Only thing to do when little makes sense and all is in a state of collapse, including the misbehaving lungs, is to settle down and let  Agnes Varda direct matters.

On the menu are Le Bonheur and La Pointe Courte.

In a lovely surreal medical complaint my cough is so bad that every time it literally hyena squeaks I get a ferocious pain in left hip! That’s pretty darn spectacular for a cough. I had been feeling decidedly smug having been very healthy for a whole 4 months and bouncing about turning handsprings.  Always when I feel sick my thoughts go to mothers with small children and I commend them from the depth of my tired size 7 leg warmed feet today. Whoever, where-ever, if you are sick and you have a child under five, you have an entire ventricle of my heart in empathy.

Potluckcanuck.blogspot.com has a poignant post on motherhood today. Go over and inhale it. And to the prick who sneered at her, yes go fuck yerself matey.

It’s very discombobulating when people cannot look a child in the eye I find. I am not suggesting everyone has to have them, far from it, but those who cannot be civil and even acknowledge children unsettle me. Strangely prevalent among artists that disposition or indisposition I should say. Makes me appreciate those who do acknowledge my son twice as much, though again it’s really only basic civility.