This is for Leonard, if he's still here.

Last night I went to the movies with The Burp and Carrington.

(I had originally planned to call Carrington 'Cossington', as a tip of the lid to her artistic endeavours, but then I was off in dream land and typed Carrington on a blog entry long, long ago, and so Carrington she has remained. As I drove home last night I thought, "Dammit it all, Marjorie, it is my blog, why can't I call her Carrington - I mean, Cossington - if I want to?" But a precedent had been established, and who am I to blow a gust of wind?* Then I thought about a woman I used to know who called her older daughter Pamela and remarked, "Terrible name, isn't it?" And when I asked here why, then, she had named her thusly, she told me, "Well, a nurse saw her and said, 'Oh she looks just like a Pamela!' so what could I do - once a child has a name, you can't call them something else." It seems to me that if everyone adopted this logic it might have a seriously deleterious effect on the confidentiality of the whole adoption process (just for example). And let me assure you, if I ever find myself on the receiving end of an epidural and some nurse screeches to me that my bundle of joy looks just like a Bertha I shall rudely inform that nurse that where did she do her training, this is a boy, and I'm calling him Arthur.)

So I'm not allowed to mention on the blog anything about how subtly a mobile phone might vibrate. A promise is a promise.

But I am allowed to tell you that Carrington came up with an innovation for my ice-cream-studded-with-popcorn treat: to dip the ice-cream into the popcorn, rather than to press the popcorn into the ice cream. It was certainly a good idea and I made good progress through the popcorn with it. But I think I shall return to the more labour-intensive process because it allows me to create room around each popcorn kernel, letting me get a little nibble of ice-cream as well. You wouldn't have thought there was so much involved in eating popcorn with ice-cream, would you?

Also, on reflection, the next time the "candy bar" (shudder) runs out of vanilla choc bombs, I shall not be switching over to choc mint. Choc mint does not mix with popcorn as it turns out. I was reliably informed of this by the malevolent rumbling in my guts which kept me company all the way home.



*That's a little joke for Grumpy's sake. He will snort. When he reads it.