President Trump has commenced his re election campaign in anticipation of next year’s presidential elections.
I cannot believe that he will have been in power for an entire term already.
My husband and I were in NYC just before the elections in 2016 and I remember a gentleman who worked at the top of the Rockefeller Centre telling us that he’d been astounded by the UK’s Brexit vote earlier that year. He hoped the same did not happen with the presidential elections.
It will be fascinating to see which way America votes and how happy they have been with Trump. That’s the difference between him and Brexit – you get to vote again a few years later.
Gnashing my teeth in anger due to pure cyberspace rage
The internet is a many splendoured thing but it is also a source of extreme fury sometimes.
Having spent a couple of hours online customizing a gift, I was close to gnashing my teeth down to stumps in frustration this week.
You customize the order, you place the order, you are then asked to register, then re-directed to emails to confirm registration, you then have to change passwords but none of them has the required 20 capitals, five special symbols and MI5-secret style number of characters just to LOG THE HELL ON.
Then once you’re back in, you’ve lost your order. Where in the name of cyber space is it? How many places can the order go to? Argh.
Look out world I now have a teenager on my hands
Before you have children you think to yourself, ‘mine would never do that’, as you observe the stranger’s child picking the snot that’s encrusted around its nostrils and then treating it as a tasty morsel.
‘Nor that’, to the teenager who looks miserable as sin while on the much-maligned Family Trip Out.
And then, if you have children, you go through all of the above and then some.
The humiliations are myriad and will ensure that any pre-offspring smugness that you once indulged in about your imaginary children will be urinated, quite literally, all over.
You find your children move swiftly through various stages of development, never quite giving you time to adjust before they’ve lurched onto the next.
The speech skills that you’ve been so desperate for them to commence will soon be both an instrument of humiliation and extreme frustration, because they simply will not stop.
Nor will the majority of it be remotely appropriate. Asking strangers, ‘are you man… or lady?’ while cocking her little head to one side, was a favourite of my eldest daughter.
These days she is firmly in the teenage phase. This week, she succeeded in locking herself out of the house despite knowing full well what a key is for.
I had left the house for a run and was almost in Cosham before I received the plaintive call to inform me of her self-inflicted plight.
I felt quite heroic belting back across the miles, lungs on fire, before rounding the corner into our road and waving in a manner that felt like a winner but most likely resembled someone who’d been sat on their hand until it went dead and just flopped about in the air.
My feelings over heroism evaporated more the closer that I got to her – she hadn’t even looked up from her phone and merely observed me as a sweaty means to an end as I approached.
Had any of her mates been around then I’d be surprised if she even admitted knowing me, let alone given me the little starfish-handed wave of many toddler moons ago.