Tuesday, May 8


This collage of Madeleine taken at Lego-land in, and I am guessing a bit, autumn 2004 making her under three. Flash forward to today, when she gives me a huge hug and says: "Dad you are the best!". She also tells me matter-of-factly on the school-run not to step on anything round because "it might be poo."

The most recently reviewed book in my book-club is Flaubert's Parrot, by Julian Barnes, chosen after we thoroughly enjoyed M Bovary earlier this year. (Retired Goldman Sachs partner) Erich remarks from the book he has learned that "parrot soup" in French means bread in red wine, that Nabokov supposedly gets the phonetics of the name "Lolita" wrong, that for a while one could rent a closed carriage by asking for a "Bovary", in reference to the famous scene of passion in one such, which we learn may have been quite cramped. "The whole parrot angle, starting with which stuffed version is the one that sat on Flaubert's desk, is not too interesting, really." It may explain why the Peter Seller's Pink Panther gets such an immediate, if mis-understood, guffaw.