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The kids first day off school for the summer holidays and the made me play schools. Though Phoebe was the teacher and even though I answered her questions much better than stupid old Ernie managed, she gave him A+++++++++++++s and me F——————s. I called him a teacher's pet. His spelling was rubbish. He can only write E r n and i. And he didn't even try and do the sums.
But Phoebe runs her school with a rod of iron and there was no higher authority to complain to.
I was the headmaster's son and now it seemed I was the headmaster's father too.
Will these two join the rest of my family in the honourable teaching profession or follow their parents into the dissolute life of show business. I would later watch them performing in their end of term plays at their drama club. Phoebe was assured and confident and Ernie distracted and a bit bored but taking any chance he could to show off to the crowd. Like a mini Peter Kay he looked like he hadn't been to nay rehearsals but wanted to wow the crowd anyway. So we will see where he ends up.
Ernie was dressed in an Elvis costume, which made his showboating knee slides all the more impressive, Phoebe dressed up like the grieving wife of an assassinated president and looking so grown up that it made my head spin. But with pride, rather than fear of her hurtling towards adulthood.
I feel that this summer should be a lot of fun. We will soon be heading northwards together for a big old road trip that will take in York, Edinburgh and a Scottish island. Phoebe should be old enough now to get an awful lot out of the Fringe. With all but one guest confirmed (for my final show, so I tempted to leave the booking until I am up there), I am looking forward to doing the podcast. I was thinking of having two guests per show, but think I will stick with one.
You can see that almost full line up here.
Knocked out a few more podcasts today,
culminating with the first stone clearing one in a while (though I had done another one of these earlier as an extra for my audio book - there's a whole chapter about stone clearing in there -it's going mainstream). I also talked to academic and author Malcolm Gaskill about his incredible and tirelessly researched book “The Death of All Witches†and to Dr Sara Kayat about testicles. If that's not a full day then I don't know what is. I hope I didn't get my notes mixed up.
It was nice to be back on the old stocean waves and I mocked some footballers on the rec as they kicked a ball around achieving nothing, whilst I kicked stones around, building a wall that would last for eons and one day, when my secret was out, bear my name. They were just wasting their lives, with their friends, who just like them would one day melt into dust. Not like my permanent stones that nothing can destroy but the will of the Stone Gods themselves.
