A few strange events have recently brought home to me that the Squatter has already been a life-changing event for me and those around me:
- Last week, an Australian Immigrant gave me the last of his TimTams, which had been brought over especially for him:
- My hubby has only recently been able to tolerate a trip to the Metro Centre without complaining about the “soul-less”, “air-less”, “natural light-less”, “Fenwicks-less”, and “[insert any other Newcastle attribute]-less” “abomination”. A lot of his hostility stems from a feeling that supporting our local shopping precinct is a betrayal of both his hometown and the company (his employer for over six years until last year) dedicated to improving The Toon. Today, however, the same man practically bundled me into the car and skipped into the Metro Centre in excitement as he wheeled me around for my first shopping trip since August.
- Even more worrying, Mr C noted with disappointment at the end of our trip that we hadn’t spent as much money as usual. He had tried unsuccessfully to persuade me to buy an iWatch to replace the 12-year old watch I had broken in the MRI machine last week. Mrs Fiscally Responsible, the subject of fewer confirmed sightings than Nessie, held firm.
- Tomorrow is Alien Day at nursery so we had obviously left it until today to try to find appropriate outfits. We couldn’t find Yoda, Chewbacca or other alien costumes (Star Wars or otherwise) in the right sizes. We ended up with a Minions onesie for Jennifer even though: (a) Jennifer doesn’t even know who the Minions are (and wasn’t impressed by the YouTube clips I showed her this evening); and (b) a quick Google search before we bought it suggested that they are not even aliens. I didn’t have the energy to live up to my own pedantic standards. If it’s any consolation for Jennifer, Leo came off worse: we couldn’t find anything in his size that was even tenuously linked to aliens, so he’s going to have to make do with the superman vest he already has.