not quite myself recently

Were I about twice my age I'd probably consider a sign of my current inability to write legibly in longhand a sign of the onset of some sort of age-related cognitive disorder. As it is it's more probably just ongoing tiredness, concentrational micro-lapses and lack of practise but it has occasionally gone beyond mere illegibility and has featured actual misspellings just from moving the pen in entirely the wrong direction, especially in the notes I've made in meetings over the past couple of weeks. Whilst I'd also like the ability to read and remember things back I'll have to definitely get round to making a little bit of time to improve my writing (or, at the very least, slowing the rate of atrophy) in order to aid the development of writing-skills in the wingpiglet in future years.

Despite my mistake of assuming that the naans would be less chewy than they were the last time I tried them the mosque was pleasant as always at lunch (even with the tiresome addition of festival-people wandering around trying to appear as if they were trying to look as if they ought to have been recognised, some of whom had hairstyles and sunglasses which went beyond mere utility). We were fortunately only once lightly looked at by some overdressed people who wanted the space they evidently thought we (with our emptied plates) ought to have long ago vacated and, though I exchanged no more than forty words with him, it was pleasant to see people never previously seen at mosque lunches due to the inconvenient amount of sea between the mosque kitchen and their workplace and also someone theoretically capable of attending mosque lunches but who has never happened to be at one before.

As they deemed themselves too tired to drive home today we shall host Nicky's parents for one more sleep before they go back home. I thus witnessed a rare chance to observe Nicky's dad's dishwashing modus operandi in operandi. It is an accepted fact that when using mugs for whom Nicky's dad has borne the responsibility of cleansing a pre-use inspection for lingering tea stains is usually required as they tend to drink more tea than coffee and have a dishwasher, which allows the tea to firmly set prior to attempts to wash it off. Earlier in their visit it seems that Nicky's dad had had a go at pretending to wash some of the cutlery, resulting in a wooden spoon covered in beans stuck back in the thing we keep wooden spoons in. When I popped to the kitchen to clean my flask he trundled in to create some sort of weird ginger-beer-based toddy for his current cold, starting off by lifting a glass out of the sink (which I'd just noticed contained some unidentified greenish oily droplets), swishing the glass about in order to splatter the clean stuff on the drainer with dishwater then placing the glass on the drainer next to the formerly-clean stuff. Nicky once caught him putting a glass back in the cupboard without even rinsing it so even half-heartedly rinsing is sort of an improvement.

As for the greenish stuff aiding him in his unhygienic quest, the other day Nicky had observed the presence of an unidentified oily substance infesting the washing-up bowl; it is reasonably safe to assume that Nicky's dad was the agent of introduction of this substance even if the source and mechanism was not immediately apparent, though it could very easily have been the weird concoction of mixed oils he has recently taken to applying to bits of himself for no discernable reason. Despite our current washing-up liquid being both pink and amphipathic rather than greenish and lipidinous he attempted to blame it but has now at least been caught and might hopefully not try the same thing again.