SELF-REFERENTIAL OBTUSENESS

CHRONIA POLLA!

You know how they list the top Tops of the Year - cool muzak, cool people (Pope Francis best dressed, how's about that, guys and gals?), catchiest phrases, blah blah?

My vote in the San Luca foxhole goes to the sanity-saving 'self-referential obtuseness' line from clever Salley Vickers' Foreword to the pb of Edith Wharton's Touchstone. 

Life-saver and points scorer nonpareil in re the April 2007 theft of my personal bling. I kept my powder dry, using it at dinner parties and in my world-wide blog for family and fops. Finally, when challenged, I showed them to devastating effect the actual quote [see above].

Gardenry visit

When rubbing thieves' snouts in the excrement of their own filcherie, it helps to hold back a bit, as if to 'play fair'. I'd comment meekly that, to be fair, the double theft was only 80% downright thievery of the most despicable, the remaining 20% being helpless unknowing self-referentiality. Bang! Wallop!! Boot in.

Clever Salley's [note spelling] line allowed me to ram home the point that the theft was nothing new or clever but a known syndrome for a grubby little deed.

Do you know Vickers? One of my favourite writers: most readers know her for Miss Garnet's Angel but my jewel is Instances of the Number 3, hotly followed by Where Three Roads Meet, a joy to read and very very funny.  

Back to Three Instances, I once caught a guest slipping my battered belovèd copy into their poche and pounced: 

"There's enough fronking 'borrowing' goes on in this house without outsiders adding to the ranks. Give it back! And I've marked your card for any future visits: bags checked at the door." 

Loud and angry enough for maman to hear.

Memento ~ apart from marking the 'self-referential' passage in the book to catch my mother's eye, I clipped out a telling passage from the Speccie and taped it to the inside back flap of the Wharton for ditto effect.

It was no use having the screaming matches but she'd absent-mindedly take to bed anything I carelessly left out, so these 'time-bombs' served an equal purpose.

Mouths of Babes: when my adored and feisty Cost-centre #2 younger daughter came out for a wonderful 'bonding' vacation, she of course found herself in an atmosphere of thieving ~ not only of prized property but truth, time, respect, and self-esteem ~ and asked me in her delightful American way,

"So, is this what you guys do? Like take each others' stuff and just not give it back?" Like.

Readers know I like to shove in a bit music down the line. Percy Sledge nailed it for this posting.

San Luca

In the night - Working it out, I reckoned my jewel box was lifted around 01.00hrs as my mother packed for Italy. Ever after, whenever I heard shuffling and stealthy sounds from the 'thief alley' adjoining walk-in closet, I'd burst in under the pretense of checking that my preciousest belongings were still there.

Great fun: naturally, my mother was startled and reacted shifty and scared:

"For heaven's sake! Who's like to be burgling us now?"

I delivered the only logical reply:

"Well, it's the same time and, come to think of it, the exact same place as a previous serious snaffling took place."  

No answer to that. B'boum.

Loipon, it's good to greet the New Year with a clean slate, and I know how many friends and family members monitor this blog.

Once when I was pinning maman down to a 'recap' of the filchery I made the mistake of quoting what 'everyone' else thought of the double theft.

"Who everyone?"

'OK, here's a simple mnemonic to remember for future grillings: the 4 Gs'

• God
• Garden
• Grub
• Girls

The church crowd, before and after the Sunday services * Gardenry visitors and their chatter * Dinner parties, when I can actually show them Thief Alley where it was all perpetrated * and whenever anyone asked about my girls, cue to update them on any explanation/excuses for the thieving.

Phone Bugs ~ story to come.

Come to think of it, I need start a new page for the Phone-bugs escapades. Many transcripts/sound-bites/ comments/reviews from all and sundry.

Chronia polla, anyway.