At Easter Time
Apr. 18th, 2006 03:52 pmDid anyone else's primary school sell Easter chicks/bunnies for PTA fundraising – little snowman-shaped (ball for head and larger ball for body, plus beak, eyes and wings/ears) fluffy creatures that sat in baskets made of wallpaper? Horrendous as they sound, they were rather cute.
Other than that, childhood Easters were anti-climatic, as my family aren't practising Christians, and on the secular front large amounts of chocolate were Not Approved. So it was one egg of medium size, and my sisters and I consoled ourselves when gazing at the collection of ten apiece possessed by the Catholic children next door, by reflecting that their teeth would rot. In adulthood, Easter Sunday itself is still anti-climatic, but this year it was sunny if blustery and we went on a Family Walk in the Dales, the first two miles of which took rather longer than usual as we stopped to look at every single pair of lambs and comment on how appealing they were.
Otherwise, I am back at work, I am bored, and I am annoyed. I saw a notice in the paper about cheap tickets for the Under 30s at Glyndebourne, and cannot find anything about it on the website. Oh well, they’ll all be sold out anyhow, and were probably for something ghastly and ‘relevant’. Or I might be imagining it.
In other news, my research into the relation of the phrase "I hope your rabbit dies" to pregnancy tests (prompted by a comment from![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
a_t_rain that had me seriously perturbed at this other possible meaning of my favourite bit of playground cant) has now reached a stage at which I can shoot myself in the foot by submitting a correction to The Lord Peter Wimsey Companion, thus delaying still further the date on which I shall be able to purchase my own copy of a new edition.
Other than that, childhood Easters were anti-climatic, as my family aren't practising Christians, and on the secular front large amounts of chocolate were Not Approved. So it was one egg of medium size, and my sisters and I consoled ourselves when gazing at the collection of ten apiece possessed by the Catholic children next door, by reflecting that their teeth would rot. In adulthood, Easter Sunday itself is still anti-climatic, but this year it was sunny if blustery and we went on a Family Walk in the Dales, the first two miles of which took rather longer than usual as we stopped to look at every single pair of lambs and comment on how appealing they were.
Otherwise, I am back at work, I am bored, and I am annoyed. I saw a notice in the paper about cheap tickets for the Under 30s at Glyndebourne, and cannot find anything about it on the website. Oh well, they’ll all be sold out anyhow, and were probably for something ghastly and ‘relevant’. Or I might be imagining it.
In other news, my research into the relation of the phrase "I hope your rabbit dies" to pregnancy tests (prompted by a comment from
a_t_rain that had me seriously perturbed at this other possible meaning of my favourite bit of playground cant) has now reached a stage at which I can shoot myself in the foot by submitting a correction to The Lord Peter Wimsey Companion, thus delaying still further the date on which I shall be able to purchase my own copy of a new edition.