Driving to the shops yesterday, the following conversation took place.

OH (out of the blue): ‘He’ll go suddenly, you know. One day he’ll wake up with all the wrinkles, and a pot belly’.

Me: ‘Huh?’

OH: ‘Your bloke*. He’ll go suddenly. He’ll go to bed one night, all youthful, and next morning he’ll wake up wrinkley. Bags under the eyes, you know. Pot belly. It’ll all be there.’

Me: ‘Ah. You mean someone will have found the portrait’.**

OH: ‘I’ll give him a year. OK, maybe five. Five years. Then one day … he’ll go. Wrinkles. Suddenly.’

Me: ‘And you know what?’

OH: ‘What?’

*Crickets*

OH: ‘Oh. Yeah. I know what.’

*Pause*

OH: *Sigh*

Me: *Snigger*

OH (mutters): ‘But I’ll laugh. On that day, I’ll laugh’.

* Johnny Depp. Who else?

** As in ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’ by Oscar Wilde

Last night I was feeling rather strange, and so I told Other Half.

‘I’m feeling a bit strange’, I said.

OH asked me in what way I felt strange.

‘I feel so hot!’ I said.

He reached over to put an arm reassuringly around my shoulders and jumped back.

‘Wow, you ARE hot!’ he said, not at all reassuringly. ‘You’re hot to the touch!!’ And he looked at me, awed.

I was not reassurred.

‘I feel as if I’m about to spontaneously combust!’ I moaned.

OH looked at me.

I looked at him.

‘Shame I won’t be able to burst into flames and leave just my shoes behind,’ I offered.

‘Why is that?’ he enquired.

‘I’m not wearing any!’

‘You’d better go and put some on at once!’ he said sternly.

I thought for a while.

‘But isn’t it supposed to rain herrings first?’

He thought for a while.

‘I don’t believe that was forecast,’ he said, ’so it looks like you’ll have to wait’.

Call me picky, but I’d hoped for a little more sympathy … and today I find this, on his blog!

You just wait, Mr Yellow Swordfish! Come the winter when your hands turn white and the Headsokz come out of hiding, I’ll remember this.

Ha!

No. 1 son came round the other night to borrow the sat nav. He told us he was thinking about getting a motorbike again and the conversation turned to protective clothing. He still had his helmet and boots, and a decent pair of bike gloves, but he didn’t have a jacket. Now, I hold a motorbike licence, but it’s been a few years since I rode one, because what with the fibromyalgia and thyroid problem I walk around half asleep most days and that’s kind of dangerous on a bike. So I said he could try my jacket to see if it fitted him, them being unisex and all, and it did. In fact - wouldn’t you know it - it looks better on him than it ever did on me. It’s a black and yellow textile Akito Jacket with lightweight body armour and it made me look like a benevolent wasp. He, on the other hand, looks rather dashing.

‘Wow, it fits!’ he said. ‘Are you sure I can have it?’

Me: Of course, if you promise me not to kill yourself in it.

No. 1 Son: Oh, you want me to die naked?

Me: No … I …

No. 1 Son (interrupting): I suppose being naked on a bike would help with the dying part. Only I have a feeling it’s illegal - after all, I wouldn’t be wearing a helmet.

Smartypants.

If he does kill himself, naked or not, I’ll be really pissed. But he’d be better off wearing the jacket. That way, if he merely topples off gently going round a corner, he might not break his collar bone like his father did.

Driving back from a shopping trip, we were discussing the wind-up torch I’d just bought at a discount store. Other Half was not convinced it was any good.

‘It won’t be very bright, you know’ he said disparagingly.

Me: It might be! You just have to wind the handle very very fast … and you have to do it for long enough! *Furiously winds handle, producing a distressing whine.*

OH: Well, it might be OK, but it won’t be powerful enough to light up much of the garden. I shouldn’t think you’ll be able to see the dogs..

Me: There. See? It’s quite bright … *More furious winding*

OH: You know what it needs, don’t you?’

Me: No, what?

OH: Someone needs to invent a little electrical device to wind the handle for you.

Sometimes I think I deserve a medal. I really do. A nice, bright, shiny medal for restraint under severe provocation.