Prickly pear

The husband has a reunion of sorts with friends-from-university this evening in Maastricht, and will sleep at a wealthy alpha-male-type friend's apartment in a chateau.
The friends are all wealthy captains of industry (but lead infinitely unexciting lives).


I'm so sick of money and the supposed worth it assigns to your life.
Lots of money = worthwhile person; poor sod = not much use to anybody.
Sigh.

I once had the great honour to hold a man's hand as he lay dying on the pavement after being hit by a car.
We were in a restaurant for a friend's birthday, and ran out when we heard the car slamming this man down (and then driving off).
He died there as I held his hand. 
Understandably, I was upset and wanted to go home - no more party spirit in me - when a no-longer-my-friend turned to me and told me it was better that way, that this man had no money (he was a car guard - often the down-on-their-luck people in South Africa, you pay them a small fee to look after your car).
As if that should make a difference. 
I never saw the ' friend' again, thank goodness.
My disappointment in her was so great, I just couldn't stand the sight of her again.
But she did me a great service in retrospect.
I learned something valuable about being alive, about real friendships and the value I attach to life.  

Back to the now, Son#2 vomitted us out of bed this morning, some stomach bug has him lying around and feeling awful.
As I write, he's lying on my bed watching Toy Story for the gazillionth time, tucked up in a blanket.  
Son#1 is in summer gear, cycling around the village gathering his friends in shorts and t-shirt.
Strange child.


I'm hoping I'll be nice until evening draws us closer to our beds again.
I seem to have energy for lots of things today, but cleaning up and looking after the kids aren't on my list.