman, once he's ditched the beard and the brown teeth, is a dead ringer for Duncan, with his salt and pepper curls! Mmmm!) followed by en plein air crepes and cocktails (well, chocolate milkshake in Lily's case).
Lily instantly bags the seat facing the patio heater. Except she doesn't say, 'Bagsy,' or 'Bags I this seat'. She says, 'Shotgun this seat!'
'What?' we demand.
'I've shotgunned it, so you can't have it!' she cries, throwing her head back with wild laughter.
'Shotgunned it?'
'You can use your shotgun to shoot down a bagsy. We all do it in the Com. If I shotgun the sofa, then nobody else can sit there. Unless they Golden Shotgun it and then they can have it. Except I've Golden Shotgunned the sofa, so I've got it for the whole term!' She dissolves into self-satisfied mirth.
'So why don't you just walk into the room and Golden Shotgun it straight away?' asks Jaz.
'Because people bagsy or shotgun places and then go and get changed, and you can't take their seat because they've shotgunned it. You have to Golden Shotgun it when they're there.'
'It's a pity there wasn't a philosophy paper today,' notes Jaz, 'because you'd have done very well.'
'But basically,' Lily continues, 'nobody wants the sofa anyway. They like sitting on the piano.'
'So you shot your bolt unnecessarily,' I say.
'Whaah?' asks Lily.
So much for my marvellous English tuition over the past weeks.
2. Zip
Fortified by our caipirinhas/mojitos, Cousin Jaz and I are quizzing Lily about her exams.
'Zip! Zip! Zip!' says Lily, miming a brisk zipping of her lips.
'Oh come on, darling. What did you write in your English essay?'
'It was about a Margarita and a Mojito and a Bloody Mary which were all £4.50,' she says, reading off the happy hour menu chalked on the blackboard.
I change tack. 'Did you have to do any algebra?'
'Yes.'
'And did you remember to do the same to both sides?'
'Zip! Zip! Zip-zip Golden Shotgun zip!' declares Lily, eyes blazing.
'How can you Golden Shotgun a zip?' I accuse.
'That's an inappropriate use of a Golden Shotgun,' points out Cousin Jaz.
Lily glares at us with more than a hint of menace. 'Zip!'
3. The Pantene Scandal
'And another thing...' I'm having a satisfying putting-the-world-to-rightsy breakfast with Cass, with whom I'm staying after delivering my darling back to school. 'Pantene! The shampoo and conditioner bottles are exactly the same!'
'I know!' she squeals. 'And you need your glasses to read whether it's shampoo or conditioner...'
'...which obviously you're not wearing in the shower!' I finish triumphantly.
'Piers has been washing his hair with conditioner for years,' Cass adds. 'He didn't realise there was a difference.'
You see? I blame it on the young designers. Someone who needs reading glasses needs to take charge! Maybe this is my new vocation? Design adviser for the over 50s market!
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