[Hold that pose, Pink Daughter!]
"And yet, when I consider my life, day by day, hour by hour, it seems to be composed of a series of pinpricks. Nannies, cooks, the endless drudgery of housekeeping, the nerve-wracking noise and boring repetive conversation of small children ... their absolute incapacity to amuse themselves, their sudden and terrifying illnesses, Alfred's not infrequent bouts of moodiness, his invariable complaints at meals about the pudding, the way he will always use my toothpaste and always squeeze the tube in the middle."
Thus says Fanny, the fictional narrator of 'The Pursuit of Love' by Nancy Mitford. Can it really be the case that people lead such lives? It seems so different from my own experience here in Blogtopia, where my imaginary Nannies and Cooks are loyal treasures, toothpaste is packaged in unsqueezeable dispensers, and the children look up from their Improving Books only to ascertain whether their dearest Mamma would like them to recite a little poem. Mais bien sûr, mes chéries, once I have photographed my artless pie.
I've heard it said that Queen Elizabeth II of England has a gin and tonic at noon every day. How that must help.