Things ain't what they used to be

I used to have an outstanding vocabulary. "That's obscure," I would mutter scornfully. "You're allowing yourself to get bogged down by minutaie," I would advise. "I am not a fan of these quotidian mundanities."

But now, in the words of the Pet Shop Boys, I'm not sure why, I'm not sure how - words no longer want to fit my mouth. For someone who makes their living off them, it's an awkward situation. Here are some of the blunders that have occurred during the past few days:

• There we were, driving along, when a short-sighted (myopic) and foul-tempered (cantankerous) woman turned into our lane, almost on top of our car. "Oh my G-d James, we are about to have an affair," I yelled. Needless to say, he was grateful for the warning. I confess this isn't the first time I have made this particular error. Back in varsity, only narrowly escaping being run over while crossing a road, I shouted out, "Oh heavens we're being mowed down by a homocidal psychopath." At least that's what I wanted to shout out. My brain, caught in the frenzy of the moment, made a quick contraction and instead issued me with "Oh heavens, we're being mowed down by a homeopath."
• Again, on the weekend, watching as Leya happily fashioned a cone out of a tissue and munched on it, taking small yet regular bites, I tried a spot of discipline. "Leya, you cannot eat that tissue as you would if you were snacking on a bunch of flowers," I instructed.
• This last one is not so much a verbal failing as a moment of pure WTF. I have developed a habit of passing out in Leya's feeding chair while trying to entice her back to sleep. Obviously, there inevitably comes a moment when I revive, wonder why I am sleeping on a chair, and stagger back to my bed. But this is where my world becomes a surreal twilight where nothing can be trusted. Once back in bed, I will awaken at the sound of the next cry, wondering where on earth I am. It's the kind of sensation I imagine heroines in Enid Blyton and Nancy Drew books to have suffered a lot, for some reason; as I come to, I can almost picture a common sensical, lightly accented British voice saying perkily, "When she opened her eyes, Lisa had no idea where she was." Sometimes, things get very spooky. Obviously, when I am on the chair, Leya is cuddled in my arms. Nine times out of ten, when I go back to bed, I cuddle James. The other day, I woke up with James in my arms, completely confounded, wondering how on earth Leya had become so large and hairy in a matter of hours.