The Master plan – ‘social engineering’

I’m not much of a monarchist but I quite fancy the concept of ‘Queen for a Day.’ I think it’s the being ‘waited on hand and foot’ bit, that’s most attractive. There appear to be no suitable candidates for ‘lacky.’ Now that I live in a Republic I’m probably better off being proactive.



I arrange my facial features to attack each one in turn. I start with the easy one and telephone Senior daughter to leave a message on her telephone. She is out of range because she is on a mountain, in the snow, in an igloo, [translation = snow cave] which she made with her pals, but the message should await her, I hope. I keep my choice cheery as I try an recall remedies for frost bite and hypothermia.

I grab the last jar of Marmite and snap on the machine to make toast. I turn to bounce in front of spouse, much to his alarm. I flap a few sheets of paper in front of his nose in a non threatening and tempting manner, “there you go dear! You know all about HTML codes, don't you. Could you please convert my blog archive to ‘titles’ instead of ‘dates’?” I give him a quick flash of the braces and scamper off before he has time to reply. I flick the on switch for the electric kettle as the gas version has died. Preparations progress.

It's time for the next one in the sitting room. I grab the end of the cable and follow it until I find him ‘hidden’ under the trampolene. I yank the plug from the wall, “come along dear, let me see you do 100 bounces!” I make sure it’s a statement not a question. I wonder if it will wear him out or wind him up?


I slip my toes into my Christmas fluff muffs because it is Winter, even in California. I shake out cat food into bowls to entertain the felines and minimize meowing. I track down senior son secreted in the corner behind the sofa covered in twenty or more cushions. I debate whether to extract him or not? Brain waves recall 'never disturb a sleeping baby,' but it seems inappropriate for someone who is 60 lbs, more than seven years of age and awake. I decide that if he is ‘self medicating’ I shouldn’t be the one to disrupt him. I skid back through the kitchen to put the tea pot on one side to brew. I’m still missing one. I hunt.


I find her absorbed in a book. I peek over her shoulder, but my hair tickles her. She brushes me away, engrossed. I dither. Should I snuggle down with her so that we can read together? Can I neglect her needs for additional minutes? I leg it back to the kitchen assured that everyone is safely engaged with something. I take up position to lounge. Queen for 3 minutes will do.