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!