The Inhumane Art of Clubbing Polyesters

I woke at 4am and realised that I’d forgotten to add one of the highlights of yesterday into my blog.

Given that we’d traipsed around the market, freezing our arses off; and had then been forced (I was forced, the Squeeze and Mini Squeeze loved it) to go into the city to watch Kid 1 play jazz; felt like it was just sucking out my day.   They are time vampires.  And of course my whole day was done for – thrown out of whack.  Our lamb shank tagine and home-made bread wasn’t ready until 7.30pm which meant I had this domino effect of cleaning late and sitting down when the night is almost done.

However, the highlight of the pausing in the cold sunlight to have to listen to jazz came after the music and before lunch at a fantastic Italian place that has great food, but I’m over the crammed in like sardines thing.

Kid 1 came bounding up from the back of the stage; black suit and socks (his shoe had broken) and the Squeeze reached out to rub his fingers on the sleeve of the jacket and said ‘nice suit; how many polyesters died to make that..?’  Kid 1 grinned, but then I pipped in with ‘they club them to death you know – they’re just babies’.  The grin almost crawled from his face and he said hesitantly ‘they’re not real are they..?  The polyesters..?’  We laughed and assured him that no, polyesters weren’t real.

The Squeeze and I grinned all the way while walking back to the car he said ‘you know he wasn’t kidding…’  I said ‘I know, God love him.  Lucky he can play piano because he’s never going to be a brain surgeon’.  And aint that the truth!  But there is something very charming about such an all-consuming desire to play – to the point that you shut out all else; including basic knowledge.  It is beguilingly innocent.