I woke up this morning with X pulling my pillow (which she calls a cushion) away from me. "Hey, you can't do that, that's selfish," I tell her. Over making toast we chat about selfish and what it means. This is the luxury of saturday time, chatting over the meaning of being selfish.
Then we go to dancing and do shopping and car washing and present buying and library going, and book buying where we use our token from World Book Day. This event seems to have been an amazing success. The bookshop is crammed with parents such as I, adding to the token in the hope we're adding to our little ones desire to read rather than bang on a dvd.
Later, banging on the telly, I discover that the list of 12 of the best for World Book Day includes a book by David Abbott, ad luminary, mentor to my generation, now about 80. What hope this gives. Maybe, though I've blown it writing ads as beautifully as he did, there's still that slight, small (very small) hope and possibility that I still might one day write a book as well- crafted as his copy. I write a mental note to myself to look at his book: but I don't read books any more, that's the problem. I'd love to but I've no time. I'm too busy dealing with my digital multi-platform life: checking my email. twitter, facebook, you tube, so I don't lose out in the marketplace of now. Of course David Abbot is rich and has has a very profitable company. He's uniquely able to leave the workplace ( heard that word on Woman's Hour this afternoon and it irritated me as usual) and so now he can enjoy his life in the homeplace.
Later my old friend Will calls from the Isle of Man and we chatted for a bit too long.
"That was very shellfish of you," says X.