I gloried in many things as a student. Some of them have not stood the test of time. Mouldy jumpers. My super-padded bicycle seat. Putting wet curly hair straight back into a ponytail. That sort of thing.
Some university passions, however, are hanging on, though we’re closing in on almost a decade – ouch – since I first embraced them. Pot noodles. Old books. Glamorous indie rock and roll. And my Shakespeare fridge poetry set, which has clung like a well-worded barnacle to our freezer, rusting gently, for the past four years.
The problem is that we have a small freezer, so in order to create your Shakespearean flights of fancy, you have to sit on our hard kitchen floor. And no one ever did, least of all me. The problem part two is the fact that Henry is now tall enough to reach them, and I keep finding him with ‘melancholy’ and ‘mischance’ in his mouth.
Today I cleaned them all off. They’ll have to wait for another fridge, in another house, where another version of me with curly-haired children running everywhere can pause in the middle of making dinner and make a sentence or two instead.
I’m pretty sure he didn’t swallow any. But if I find him with ‘codpiece’ in his nappy in a few days, I won’t be amused (and nor will he, I suspect).
Brucie bonus points if you can complete the Blackadder quote…