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I don’t know if there’s any need for Harvey Weinstein to go to rehab for sex addiction and not just because he clearly isn’t a sex addict. But he’s lost his power and his influence and probably soon a lot of his money, which means he no longer has the leverage that allowed him to harass, bully and cajole people into letting him (it seems) wank on or near them or into any available vegetation.
He will only be able to have sex with pot plants from now on, which by the sounds of it, might suit him quite well.
We were a bit more in control of things today. We even managed an afternoon walk as a family up to the local tea shop for a late lunch in the balmy mid-October sunshine. The dog was reasonably well-behaved, the baby was asleep and his sister was collecting pebbles for everyone. For a wonderful hour or so life seemed blissful and easy. Maybe we can actually do this.
But contentment is only meant to be temporary. And chaos will certainly be the state of affairs for the next twenty years/until my death, whichever comes soonest.
The morning had been more of a struggle, as Phoebe and me headed out for a swimming lesson. It was only when were five minutes from the pool that we found out the lessons had been cancelled because a baby had been sick in the water. Phoebe had been looking forward to swimming and I already had my trunks on under my trousers, so it was sad for us both. Phoebe had seen Ernie being sick yesterday, so I was able to explain it all quite easily. And Phoebe kept repeating the story for the rest of the day.
We went to the shops instead. A huge guy walked past us to see a ticket being put on his van, parked in a taxi rank, by a tiny little traffic warden who scuttled away like a crab as he approached. “Oh Shit!†he bellowed down the street. Phoebe wanted to know why he was shouting so I tried to explain it, saying he’d been naughty and got a ticket. So now she had two stories, the baby sick and the ticket. And luckily she chose to repeat the word ticket rather than the word the man was shouting. Not that she doesn’t get to hear language like that at home quite regularly. I am surprised in fact that she hasn’t dropped any of the big swear words yet. It can only be a matter of time and is bound to first happen at some socially awkward occasion, like in front of the vicar at the Sunday service (though we’d have to go to church at some point for that to happen). It’s important she learns how to swear properly. I have made my living from it. And she will follow her dad into the business of cocksmithery.
I like being able to explain stuff to my daughter now. And like it even more when she repeats it all. But we have to watch out: she understands more than we realise and a casual mildly critical comment about a relation of friend might get repeated to them now. It’s interesting to get dobbed in by someone who is doing it out of total innocence and with no agenda. Soon enough there will be side and self-interest involved, but for now she’s just relating the stuff she’s seen and heard and though that’s going to be occasionally embarrassing for us, I do like it.
