There! I’ve said it. Lila and JOEY. Or, as she says, ‘Doey’, which cracks me up every time and I have to remember not to call him that myself or his mum gets upset that YOU DON’T ENCOURAGE SPEECH MISTAKES! even when you really love them and wish them entrenched into common law. I’m not allowed to call her ‘Yiya’ either, much to my eternal sorrow. Though following rules has never been my strong suit.

But Joey/Doey is a little star. He had his circumcision and barely batted an eyelid. I didn’t either. I was strong. I was brave. Cold and unemotional. And in another room. Me and his mum. Hiding. Shaking. And then it was over and we ate bagels and Danish pastries, according to the laws of Abraham, Moses and Daniels. (NW11 joke.) As it is written. Joey/Doey is given his first taste of blessing wine, which he loved and made him forget any temporary ‘discomfort’ from his recent brutality. But then we all ignored him so we could get to the front of the buffet.

And it was emotional. We were all emotional. Nothing to do with a stale bagel or anything important like that, but it is indeed a wonderful thing. The continuation of a bond between Abraham, God and me. And Doey. Even to a unrelenting unbeliever, it holds a significance that just can’t be denied. And made all the stronger by the procedure going so well and the baby so good about it. It’s a continuation that is (now its over) a truly wonderful cultural imperative.

But you can’t live on penis talk alone. Even though I try. Because there’s still a world out there that’s not in a great place. And by ‘out there’ I’m looking only as far as my back garden. Our world. Britain.

And on Question Time last night they were discussing whether a general election would be the best thing to have, rather than get 150,000 unknown old crusties (the members of the Conservative Party who are the only ones to elect the new leader) with an average age of 57, to basically impose their own preferred Prime Minister on the nation. Which is precisely what’s going to happen. It’s also the way it always happens, so there’s no goalpost shifting going on. And a general election would do nothing to solve the problem. It would shift the Tories’ horrendously uncertain leave/remain arguments to the same but with a Labour flag. (God fucking forbid!!!) So we’ll just have to see what new leader looks like and sounds like. Let’s just hope its not the Blonde.

Happy Friday

A xxxx