Well, dear PB friends, I have survived today! Fridays are always my trickiest day of the week as I have all three pixies with me. I have heard way too much squabbling, pleaded for the hall door to be shut about 50 times and done far too many loads of washing (especially following the “Woops-I-just-spilt-milk-all-over-the-sofa-despite-the-fact-you-had-asked-me-to-drink-it-sitting-at-the-table” moment). Hmm. Anyway, they’re all asleep now. Oh, and for the record, I remembered to deadlock us into the house for most of the day (after this) but Sammy still escaped outside when Joshie left the front door open. Not onto the road, mind. Hmm. Mr PB is still at work. Hmm. I have a glass of red in hand. Here's something a little lighter to end the week.
When I was in Grade Five, we learnt the entertaining poem 'Matilda' by Hilaire Belloc off by heart. I can still recall it verbatim, so burned was it into my memory. It struck me as something I should remember as a salutary life lesson as it involved a naughty girl who told lies. That was foreign territory for me as I was such a goody-two-shoes. My parents insisted on the truth - I remember the one thing my Dad wrote in my autograph book (remember them?) was 'Always tell the truth'.
Here are the first few lines.
Matilda told such Dreadful Lies,It made one Gasp and Stretch one's Eyes;Her Aunt, who, from her Earliest Youth,Had kept a Strict Regard for Truth,Attempted to Believe Matilda:The effort very nearly killed her..
|The little minx Matilda|
Have a read - what a terrible fate awaited the little liar. No wonder I couldn't forget it.