It Takes A Fool To Remain Sane

"You've been really overanalyzing a situation, and it's not getting any clearer. You'll feel a lot saner if you stop thinking about it so darn much." No shit sherlock. But my Sagittarian impatience and troubler keeps my brain on full analyze-gear trying to find out what on earth happened to Mr Kangaroo and what is really going on in his bouncy brain.

Thankfully, I am anway fully occupied and distracted here up in the vast North. Spending a week with my parents in the country and my amazing niece and nephew, twins of 7, 5 years, are here too. There is plenty to keep my brain occupied:

-- We organize a Hen-Do up in the childhood town for an old friend during the local festival. Ends up with her interviewing enormously popular lead singer of The Ark Ola Salo backstage and us all being invited to the big backstage afterparty. The Spinster realizes she is in Indie-heaven, dancing away with Mr Salo for three hours throwing kisses to the young cute DJ and telling him he is the best thing that has ever happened to music since Johnny Marr. Eeeeh? Waking up still-drunk at 9.30, after 3 hours sleep, to the sounds of the kids giving a gymnastic exposé to their grandparents. They enter a stage of absolute shock when I tell the stories about their big love Mr Salo and my 91 year old grand-auntie, equally in love with this camp singer, becomes extremely jealous and tops her voice "If I was his age, I would ask him out any time!!!".

-- I put the kids to bed, and minutes after it´s like the 3rd world war has broken loose. I run up to them again wondering what on earth is happening. "he´s in the wardrobe, he is hiding there!!! help help help!!!!!!", screaming in one voice, jumping up and down in their beds. "Who is?" I ask, opening the wardrobe, pretending to look for their imaginative demon "GEORGE BUSH!!" the two 7-year olds yell leaving their baffled Auntie wondering what has happend to the good ol´ghost story.

-- I enthusiastically decide to read my old and original Charlie and the Chocolate Factory book by Roald Dahl for them. Since Auntie, unlike the modern 7-years old, has not seen the film, and it was at least 25 years ago that I read the book, the kids are mad with impatiance and is pre-telling the whole story. This which ends up in Auntie being slightly disturbed and considering punishing the ungrateful gansters with the Economist instead.

-- The big family happily visits the touring Circus that is in town. The juniors get to ride the camels. Auntie wants to go too, but the camel-driver looks at me with obvious suspicion and says that maximum age is 12 and that must have been a couple of decades ago. And a bit... I think silently.

Hence, no time to dwell on the sad fact that Mr Kangaroo appears very absent and rather uninterested in continuing the bliss from our Glasto-weekend. La Kit, the eyewitness of our rather romantic weekend, says she thinks he is a bad communicator with too much on his mind. Maybe she too wants to believe in true feelings and love instead of becoming a cynical. Maybe she is plainly right. In any case, I will now STOP thinking of it. And remain sane. Fool or not.