Friday, 14 December 2007

Modem Manners.

This week my children came home with another rain forest worth of paperwork from school - this time it was ICT codes of conduct to sign, so they learn to use the school intranet responsibly.  It all seemed a bit nannyish, until a few days later when I read someone's blog, and it occurred to me that some grown ups ought to watch what they type.

To most of us writing a blog ought to be complete fact, or a total work of fiction - when you start muddying the waters of truth with too much artistic licence you’re on thin ice.
This is an even more risky game when you attempt to get cheap laughs at a friends expense.

So, as you can imagine, I was really disappointed to see that yet again, a blogging friend of a friend had done just that.

You know, life is funny enough, and if you actually possess a sense of humour, the irony of some situations is enough to make your sides ache, it doesn’t require any ‘tweaking’.

Tuesday, 4 December 2007

Cashmere Tennis Balls.

My Husband thinks I want cashmere tennis balls for Christmas! The reason he believes this, is not because I have been princessy and requested such a bizarre item, but is actually a result of him NOT listening.

How is it that such clever men manage to fail so miserably at listening? Apparently he tells me that it isn't the listening itself that is a problem, I am reliably informed that the actual problem is me - speaking. He probably thinks I'm whining, and before analysing the content switches off!

A great friend of mine was recently given a most off target present - she asked for Chanel nail polish, and was given a radio - just how did that happen?....and she has a fabulous husband who is intelligent, kind etc., etc. ( I'm not listing any more of his many virtues - but if even he can get it wrong, there is no hope for the rest of them).

I cross examined my own dear Husband on this the other night - he says that husbands can't process girlie information - so Chanel rouge noir, although a simple and undemanding request, could not be processed, as it didn't include any of the following - Hedge trimmer, ride on mower or plasma screen telly.

Anyway, the Husband concluded firmly, make up counters are a male no fly zone - those make up girls are allegedly too frightening, especially when they napalm scent at unwary husbands who are a long way out of their comfort zone.

When I dared to suggest, that a slight improvement in listening would result in a huge increase in appreciation from the recipient, I was told this was quite impossible, men just ARE selectively deaf. He then informed me that if they enjoyed shopping, they would not be our husbands, as they would in fact be gay!

So is it true? Do gay men shop better than straight ones? Having worked in an industry which had few men, nearly all of whom were gay, I have to give this idea house room - they do have fabulous taste and do understand cut, colour etc. But the question remains - would even these perfect shoppers listen... I doubt it.

So, lets face it, if you don't want to end up with cashmere tennis balls, do what my friend and I did - and buy your own Christmas gift!

Happy Shopping!

Wednesday, 28 November 2007


I went out this evening to support a friend - I left the children in the care of their father...

...I returned to a calm and quiet house (fairly unusual) to discover that they had watched ‘Dog Borstal’ before going to bed late (fabulous, getting them up for school in the morning will be fantastic fun).

I groaned on learning this - “what time did they go to bed?”

LATE, it transpired, but the Husband looked exceptionally smug, apparently he had used the 'Dog Borstal' techinques on his offspring to secure a quiet and controlled bedtime - fortunately he used sultanas in lieu of dog biscuits.

Don’t laugh - it jolly well worked.

Next time someone we know gives birth, I am going to send them a copy of ‘Its me or the Dog’!

Thursday, 22 November 2007

Being Foxed.

A few weeks ago I gave you the saga of the mice, which quite frankly was bad enough, now a bigger, hairier problem has emerged from the undergrowth...

A fox! Not a rustic fox, but a townie invader!

Lots of us townies have escaped to the country, but unlike us, this unwelcome visitor has evil intentions. Apparently 130 town foxs have been dumped here this year - which really begs the question WHY?

We are really lucky and have adorable neighbours, now minus their adorable chickens, and I fear Foxy has it’s eye on our hens for his next feast.

This fox is something else, it waits on our drive to jump out on the children, and saunters through the garden as if he pays the mortgage - even the dog is too frightened to go out! (Ok, so the dog isn’t what one could call substantial, but she’s game!). Today the cat came home with holes in her head - just the right size for fox fangs!

So in these days of political correctness, what do you do when when Mister Fox is dumped on your doorstep?

I don’t believe in hunting, so it may sound two faced to say that Foxy’s got to go ....

....but here we are, utterly bloodthirsty, we won’t be content until foxy is no more...

But how? Foxes aren’t labelled cunning for nothing - answers in brown envelopes please!

Sunday, 18 November 2007

Hostess with the most...

