Nice stuff
Jul. 27th, 2005 10:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smokingbootFirst, the name of our summer party is...cancelled! For various reasons,none of them dreadful. Back on next year hopefully, but for now, other things, other things pressing...if you are on my friends list, you would have been very welcome this year, and you are invited next year. Hope to see you then!
And the name of last night, spent withevilwillow and cyanidemigraine was Drowgame. We only frothed a tiny bit about maelstrom, and then we went on to play a fine sesh. But even this, despite it being great fun, cannot amuse me the way some delightful news did.
A very close much beloved friend is pregnant; she was convinced it was going to be a little girl; all the psychics she had asked said so, she was set on it, and her mind was full of beautiful costumes she was going to make for the little tinker; bonny wee witches, and princesses and fairies, a world of gossamer wings and pre-raphaelite curls, and a beautiful name; Ophelia.
Alas then, for that perverse sense of humour so often displayed by the universe; scans reveal a little boy, in fact, indupitably a little boy; the nurse responded to dear chum's 'Are you sure?' with a pointing finger and the words; 'What do you think that is?' Dear chum keeps hoping it's a leg.
My friend is stunned. 'At least he'll look good in the buggy,' she said, with a kind of smiling despair - the buggy, you see, is this black and silver gothic thing that will look stunning among the jostling baby-walkers of Highgate.
And the name? They don't want an ordinary name, it seems, and right now, 'Daedalus' is a front runner, though I keep making suggestions like 'Belisarius,' 'Orion' and 'Trebuchet.' I did mention 'Robert,' off-handedly, but this was poohpoohed, and I can see why. I always wanted to be called 'Moon Unit,' but Frank Zappa stole my idea and gave it to one of his own kids. No wonder I'm bitter.
So come on little boy, come into the world when you are fit and ready; The Boot is looking forward to meeting you! I'll be no good to you for the first few years, but when you are ready to explore, I'll read you stories and buy you drumsticks, take you to ballet and rugby, we'll go to Covent Garden and we'll laugh at horrible old Punch and Judy. We'll get ice-cream and mush smarties into it - and when the time comes for discipline or anything remotely useful, I'll hand you back to your parents.
Motherhood sucks, and I want nothing to do with it. But auntyhood is simply the best!
And the name of last night, spent with
evilwillow and cyanidemigraine was Drowgame. We only frothed a tiny bit about maelstrom, and then we went on to play a fine sesh. But even this, despite it being great fun, cannot amuse me the way some delightful news did.A very close much beloved friend is pregnant; she was convinced it was going to be a little girl; all the psychics she had asked said so, she was set on it, and her mind was full of beautiful costumes she was going to make for the little tinker; bonny wee witches, and princesses and fairies, a world of gossamer wings and pre-raphaelite curls, and a beautiful name; Ophelia.
Alas then, for that perverse sense of humour so often displayed by the universe; scans reveal a little boy, in fact, indupitably a little boy; the nurse responded to dear chum's 'Are you sure?' with a pointing finger and the words; 'What do you think that is?' Dear chum keeps hoping it's a leg.
My friend is stunned. 'At least he'll look good in the buggy,' she said, with a kind of smiling despair - the buggy, you see, is this black and silver gothic thing that will look stunning among the jostling baby-walkers of Highgate.
And the name? They don't want an ordinary name, it seems, and right now, 'Daedalus' is a front runner, though I keep making suggestions like 'Belisarius,' 'Orion' and 'Trebuchet.' I did mention 'Robert,' off-handedly, but this was poohpoohed, and I can see why. I always wanted to be called 'Moon Unit,' but Frank Zappa stole my idea and gave it to one of his own kids. No wonder I'm bitter.
So come on little boy, come into the world when you are fit and ready; The Boot is looking forward to meeting you! I'll be no good to you for the first few years, but when you are ready to explore, I'll read you stories and buy you drumsticks, take you to ballet and rugby, we'll go to Covent Garden and we'll laugh at horrible old Punch and Judy. We'll get ice-cream and mush smarties into it - and when the time comes for discipline or anything remotely useful, I'll hand you back to your parents.
Motherhood sucks, and I want nothing to do with it. But auntyhood is simply the best!
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no subject
Date: 2005-07-27 10:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-27 10:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-27 11:07 am (UTC)Some time ago, my friends had a son, and I set about knitting something small, cute, and blue. (NB The purpose of the colour is to allow others half a chance at guessing the larva's gender when cooing.) Naturally, I knit far too slowly, so by the time I've finished, he's too big. No worries, I think, I shall save it for the next baby boy. Since which time everyone (and I mean everyone I'm even vaguely connected to) has had daughters.
Send me an address once the sprog is safely born. Or I can leave it with you, but you must swear not to post it until you hear he's been born. I'm superstitious that way.
no subject
Date: 2005-07-27 11:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-27 12:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-27 12:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-27 12:42 pm (UTC)Trebuchet? Mangonel is a better name!
no subject
Date: 2005-07-27 12:54 pm (UTC)Re the party, well, in time our concentrated poolpartiness will spurt out gloriously. Summer of 06, not a year to miss...