"It's obvious," says Francis, later that evening, when I ask him for his advice on getting closer to Sasha. "You have to be more like her."
"What, more like someone so wedded to 80s power dressing that she looks as if she's had shoulder pads surgically implanted. Either that, or she's secretly breeding them on some secret factory farm. If some crazed shoulder pad activist sets them loose, there'll be shoulder pads running amok on every high street in the country, giggling they forcibly accessorise every woman of working age with pussy cat bows and Alice bands."
Francis, who has developed the probably essential yet strangely irritating habit of taking a short power nap whenever I set off on one of my longer verbal riffs, pays scant attention.
"Wake me up when you reach a recognisable sentence structure," he says, and shuts his eyes.
"Tell me what you mean and I'll stop," I say, gently hitting him over the head with the paper weight formerly known as one of my less successful homemade biscuits.
"What I mean is that you should mirror her body language, or echo back some of the phrases she uses. Soon she'll feel an increasing affinity with you, without really knowing why."
"She will?"
"She will."
This phrase echoing business is child's play, I think, heading off to school the next day, armed with a notebook so I can get the hang of some of Sasha's key bon mots. And there's no shortage to choose from.
"It's not a blueprint, but a road map," she informs the staff room while unveiling her staff healthy eating plan, involving the immediate replacement of chocolate biscuits with carrots at break time.
"We're definitely committed to consulting on literacy schemes," she advises a Year one child who tells her how much he hates the Oxford Reading Tree.
"I don't accept that characteristic," she says, when a Year 2 child, in an ill-advised moment, is overhead telling his best friend that she is a 'big poo'.
"I think we're looking at a rebalancing exercise in power and a transformation of the relationship," she tells the cleaners as they complain that, yet again, green jelly has got into the heated lunch trolley works and blown a fuse and if it happens again, they're going to get jobs at Marks and Spencers instead.
"I can't use any of these," I say to Francis. "She'll think I'm mad."
"In that case, get yourself down to 'Shoulder pads r us,'" he says. "Because your wardrobe is going to need a bit of a makeover."
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If you were to start wearing shoulder pads, you might start a whole new retro trend, Omega Mum, such is your influence at least in the blogosphere. We would all look like dapper little she-women and we could possibly learn to talk like Sasha if you keep taking tedious notes and sharing those with us. Then we can all be in denial about actual situations and be blissfully unaware and charge through life like the proverbial bull. Just imagine stepping on people's toes quite painfully every day and being completely unaware of that and having the shoulders to match the attitude. That's sort of like being a successful line backer for an American football team.
Hello? Why are you asking advice on how to get closer to Sasha? That implies that you want to get closer to Sasha. Hello?
Lovely post!
But sometimes the phrase-echoing scheme may backfire: some look for originality in people, and, if found echoing, tend to dismiss them as unintelligent.
And is Sasha a great-granddaughter of Jeeves or something?
It seems to me that Year 2 child had it about right. Sasha is just a big poo, whose every observation should be greeted with nothing more substantial than an icy stare.
Or perhaps the laid-back shrug of the shoulders and a bored "Whatever", would serve even better?
And now look how you have dragged me out of my blogless world to come back, chuntering, here!
"Up with her" as Winston Churchill would have said it "I will not put!"
In honesty I think my daughter would have appreciated Sasha's response with regard to the Oxford Reading Tree; what with all the tinkering with the curriculum I'm surprised it's still given house room.
But, shoulder pads.... I remember them well. Big sigh for Thatcher's Britain.
Sweet I: I think my 'dapper little she-woman' days, though much desired, are a long way behind me, owing to general decay and height issues. But I would like to be in denial about practically everything. I'm going to work on it.
Iota: So I can work out how to ask her what she's doing with Colin. I'm not secretly attracted to her. Blimey, I hope not, anyway.....
Perhaps I'm in denial about that.
N: You sound very well informed about this. I suspect first hand experience. Nice to see you here.
IB: What a treat - so glad you've been enticed away from your editing. Chunter away. It's been missed.
Debio: Nice to see you back. Do I detect sympathy for Sasha?
Just as long as you don't start another shoulder pad fashion. What DID we think we looked like?
Expat Mum: You're so right. It was one of the odder fashion directions. No nostalgia there.
Oh no - no sympathy at all, om. Would hate to give that impression. Just a little nostalgic for both my power-dressing days and my power-mother days.
Now powerless, it would seem....
Debio: I'm intrigued. What did you do in your 'power' days and do you plan a 'return to the 80s' post? Would love to read it if so.
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