Social Schedule

Update (May 31): Cancel my appeal below. Hilary is feeling too poorly for new flatmates at this time. When she is feeling better, she will go back to finding a flatmate, but she says she wants someone who is planning to live and work in Italy for at least a year. What she wants right now is a nice female friend to hang out. Thus, I'm going myself in June. I see us on the beach under our straw hats, Hilary carping about JP2 and me going so far as to say I can never remember what the Luminous Mysteries are.

Thanks to all the kind-hearted applicants.

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Quite apart from struggling with my computer, which will post to Seraphic Singles but not, any more, to Seraphic Goes to Scotland, I've had a busy fin-de-semaine, complete with tea party, Clan MacAmbrose cocktail party, babysitting the Youngest Parishioner, Schola reunion dinner party and now tonight's dinner party.

As it seemed imprudent and rude to blog on the Clan MacAmbrose cocktail party, I wrote it all up as an email to my mother and sent it to her instead.

Babysitting the Youngest Parishioner was equally absorbing. I'm not sure what Zen is, but I think Zen might have something to do with giving up any concept of time when feeding infants tomato-pasta-and-legumes. The YP gazed at me, he looked coy, he shook his head No, he gazed at me some more, and after galaxies had born, expanded and died, he opened his mouth to the spoon. Repeat.

We had a very good time playing with his toys. Tops are very interesting objects. I might buy one just for me.

I do not remember very much about the Schola reunion party except that it included very tanned scholars, many photographs of Spain and a man singing about a mouse who fell in love with an elephant. I hinted madly that the scholar who draws should illustrate the bodis-riper, but according to B.A. I was so subtle that I was actually rude. Alas.

Today I went to Confession, bought several tons of chicken thighs and made carrot soup. Soon I will leap up and with the aid of my cosmetic bag try to approximate the current beauty standard of Britain Today.

I hope to write more bodis-riper on Monday, so stay tuned.

By the way, Hilary White keeps mentioning how bored she is and how living alone is driving her mad. Now I know there are legions of young women out there who are sad they never got a chance to go to India and take care of a lot of sick people with Mother Teresa. Well, here is something just as holy and challenging: going to Italy to be Hilary White's flatmate.

Apart from storing up treasure in heaven, there are some serious benefits to being Hilary White's flatmate. First, it is a lovely flat. I stayed in it, so I know. Second, it is one block away from the Mediterranean. Who would not want to live by the Mediterranean? Third, it is one hour's direct train ride to Rome. Who would not want to live an hour outside Rome? I mean, Rome. Hello. Fourth, Hilary has a marvellous, attention-seeking, affectionate cat. Fifth, Hilary has trad/Trid/conservative compatable views. If you enjoy hearing people complain about the way the Church was governed between the death of John XXIII and the election of Benedict XVI, you will love being Hilary's roommate.

The one caveat is that Hilary hates "God-talk." She will no doubt sign on to mention that she is also middle-aged and cranky. However, you can't really tell that she is middle-aged because she has excellent skin, thanks to genes and constant application of 45 SPF sunscreen.

If you are a grad student feeling isolated as you write your doctoral thesis, what you no doubt need is to ship yourself and your books to Italy to be Hilary's flatmate. I myself would rush over to Italy to be Hilary's flatmate in a heartbeat, but my husband would object. Frankly, I think there is a lot of comedy to be milked from the complaint "My wife left me for Hilary White," but he doesn't think so.

If you would like to apply to be Hilary's patient, kind, understandingfemale flatmate, please let me or Hilary know.