Hello everybody.

Thanks so much for all your comments and emails and well wishes. You are all amazing.
It feels really weird being in this more streamlined and uncluttered form, like going out without your makeup, or kind of naked.

I don’t go out naked by the way, in case you are wondering. The world is not ready for my nakedness. Bab’s however, she’s not fussed. Bit of a floozy really you know, tsk.

Anyway, the new look, I love it, but I loved my other design too so it’s kind of weird. Bab’s stands out more and looks even more beautiful, and all my goodies and pretty things will be on their own pages, so all in all it’s good.

(NB  If you’re viewing this in Explorer it looks very strange, but we’re not done yet so don’t worry.)

Anyway, having had two nights of being unable to access my site, blog fodder has been piling up at my feet, but I’m starting with this, because it happened today and it made me smile.

I’m in town with Misses E and M, Rosie and Ingenious Junior.
My car’s been at the garage and we’re about to go and pick it up, when a tall, thin young man in need of a shave approaches me with a clipboard and pen in hand.

Tall man: “Excuse me, I’m a monk.”

Rosie has managed to escape, but I am stalled by the fact I don’t want to be rude, and now he says he’s a monk, and I just can’t be rude to a monk. I want to be, I mean, I know he wants something from me, but I don’t know whether it’s my Catholic upbringing, or the fact he looks kind of geeky and daft, but I cannot bring myself to say, ‘no thanks’ and walk away.

He gurns encouragingly at me, a cross between a daft puppy and a giraffe, and nods at me as if I have just questioned his previous statement.

Tall monk man: “Have you ever seen a real monk before?”

Me: “No, but I’ve seen a monk-ey.”

And with that the mood changes and he turns into a haggard old witch and curses me to kingdom come, wherever that is, and suddenly ducks ears grow out of my head. (They are definitely ducks ears as they are very small and almost invisible to the human eye, but I know they are there.)

Okay, okay, I didn’t really say that, I promise. It sprang into my head, but I managed to prevent it from leaving my lips.

Just.

Me: “No, but I’ve met a few nuns.”

Tall monk man: “Really? How do you know them?”

Me: “Erm, from playgroup. They run the playgroup.”

Monkey boy: “Oh right. You two look like you would make a good pair of nuns.”

I glance at Rosie who stifles a giggle, then at our children. And I think, is he blind? Here we are, two young women, with obvious signs of fornication aged 7 and 4, stood before us, and aged 3 sitting in the pushchair demanding sweets, and he thinks we look like we’d make good nuns?

Hmmm, methinks he is trying to flatter us, in order that we do something for him, ie. listen to him blethering on about bob, or empty our pockets into his hessian sack. Either that, or he has a spiritual connection that means he can actually see we are destined for greatness or something.

I mean, what does he think the kids are? Cherubs?

So anyway, Mr tall monk then proceeds to ask me for a donation as I expected, and as I’m already squirming with guilt over the thoughts in my head about him swinging from branches and picking small insects out of his brothers back hair, I give him a pound.

Monk: “If you give me another pound, I’ll give you a present.”

And I’m thinking, ‘a present, for me? What kind of mad present am I going to get from you young man? I would quite like a new car, but it’s unlikely isn’t it?’

I look at him for a few seconds.

I really don’t want to give him that pound. I mean, there’s a bill awaiting me at the garage, and we have to tax the car this month, but I can’t resist.

Ok, I want the prezzie.

And, even worse,

I want to blog the prezzie.

So, I’m expecting a sticker, or a little bell, or a weirdy prayer matt like the one Miss Burrows sent to Holly or something, but I got…

this.

A book with a rude sounding word on the front that just made me want to laugh, like when you’re a kid and you have to read the word ‘pubic’ out in front of the whole class.

The man from monkle: “Now, before you go, say ‘gouranga’ to me.”

I glance at him, one eyebrow slightly raised as my brain whizzes through what he might be asking me to say. I mean, we might have just gone through some weird marriage ceremony where gouranga means, ‘I do’, or I might be promising him my first born, or agreeing to accept his pet gerbil as the one true Bob.

Tall monk bloke: “It means ‘be happy’.”

Ahhhhh.

So I say it. I am a trusting soul, and nothing bad has happened so far. I will check again for ducks ears in the morning.

Before I take my leave, I glance once more at the title and again bad thoughts come into my head, but I thank him and we continue on our way. Rosie wonders why I’m giggling so I show her the book.
Miss E wonders why I’m giggling and I do not tell her as she is 7. She does not need to know about the teachings of Queen Kunti yet.