Oh, the irony

I have nothing for this post. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Well, about five minutes of irony, which I'll tell you about in a minute. And mucho moaning. It's been a quiet few days, and Jeremy has been away again, (not one week of this new job has gone by without him flying somewhere. And it doesn't look like that's going to change any time soon) so we were all looking forward to the weekend. Jeremy came home early(ish) on Friday, promptly came down with something and took himself off to bed, and it looks like he will recover just in time for Monday morning. I'm only telling you this because the alternative to blogging is getting the session for tomorrow's Sunday School ready. Bleurgh. (It's my fourth Sunday in a row. So bleurgh, bleurgh and thrice bleurgh.) But hey - I don't need to have it ready until 10 tomorrow morning - that's eleven hours away. I got time.



No of course I don't have time. So here's the irony, and then I gotta go.

I have this lovely son Kit. He's handsome, clever, funny, and loving. He has many strings to his bow - he enjoys reading, he plays guitar, he loves building models. Thing is, none of these strings include singing. No, don't get me wrong, he sings all right, with gusto, at school and in the church choir, but in none of the sounds he makes can I detect a tune. Plenty of clues in the words and the rhythm as to what he is aiming at, but keep a tune? Not at pistol-point. The lovely choir-mistress insists that his place is in the choir, and that he will gradually learn, and to tell the truth I do detect an improvement, but the pace of change is pretty damn gradual.

So there he was, doing his homework at the kitchen table, and he started singing.


He sang that old Beatles number, 'What would you do if I sang out of tune'.

Oh, and if you have a spare five minutes, take a wander around here. It's a hoot.