Neglect. As in My blog has fallen into a state of neglect. I haven’t written anything. It has accumulated spam comments (now deleted, I hope). There are real comments, including some from Reluctant Memsahib, one of my favourite reads, and I haven’t responded. I’ve been busy. I’ve been away. I have lots of excuses. I don’t really like excuses, though. My sister has taken me to task. “Why doesn’t your blog work? It won’t load” she asked. I think it’s sulking.
It’s not that there’s a shortage of material. The holiday, for instance, is begging to be told. Stories about the fading American lady in Fiji who served us homemade liqueur with our iced coffee at her verandah cafe. About diving the Barrier Reef and the Rainbow Reef and the time we spent together as a family. The sharks, cane toads, turtles, fruit bats, crocodiles, crickets, the leaf insect, strangler figs and orchids. The beaches we visited and the food we ate. The emotional reunion in San Diego with Kristen, a friend we’ve not seen for over 16 years and who I refound through Facebook. Lots to tell and I will get there eventually.
Then there’s exams, two lots done but not quite dusted (some appeals in hand I believe). Results ranging from wonderful to mmm…. Back to the afterthought that is 6th Year in Scotland – what is all that about? We’re approaching the end of our dealings with Scottish schools but every time I think I’ve got a handle on it, it all confounds me. If the logic of the system still defies me, GPD has no chance. There’s a whole rant to develop there. And I’ve been on fieldwork. Otters at dawn in Shetland, seaweeds in the rain in Pembrokeshire. Stunning geology, flocks of choughs and ravens.
I could tell you that my cancer now seems so far away that I’d forgotten about my 3 month check up next week and hadn’t arranged a blood test. It would have been unimaginable a few months ago that I could have forgotten. And my hair desperately needs cutting. I’d like to write in defence of the wonderful NHS in response to some of the unbelievable rubbish and misconceptions I’ve heard coming out of the USA recently.
I could write about all those things but instead let me tell you about towels. Wet towels. Lots of them. Eleven at the last count – that’s 11 – although I think there are a couple more lurking in swim bags. I thought teenage boys were supposed to be unhygienic, smelly things who detested water. Not these days I find. In our house, if a teenager can’t have a shower in the morning and at least one more shower a day, there is a real risk of cataclysm. Save water? Not here. Each shower demands a clean towel. A clean towel which is used once and then discarded on the floor or dumped damply into the laundry basket. Boys are clean and smell of chemicals, towels are rank.
Apparently a towel cannot be used twice – yuk, what a disgusting prospect! I suggest that, if they’ve washed themselves properly, they should only be mopping up clean water from their fragrant bodies (have I mentioned the aerosols yet?). But no, that would be gross. So I arrived home last night after an 11 hour drive home from Wales to find 11 towels in the overflowing laundry basket and an empty airing cupboard.
It has rained all morning and there’s more to come. How can I wash and dry all those towels, I ask? They’ll have to forgo clean t-shirts while I deal with the towel mountain. Tough.
Perhaps I’ve been neglecting my duties as a mum as well as my blog. Better get busy.