Every night at 6pm as I run into Jonah’s daycare/nursery in a disheveled stated, breathlessly saying “I’m sorry” to all the girls trying to clean up and go home, I am greeted with a stark visual to remind me that I am the last parent there: a large, white, empty buggy room save for one “dark khaki” Bugaboo Bee alone and almost forlornly adrift. You see, there is a room for buggies/strollers at nursery- as you need in a city with public transport. It’s a big room and by 8:30am every morning it is overflowing with them. All shapes, sizes, colors and signs hung everywhere sternly reminding you to fold them up. And they are folded. They hang on hooks high on the wall, two and three deep. They are stacked behind metal bars and tucked under one another. There are so many of them crammed in organized chaos in one room in a jolly, happy, rainbow of colors buggy free-for-all. And in a sunny, well-rested, mid-day moment, the array of colors and assorted dangling toys might even provide a surge of joy inside you as jumbling, innocent, baby things are wont to do.
But not when I usually arrive. The room is just empty. Instead of the big red, double stroller covered in biscuit crumbs and blankies- I can see old tire marks on the walls. My voice echoes as I grumble trying to kick open the Bee with 18 bags hanging on my shoulder, unruly grown-out bangs in my face, and heels on my feet I meant to change out of during my run to the Tube. Except yesterday. I guess I got there a bit early.
I almost shrieked. I felt like the victim of some cruel Jackass prank. No hidden cameras, though. Just the left-behind favorite toy of some little girl in the toddler room. Thank g-d I have a boy.
You may have heard, unless like me you spend all your time on entertainment news: all flights in and out of the UK were cancelled yesterday due to “volcanic ash erupting from Iceland”. Monitors have even displayed that as the cause of delays and cancellations. Apparently, “cancelled due to weather” was not informative enough. It’s like |person under a train|. I’m feeling you, Britannia. You cannot tell a lie. Now it’s wreaking havoc on millions of flights in and out of Europe. Iceland! If it’s not one thing, it’s another with you.
But before the photographic evidence, I heard some murmurs that there was actually no ash cloud and this was a government cover-up for some reason or another. I look forward to the documentary about that in three years.
I would have posted Barcelona pictures today but we have had a small crisis in the flat. It’s not clear what happened with the bag of dirty clothes left inside the front door yesterday, intended for the dry cleaner. I vaguely recall leaving them accidentally on the train on my journey into work in the morning. But I can’t be sure. Bryan thinks maybe it was the cleaning lady. I told him he had to do the sleuthing.
I know you think there are more important things going on today than this loss (first televised debate in the close and narrowing party and prime minister “general” election in the U.K.), but I have probably lost my sage green back-less Kate Moss for Topshop party dress. That’s all.