The Husband and I went to the most fabulous party last night, my dearest friend Lady B celebrated her 40th Birthday in great style.
The invitation came with the dress code "Vintage Glamour" and the guests had obviously all relished this opportunity to shun 'casual'.
Everyone looked quite fabulous, and certainly there were very glamorous Gals, many of these enchanting creatures wore corsets.
Some of these ladies were rather more endowed than others in the chest department, prompting one male guest to comment - "Mmmmm, I was trying to be vegetarian".

Another chap was so overwhelmed by the glamour of a female guest that he insisted on swapping outfits with her! I cannot pretend that this was the prettiest sight, and thankfully the sweet natured gal in question did manage to reclaim her gown.

The Champagne flowed, the music delighted and every guest clamoured for the Hostess to produce another weekend!

All of which left me thinking, that whilst us mummies often feel that we fall far short of yummydom, it IS possible for us to look fabulous and stage manage the most perfect event for all those we love.

And to Lady B, we award you first class honours in Entertaining - "Darling, you were fabulous"!

Sunday, 4 November 2007

Chainsaw Massacre.

I accept that living in the country, I shouldn’t bat an eyelid at the squirrels, spiders and come to that the bats. In fact in the last 9 months, since we have move to ‘the sticks’ I have felt that I have shown great courage, not squeeling at the various beasties that have invaded my home.

I even managed to re-arrange my face to ‘relaxed’ setting when the Husband assasinated a king sized squirrel who was attempting to replace said Husband as Alpha male chez nous.
I do find it hard however, to not revert to my townie roots when there is a chainsaw massacre in my Kitchen.
Finding mouse poo in my cupboard wasn’t really what I envisaged in our new country bliss, still bliss to hiss, it can happen in the blink of my eye!

The husband had strategically positioned traps in the cupboard - new ones which actually work (the old metal variety had simply been providing the mice with a safe and regular supply of organic parmesan or home made sponge cake). The new traps were doing very well, and the Husband was doing an excellent job of removing the corpses....until last night.

I couldn’t sleep, and padded downstairs to huddle next to the Aga for a cup of tea, just at the moment that you take that fabulous first relaxing sip of comforting tea, I heard a loud clunck followed by ghastly scrabbling noises. With one eye shut, and the other only half open I had a squint inside. Ugh, worst expectation was realised - a tortured wee beastie - a mouse with it’s hind leg caught in the trap - After quickly thinking about various senarios I took the cowards way out and put the Cat in charge. I then shut the Kitchen door and escaped back to bed.

The Husband wondered what had occured during the night - blood splattered everywhere, and dismembered body parts. He even showed uncharacteristic thoughtfulness by placing the blood splattered Kitchen rug in the washing machine - it MUST have been bad.

I now can’t look the Cat in the face - but I am just as guilty as he....maybe mouse poo in your cornflakes isn’t such an issue after all?

Thursday, 1 November 2007

Breaking into the Asylum.

Autumn half term used to be a week, long enough to fill with fun things, short enough to ensure the sprogs don’t get fed up and make mincemeat out of each other.

Two weeks of not getting up early is all well and good, but realistically the 'rest' is very similar to carbon offsetting (it’s a bit of a red herring).

It reached a bit of a head yesterday when No 2 shut No1 in her bedroom, sadly the door jammed inside the frame and despite attempts of the Husband, No1 was firmly stuck in glorious seclusion.

After almost two weeks of constant squabbling with each other, I thought it might be a happy escape to be in splendid isolation. However the loud sobbing noises and rising panic from the other side of the door told us otherwise.

You know how people say they would rather be in an uncomfortable position than have their child suffer - what I would have given just at that moment to have been the one stuck on the wrong side of a couple of inches of nice solid oak!

Sunday, 28 October 2007

Yummy Mummy

Oh, where did I go wrong?
Whilst currying favour with No 2 child, buying cute inuit style slippers in the Everythings White Linen shop, she spotted “The Yummy Mummy’s Handbook” ... “you need this mummy” said my dear child.
When I asked if she really thought this was necessary, she nodded sagely!
I’ve baked, cuddled and ‘been there’ where did it go pear shaped - maybe at exactly the point my bottom did?
A great friend has recently invested in Botox...maybe to be a REALLY yummy mummy I need this plus some lyposuction, face lift / transplant and a 4x4?

Because what ARE the yummy’s? They definitely aren’t proper Mummies - by definition they are too manicured, too perfect.
Real Mummies have scalded arms from reaching into the Aga to retrive carbonised remnants of the children’s baking attempts, dog hair on their clothes and always have the feeling that they’ve forgotten something important (like parents evening).
Having thought about it, I think I’ll stay a slummy, saggy mummy just being a Mummy is the best bit - as my trainee teenager would say - whatever!

Instead I think I’m going to create a new term - Uber Mummy - she is a proper Mummy, who has Kitchen with integral craft cupboard! And that is where I failed!