Wow. I just re-read that post from last Monday. Something I clearly ought to have done before clicking "publish" and wandering off to bed with a cup of tea and a book. So apologies, faithful readers. My children are infatuated with Red Dwarf, not Red Dward (although they would probably watch that too, given the chance) and SB acquired DVDs of said series, not videos. The fact that I unconsciously chose that archaic word, redolent of wooden-sided Betamax machines the size of chest freezers, betrays my age I think.
Writing "that" instead of "than" is just one of those typos to which super-fast touch typists like my good self (!) are prone. I used to have a super speedy, very efficient secretary who could not for the life of her type the word "accountant". She knew how to spell it but her fingers always betrayed her, rearranging the letters into a word which, were I to type it out now........well, let's just say the Google hits would probably be numerous and disturbing. Those of you who are any good at anagrams will be ahead of me.
On the topic of good typos (can you tell I am on my own this evening? Husband is in Prague on business and I am therefore totally free to meander aimlessly about on the internet. My brain is in shuffle mode). Where was I? Oh yes, I saw a good one the other day. A very pompous, righteously indignant letter written by a solicitor (and to our shame, the legal profession are very VERY good at pompous and self-righteous) pointing out that none of the problems we had highlighted were his fault and were ALL due to procedural errors arising elsewhere. Except he had accidentally missed out the first "i" in arising. Or maybe it wasn't an accident and I am not giving him credit for the subtlety of his scorn. Anyway it made me snort bits of oatcake at my computer screen. I am pretty easily amused.
What else? The lady we are going to stay with when we go to Nova Scotia in June very kindly e-mailed me to warn me that the traffic laws have been tightened a bit and you now need to drive with your headlights on even in daylight and you can't use a mobile phone while driving. Very thoughtful of her and I am pleased that I am now slightly less likely to be arrested en route from Halifax to Liverpool come the summer. My habit of gazing out of the window at the scenery instead of watching the road will doubtless remain.
Mummy Dearest suggested I should post a picture of my house and garden to demonstrate what a Scottish house and garden look like. I might consider doing this, if only to provide an interesting counterpoint to Isabelle's beautiful photos of her house and garden. Sort of yin and yang thing. To balance her beautiful knick knacks and kitties, you can see my collection of vintage cobwebs, Lego-textured carpet and slightly moth-eaten cat with the bald patch where she has been scratching again. And to compare with her GORGEOUS garden you can have a glimpse of the half-butchered buddleia that Just. Won't. Die., the fine crop of nettles beginning to show in the back garden and my pot of transplanted mint.
Truth be told, I am in fact quite proud of the mint. After I had painstakingly dug it out of the herb garden (and I am not naive enough to believe I have got it all - just all of it I could see) and potted it in my big terracotta pot, it looked deid. Floppy and limp, it draped itself over the pot, trailing on the ground like the consumptive heroine of a 19th century romance. I really thought I had killed it but lo! it has sprung back and is looking positively perky! My reputation as the Hannibal Lecter of the plant world may be in danger.
Last but not least I was sorry to hear of the death yesterday of Sir Clement Freud. My family are all great fans of "Just a Minute" on Radio 4 and he was the consummate player of the game (although Paul Merton is catching up fast). Both of the boys were also quite sad when they heard. Almost as sad as they were when Humphrey Littleton died (we also love "I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue"). What was also quite a shame, I think, was that on the news they talked about Sir Clement's varied career as an MP, broadcaster, food critic etc. They never once mentioned those 1970s adverts for Minced Morsels dog food, which is what I really remember him for. As a child I used to firmly believe he was a sort of human/bloodhound hybrid and that he ate the Minced Morsels.
On that note, I had better stop or I will witter on here all night. I am going to get something to eat and then settle down in the peace and quiet with my book (one of Humphrey Littleton's, coincidentally!) Night all.