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Sunday, 4 February 2007


James has always been a man of few words. I must admit that this is one of the things that attracted me to him in the first place. I have always had far too much to say, and I envy his ability not to nervously 'prattle on about any old rubbish' like me. I think that this quality of his, is down to self-confidence. He has a sense of superiority bred into him, it is in his genes.

I shall never forget the first time James took me to meet his parents. I asked him to tell me all about them, so that I could ensure I was appropriately attired for our first meeting. James said very little indeed. One thing he did say, when completely pressed - he described his mother as 'a lady'.

'How sweet!', I thought.

'So separate rooms for the duration of our stay', I deduced.

There is something that makes your spine chill when you discover that the home you are visiting has a gate lodge which is larger than the average vicarage. It transpired that James always prefers to play down such situations. When I thought that he was merely complimenting his mother, he was in fact indicating that his parents are titled.

I have tried to enquire gently, on more than one occasion whether James would ever consider the use of a hereditary title - and he is always disappointingly dismissive.... pah! A title (he clearly does not understand) is worth more to a girl than a string of black Adler south sea pearls.

Today James was whisked off to Cardiff Arms Park to watch the rugby with some clients.

'Oh dear, what a drag' - he lied.

Yes, yes, I will play along, and pretend he is attending (escaping the family) under protest. This I remember - is a grudge match. The Welsh were thrashed by the Irish in this tournament last year. James was in a sea of despair after it. Struck silent with emotion. I sent him a text this evening:

'Where are you my love, and will you be returning for story time?'

In reply I received a piece of trendy minimalistic abbreviated text jargon:


What in the name of God is that supposed to mean? Does it mean he is sending me 'lots of love' - the sweetheart? Or is he indicating that he is 'laughing out loud' at the idea of coming home by bath time? (Wales lost again my darling Max informs me).

Either way, I cannot decide whether to look sullen when he tumbles in the door, ethanolic and singing 'Delilah' sadly to himself tonight. Who can I ask to translate? My friends are either too trendy - (so I could not possibly admit that I don't understand the phrase to them), or else, they are not trendy enough to understand either.

Pah..., I shall take the easy option; take for granted it means 'laughing out loud' and pretend to be crushed. Tomorrow when James has his hangover, and cannot bear my sulking, I shall be encouraged to go to Eclipse on Park Hall Road, and buy that terrific new Missoni top that I have my eye on.

Hurrah! I can be really quite manipulative when I put my mind to it. Perhaps I shall have those implants yet.......


Anonymous said...

Hurrah - Wales lost the rugby!

dulwichmum said...

I know! Ha, ha, Ireland won, but did you see that chap on the Irish team? He looks like a character off 'Lord of the Rings'. Why do rugby players so often look like mutants? I think Max should play cricket...

Silvana said...

Hi Dulwich Mum
Thanks very much for the comments and link. We're really pleased to have found your blog - it's very funny and helpful to us locals

dulwichmum said...

Sylvana, I have been reading your blog for a while, but was so intimidated by the amazing parents that you two clearly are - that I didn't dare write a comment in case you did not realise my blog is meant to be humorous!

Silvana said...

Oh blimey, no. You should have seen us this morning trying to deal with a wet bed at 5.30am. And Fabio's just won the battle and had last night's pizza for breakfast! Not very amazing parenting. Anyway, we'll keep reading!