Blandings

“I’m tres desperate for the loo”

“I say, what’s that in my podger?”

“Those ducks are making quite the racket”

“This bath is bloody hot”

No these aren’t quotes from a Blandings Castle based Wodehouse-ian farce but are instead utterings from Nancy, who is developing fine linguistic turn of phrase and burgeoning fluency in Franglais which is likely to be an asset in future and is aided greatly by her father’s imperious accent, which is so convincing that even the most garlic-laden Frenchman would believe him to be god-fearing Gaul. That and the fact that her mother, various grandparents and Uncle all are fluent in that alien tongue.

Alongside, her delightful verbiage her parents might well have had their card marked by Nancy’s teacher after we protested about the quality of her school reading book (“Derek the Doberman” from a series of books about Battersea Dog’s Home) which was so unappealing that it made Dan Brown read like Italo Calvino. Alas having had a quiet word with her teacher about this and suggesting a better book might be sought for Nancy, and to save our own sanity from this wearying dirge of novel, Nancy arrived home with a 300 page epic which was equally appalling, I’d quote some here but it would make your eyes bleed. I’m not expecting her books to be written by Anthony Burgess but there must be some middle ground – that said the 300 page book was clearly a slap across the face from the teacher who thought we were being too North London for our own good. Which is clearly ridiculous. Alas a happy medium has been arrived at Nancy came home with a copy of something far more challenging and now has two weeks to read A Clockwork Orange Black Beauty. Which is well horrorshow. 

Apart from our misstep, at a recent parent’s evening, all seemed well with her education although they still harbour concerns about her ability to mast the pluperfect but are hopeful that come the end of the Michaelmas term this should be resolved.

Nancy continues to be ace – although reserves the right to be thoroughly beastly at random junctures and can occasionally excel in rather brutalising her poor sister over the most trivial and nonsensical of issues (like last night when the red line was who had possession of La-La at bedtime). At this point she turns from a mild mannered pie to an unctuous terrorist hell bent on destruction – like a mini-version of the Incredible Hulk without the shirt-shredding greenness.

Here are some especially nice photos of Nancy as it was becoming apparent that photos of her were diminishing whilst those of Esther continue to grow without end. It’s time to turn that tide.

Peppa Pig

 P