Thursday, 30 April 2009

Inappropriate Giggles. Again.

Spent the most Appalling evening last Friday at the Annual Road Safety and Travelwise Quiz, County Final.
Went with Middle Son and a few other children from our school, plus parents, traipsing down to a nearby seaside town.
Had to arrive at 5.45.
Were told that Final wouldn't start until 7.00pm and that we could leave our children there for Registration while we went for coffee.
Yippee! we said.
Until we left venue. Looked up the road. Looked down the road. Looked round the corner and round the next one.
Middle of nowhere.
Coffee would be difficult.
In the Impossible Bracket, perhaps.
Wandered the grim streets until we found pub.
In desultory sort of way bought drinks and chatted for the hour we had to kill.
Back we went. Dragging our feet and Sulking.
And there the fun Really Started.
Waited for twenty five minutes in 'Foyer'. Hideous decor. Nothing to do.
Began to feel desperate with Boredom and the evening hadn't even started. Read small adverts for Car Valeting and Pizzas on grubby notice board in corner.
Had a mint. Jenny had brought some.
Finally were let in to Assembly Rooms.
Sounds grand?
Walked down aisle to find our seats. Those sort of seats that Snap Shut like a vice if you stand up, trapping tender flesh of thighs.
Sat down firmly in seats. Louise, on my right, began to have Serious Giggle Fit, when Simply Vast Individual sat down in front of her. Her view was Totally Obscured. She had to lean on my knee to see the stage. So she did. For remainder of evening.
A series of Very Dull Women went up on stage and proceeded to talk about Road Safety, Schemes, Partnerships, Leaderships, Forums.
Every one of them thanked all the rest of them. Someone else got up and thanked them all again. Someone else thanked all of us. Someone else thanked all the children.
We were prepared to Eat Our Feet with Boredom.
And then, finally, the Quiz Began!
Huge screens on either side of the theatre had the questions on them.
But, just in case we couldn't read, the Quiz master read them out.
Very. Very. Slowly.
100 children on stage had pads in their hands on which were letters A B C and D. Had to press the right one for each question.
Audience participation Nil.
Watched children pressing pads for an hour and a half.
Best Night Out Ever.
However, Howled with Laughter in Interval.
Quite a Dull Man got up on the stage. With the microphone.
Our bottoms were Numb with sitting so long on Hateful Seats.
We had run out of mints, our only fuel since lunch, and were beginning to find nothing to laugh about.
But then it all changed.
Our Dull Man spoke.
'Well,' he said, smiling Broadly. 'I think that we can all agree that this evening has been a Lot Of Fun.'
We fell apart with the most Appalling Bout Of Giggles.
Tissues were passed up and down the row. Louise on right was beside herself. Tears pouring down her face, she struggled to compose herself for a good ten minutes. Jenny, on my left, did her dirty old man laugh, wheezing and chuckling. Carolyn, at the end, kept us topped up with more giggles as she passed comments down the row, like she was handing out sweets.
Torture it was.
At least fifteen minutes passed before we had all settled back into the Stupor of Boredom once more.
Occasionally one of us would have a mini Laughette as we recalled the Fun.
Finally, finally, the evening was Done.
Lots of people, the same ones, got up on the stage again and thanked us all, and each other once more.
We all found our bags and waited until we could move.
Shock. Horror.
Prize Giving.
Hell would be more interesting.
Row after row of children went up to collect simply Enormous Cups.
Flash! Photos! Hooray!
Needless to say, our children didn't win a Thing.
Some twenty two minutes later, after more thanks and congratulations, we were Allowed to Go.
Just a fifteen minute wait for our children to move from stage to foyer. And then Glorious Home.
Never has the sight of my bed been so appealing.
Never have I been more relieved to see my Husband.
On tucking up Middle Son, three hours after his normal bed time, I asked him,
'So, darling, did you enjoy yourself?'
'Yeah, cool,' he said, as he plugged in his thumb, and turned over on his side.
I left his bedroom speechless.
Sometimes, words do fail me.
Middle son thought that evening of Complete Hell was Cool.
Must take him o the Annual Knitting Competition one day.
See what he thinks of that.

