- I didn’t think a Five Guys burger could taste any better than usual, but, in helping to feed the Steroid Baby, my amazing husband absolutely nailed it.
- The junior doctor, who drew on my face in a rather high-tech way to confirm which side of my brain was to be mined, was perfectly lovely but a bit tentative in using his biro to mark the spot. Mr H swept in moments later and used rather more of a flourish to mark “X” on my ear quickly with a thick felt-tip pen. Counter-intuitively, does this mean that the higher-up a doctor goes, the thicker the crayon?
- For more than 20 years, I’ve remembered the name of the 21st President because of the puzzle “what’s 21 out of 42?” featured in Die Hard With A Vengeance. I found out late last night that the Chester A. Arthur Elementary School, the source of my knowledge, doesn’t actually exist. How can one recover from that kind of jolt?
- I haven’t yet shared my theory with Mr H, but I’m blaming my weekend troubles on the tightening polls. Post Hoc, Ergo Propter Hoc, after all. One has to cling on to any hope one can find so I’m trying to find inspiration in Julia Sand in case the worst happens.
- I found time on Sunday to help one of the lovely ITU/HDU nurses with a bit of wedding planning. She’s getting married in a small ceremony on my brother’s birthday next year (of course). Then, a couple of weeks later, they’re having their big bash at the Summerhill Bowling Club, which I’d never heard of until we were invited to a rather splendid family wedding there in July.
- The legislation creating the United States Secret Service was on Abraham Lincoln’s desk the night he was assassinated. Why didn’t Alanis refer to that?