Bernard likes to throw things. Even after I have told him not to. Twice.

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We are having spaghetti bolognese for tea. It’s a particularly good one, and Bernard is stuffing it down his neck with haste and little tidiness. He is dropping quite a lot of it.

Oh NO! A gettibolonay is on the floor!

This is a companion piece to a similarly-themed article on Pete’s site which, all things being equal, should be published at roughly the same time.

Dodgy indeed; I have chosen, this week, to assess the songs in terms of the grammar, pronounciation, and justification for the existence of the french lyrics. Who shall win? Oh the suspense.

Denis – Blondie
Blondie went through a phase of inexplicably pretending to be a bit french. This song is irritating as hell, but I really like Sunday Girl, and am surprised that wasn’t on the list.
Grammar: 4
Pron: 2
Justification: 4 (If we assume that Denis is french, then there is reason to sing to him in his own language. Whatever.

Le Freak – Chic
Terribly dull song.
Grammar: 3 (All they say is “c’est chic le freak.” It’s not hard)
Pron: 3
Justification: 1

Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick – Ian Dury & The Blockheads
I once met Ian Dury at Heathrow Airport. I was ten. He gave me his autograph but I lost it.
Grammar: 3
Pron: 1
Justification: 1

I’m Not Scared – Eighth Wonder
Another song that does not rock my world.
Grammar: 5
Pron: 5
Justification: 1

Je Ne Sais Pas Pourquoi – Kylie Minogue
Grammar: 5
Pron: 4
Justification: 2

Joe Le Taxi – Vanessa Paradis
I bought this single. But only because I had a record voucher about to expire, and there was nothing else in the charts that week.
Grammar: 5
Pron: 5
Justification: 4

Lady Marmalade – Labelle
I quite liked this for a while, but it no longer moves me.
Grammar: 4 (made up words in a french accent do not count)
Pron: 3
Justification: 4

Michelle – The Beatles
My first boyfriend loved this song. He sung the french lines thusly: Sonky monky sonky monky sonk without a shred of irony.
Grammar: 4
Pron: 2
Justification: 4

Psycho Killer – Talking Heads
My favourite song of the week.
Grammar: 4
Pron: 3
Justification: 0

Si Si Je Suis Un Rock Star – Bill Wyman
Grammar: 3
Pron: 1
Justification: 4

So the winner is, unsurprisingly, the french bird.

Most days, Bernard’s first words upon waking are Ont some milk. Some days they are hayo mama. Some days they are There’s Maisy!

I always get really grumpy with him when it’s time to take him downstairs to Daddy, anytime from 6.29 onwards, or earlier if it’s already been a long day by that time. Bernard doesn’t care that all I want is for him to put his dressing gown on, and get out of my way as I dash back into bed for my one hour uninterrupted bliss. I am holding him back from learning to do up buttons, because I will not let him practice on his dressing gown at that time of day.

Pete makes the coffee and I toast the bagels or dish out the weetabix. Pete steams the milk for my latte and grumbles because it is usually not to his satisfaction. A bit like my mum when she makes perfect gravy, the old-fashioned way in the roasting tin: it’s too pale, she says, missing the point.

Bernard swings his legs as he eats his breakfast, kicking both parents simultaneously in the knees. We dislike this and snap at him. After breakfast he carries his bowl through to the kitchen and Pete takes him upstairs to brush his teeth. If this procedure isn’t carried out in that order, then everything falls apart. If the small boy gets the idea that this might be some sort of playtime, then we have to increase the level of cajolement beyond our level of comfort.

If one parent is leaving for the day, Bernard watches from his bedroom window, waving and blowing kisses. Sometimes when Pete leaves, he gets quite upset and wants to go too. Not so much when I leave, probably because Pete is freer with the chocolate biscuits than I am.

Getting dressed is almost always a negotiation. There are a few tricks but you never know which one will work, so you have to go through a repertoire of songs, a string of threats and persuasions, storm out of the room until you’re ready to co-operate! etc etc. He always ends up dressed, so why does he not learn that it would be so much better just to do it the first time? Sigh.

And then we are launched upon the day, having already been up for at least three hours.

Thou shalt have an everlasting
Monday and stand in the moon.

The moon’s man stands in his shell,
Bent under a bundle
Of sticks. The light falls chalk and cold
Upon our bedspread.
His teeth are chattering among the leprous
Peaks and craters of those extinct volcanoes.

He also against black frost
Would pick sticks, would not rest
Until his own lit room outshone
Sunday’s ghost of sun;
Now works his hell of Mondays in the moon’s ball,
Fireless, seven chill seas chained to his ankle.