Thursday, 16 April 2009


My Youngest is a little Hero.
Husband and our friend T took four children between them to the local swimming baths. I was Noticeably Absent, having lunch with Eldest and friend.
On coming out of swimming pool and crossing the car park, Youngest and T came across a possy of Youths. Larking about. Smirking. Talking loudly and Watching. Girls, all Snarls and Lipstick, leaning against wall. Two boys were fighting. Not really at it Hammer and Tongs, but looking rather Menacing. One pushed another into the hedge surrounding car park.
Youngest watches this in Total Disgust.
Points at the largest Youth.
'You,' he says Very Loudly and Sternly to the Miscreant, 'Are Not Playing Nicely.'
And with that walks on to the car. Little four year old back tall and straight.
Youths scuff the floor a bit with shoes. And move on.
Youngest. You rock.

Tuesday, 14 April 2009

We Are Not Amused. Grrrrrr.

You haven't been subjected to a Poo Story for quite some time. Not since this.
Here is another one. Need to get it out of system, as it were.
Was wandering about. You know. Holidays.
Tend to wander from room to room thinking about what I should do and not really getting on with anything much.
Had drifted from Daughter's room (neat) to Middle Son's room (not neat) when was Struck by Smell.
Yup. We've been here before, haven't we?
Went, gingerly, to Upstairs Loo. Lid Down. But Very Ominous Smell.
Lifted the seat.
Could not Believe the Carnage.
Sorry! came a little cry.
That tiny word said it all.
A child had, god bless him, tried to Unblock the Loo on his Own.
So... marigolds, buckets and Toilet Duck armed, rolled up my sleeves and got on with the cleaning.
Good job done and all. Left the now Twinkling Bathroom Facility and wandered along to the other loo upstairs. Whistling a Cheery Little Tune (choon, as they say on Myspace) lifted up lid.
Carnage. Again.
This time ROARED.
Heard, again, very small voice.
Sorreee, Mum!
Could NOT BELIEVE that one child could, with One Bottom, have created such Appalling Mess of such Disastrous Proportions in such a Short Time.
Found him, downstairs.
Come here, I instructed, in Stern Tones. He looked a little bit worried.
Next time you need the loo, DO NOT ATTEMPT TO CLEAN IT WITH LOO BRUSH. Yes?
OK, he said. Was only Trying To Help.
I know, I said. But Just Don't.
Are you ill? I asked him, concerned.
Oh,no! he said. Just do Big Poos.
Right, I said. Somewhat Surprised by Frankness.
Went into Downstairs Loo. Peered anxiously into Pan.
Slap Me Vitals.
Was Not Amused. It Was Not Funny At All.
Child came out of kitchen.
'Oh, he said. That wasn't me, it was Dad.'
And wandered off.
Mutter. Mutter. Marigolds. Toilet Duck. Bucket. Loo Brush. Mutter.

Friday, 10 April 2009

Do You Think I'm Sexy?

Youngest and I in car, driving along little lane today. Saw Very Old Lady out walking. Bent Double.
Do you think she is Saxy, asks Youngest.
Saxy? Heart sinking. I see Old Lady in rear view mirror. She is Decidedly Not Saxy, but Hell will freeze over before I say so to my 4 year old.
Do you know what Saxy means? I ask him.
He wrinkles up his little nose in thought.
Nope, he replies, locating and taking a toy car out of his pocket.
Oh, I say.
We drive on.
Mummy, he asks a little while later.
Do you think she's Gay?
Cannot Believe Ears.
Another Poignant Little Pause.
Do you know what Gay means? I ask him.
Again he has a good think.
After a moment or two of Pondering...
Nope, he says.
Finds his other toy car in another pocket.
Oh, I say.
We travel on a mile or so. I point out the lambs on the Downs.
Then I say.
Tell you what. When you don't know what a word means, don't use it. Just use the ones you know.
OK! he says.
Smiles his sweet smile.
And we choose a toffee each and chew contentedly.

