Royal blood, A wizard and too much denim

Our blood is blue, Dumbledore is real and London has learnt nothing from Fashion Week. What a morning of revelations.

This morning while walking the lad to school he declared that our blood was not red but blue. Excellent! I’ll inform Her Majesty and we’ll do tea and catch up on family affairs.

“MOM!”

“Yes! What?” He looked peeved.

“You’re not listening!”

“Of course I am,” I said, “but I don’t think that’s entirely acurate. You see, I’ve seen my blood and it’s very red. Not blue at all. Not even leaning towards blue…”

“Yes but that’s because it’s been exposed to air.. no really.” My face must have been looking very skeptical.

“You see while the blood is in our bodies, it’s blue and when it’s exposed to oxygen it has a chemical reaction which causes it to turn red. It’s like rust.” he carefully explained.

What?

That sounds very… Plausible. I’m going to have to Google it.

I dropped Einstein at school and was at the station still pondering if there is any merit to this theory, and already composing an email to Mythbusters, when I ran slap bang into Dumbledore.

Oh for goodness sake I’m not insane (much). The man was Dumbledore! Long beard, twinkly eyes, kooky dress sense, walking around like he was entralled by everything. I’d know him anywhere. Plus – and here’s the clincher – instead of grumbling, tuting, swearing or muttering like any sensible person who is not only about to embark on the challenge of the weekday morning tube, but also then has to deal with some scatterbrained woman plowing into them, the man simply helped me steady myself, and kindly told me that ‘when you rush around it’s inevitable you will miss things’.
Dumbledore!

Oh and the fashion thing? Just a word to the wise: should you ever feel the need to leave your house wearing denim from head to toe, including denim shoes and denim bow in the hair, you call work, explain you are having a breakdown, get that horric outfit off your body and get some additional, well deserved sleep.

Classified mission: authorised personnel only

It’s just occurred to me that listening to the Propellerheads version of a James Bond theme tune is a rocking way to go to work in London.

Marching with purpose to my theme tune this morning ensured that I remembered that I was on a very important mission. The fate of the world rests on my shoulders. (I need such a massage). Ready to break out my ninja-like moves at the first sign of trouble I contined to march with purpose. Speed, stealth and uncanny observation skills are at my disposal as I enter the most dangerous place on earth… The tube in rush hour.

I would need all my skills and training to get through this. Knowing that I am on ‘her Majesty’s secret service’ and my top secret mission cannot fail I go into stealth mode.

An evil mastermind must know I am here. The ‘screaming baby’ has been deployed! Nothing can make me break cover until I am ready. My exit strategy is already in place and my escape route planned.

Here we go. Precision timing is key. And go!

I dive through the enemy lines in spectcular style. Nothing can stop me as I race to make my connection and launch on to the next tube with millimetres to spare.

The end is in sight. I am seconds away from the rendevoux. The tube reaches it’s destination and I swiftly move up the staircase blasting all obstruction in my way. I duck into the building before the enemy spots me.

“Triple shot latte please”

“Would you like a pastry with that?”

“No, thanks.”

Mission complete. The world is safe once more.

Apologies for my freakishly large head.

We had the first splatterings of fluffy snow today. Woo Woo. So of course while I marveled at the lovely puffy flakes and started dreaming of a white Christmas, I thought it prudent to check my iPhone every so often during the afternoon to check the tubes hadn’t ground to a halt. All seemed well.

Now a while back my darling husband bought home a spectacular hat. It’s a cross between a Russian hat and a cake and it quite simply the warmest thing in the world. However it is also rather large. I chickened out of wearing it yesterday and suffered for my vanity with aching ears and the coldest head ever. Today, considering that the weather forecast said it would be a whopping high of 2 degrees, I thought vanity be darned and let’s get this sucker on.

‘Aw cute babe,’ hubby said as I put the mountain of fluff on my head.

‘Yes, but I cannot in fact see a blasted thing,’ I grumbled. In fairness I was peering out from under it like a small child trying on their parents clothes. ‘I can’t see!’ I whined.

‘But you look cute,’ hubby insisted, clearing missing the point that looking cute could lead to a multitude of accident ridden situations that it’s just not fair to put someone with reactions as slow as mine in.

At this point I looked outside and it looked cold. Really cold. The cars were covered in a fairly decent layer of frost. I quickly decided that there was no way I was leaving without the hat.

Walking down the street I couldn’t help but notice lots of people glancing at me as I walked past. I could almost see them thinking ‘look at that freak with the giant head’ Although on hindsight I’d like to believe that they were wishing that they had an enormous pile of fluff on their heads. Ten minutes out of the house and in the freezing cold was enough to convince me that I’d make the right decision.

Until I got to the tube. I managed to jump on just before the doors closed and almost took out the tall guy next to me.
‘I’m so sorry’ I said sheepishly. So sorry for my freakishly large head.

So I left work and decided that it would probably be wise to wait until I was about to exit before putting it on. The problem was I had forgotten how badly I function in cold weather and moments after leaving the building, I walked into a pole I’d missed due to fluff in my eye. Dang! Narrowly missed my untimely death by bus, Blast! And somehow missed the station entirely.

Thankfully though I didn’t assault anyone on the way to pick up the Lil Fella.

‘Nice hat, Mom’ he said before collapsing in a fit of giggles.