Tuesday, 7 April 2009

Bingo Wings

Am delighted. Do not have Bingo Wings.
Might have Flabby Tummy, Saggy Bosoms and Flat Arse But do Not Have Bingo Wings.
(Yes. F.L.A.T Arse.)
Might have Crows Eyes, a Bikini Line to scare off an Orangatan, and a Mono-brow, but Do Not Have Bingo Wings.
Might even have Crepey Armpits.
But Do Not Have Bingo Wings.
Might have Tummy Button that resembles Bagel.
But Don't Have Bingo Wings. (Mothers, try it with yours... Make a ring with your two hands over your navel... and squeeze lightly. There! Gorgeous or what. What, I think.)
Could Go On and On here. Will stop now. Beginning to get Rather Depressed when originally so Pleased.
Found out about Not Having Bingo Wings in bath today. Was wallowing. It being the holidays and all.
You see, while lying ill in bed for Two Days had watched a lot of Toss on Telly. One Thrilling Programme was all about Bingo Wings. And how Michelle Obama doesn't have any. And she's 44. Blah blah blah.
So, while in bath this morning, did the Michelle Obama Arm Wave. Jiggled my arms for all they were worth. Waved to the shampoo and the toothpaste. Waved to the Toilet Duck. Positively dislocated arm waving at Hair Removal Cream and Nail Polish Remover.
Triumph. Firm as a Builder's Bum, they were. (A Fit Builder's Bum. Not those really flabby, white ones. Yeerrch.)
Good, isn't it!
Will now take to wearing sleeveless tops and waving to people.
Hello! I will yell across the playground/car park/fields/parties.
And wave. Repeatedly.
Because you have to Show Off your Advantages. Or Advantage, in my case.
Meanwhile will hide Breasts, Bottom, Armpits, Navel and Eyebrow.
Sleeveless Burka?
Sleeveless Kaftan?
With Visor Cap?
I'll think of something.
(Sleeveless Wet Suit?)

Friday, 3 April 2009

My Friend Persil, take 2

Got a text from my mother today to say,
'Persil home today.'
It's a two hour journey but I think I'd better get over there soon, don't you?!
So pleased that she gets to lie in her own bed again.
So pleased that she can see out of her own window again.
So pleased she can use her own bathroom again.
So thankful.
Thanks, one and all, for all those comments and prayers and thoughts.
Blogging is Good. Really.

Wednesday, 1 April 2009

Unusual Request

Request from Youngest today.
After school. In Playground.
Mummee? he whispered.
What is it? I whispered back.
He whispered for a long time somewhere in the direction of my lower chin.
Can't hear, sweetie, I told him. Whisper into my ear.
Other mothers looking on fondly.
He whispered at some length into my eye.
Stop! I said. Whisper into my ear...
Smile at mothers. Bet they're thinking how sweet he looks.
Youngest finds my ear and Stage Whispers into it,
I have an itch in my bottom. Can you scratch it?
Oh. My. Word.
Smile Gaily at Mothers. Whisper Hissily into Youngest's ear...
Scratch It Yourself.
But Mummee, he insists. You can scratch better than me. You've got big fingers.
Say Briskly to Youngest, Off we go! To the field! Come Along!
He follows behind, scratching bottom in distracted sort of way. Lop-sided sort of walk, presumably to get better hold, as it were.
I can't reach. Please can you scratch it?
And so I do. Scratch, scratch, scratch.
No, you need to scratch UP MY BOTTOM, he roars, fed up with whispering.
I will not scratch up your bottom. YOU MUST SCRATCH UP YOUR OWN BOTTOM.
Realise am in Bad Light.
Not the thing to shout in Playground.
And so we come to a Compromise.
A Wedgie.
And with that he runs off to play with his friends on the field.

Honestly, they don't cover this sort of thing in the Parents Handbook.