When the novelty of the kittens had worn off daughter thought she would have a go at growing a new brother/sister. After all she must have inherited her Mums green fingers.
Recently a BBC researcher contacted me and asked if the family would be willing to be filmed for a series on vicarage life. Obviously, narcissism urged me to say yes. I could be the next Amy Childs, only in an M&S cardie. The church teas on Fridays would be seething with fans wanting to bond with the Vicar over a Jammy Dodger. And watching the episodes would keep me going through the suspenseful wait for the next series of Rev . Indeed, said the researcher, a real-life Rev is what they are after. A heart-warming, fun-filled glimpse into family life in a vicarage to follow Songs of Praise . It was at that point I knew we had to say no. Any fly-on-the-wall portrait of our vicarage life would have to be shown after the 9pm watershed to protect the nation's children. I myself would find it hard to stomach: Graphic footage of me wrestling my chin bristles with deadly steel weaponry in the bathroom and, sheathed in rubber, delving for the plastic Smurf someone's dropped down
I have ordered a new pair of wellies from Amazon for the daily walk to school. My current hardly-at-all-old pair has developed a fissure along one toe. I only noticed this when I was wading along the stream that flows brownly past bobbing Argos bags en route to the afternoon pick up, and I was not pleased. They are a glamorous pair with pink spots and white swirls, bought to ease my daughter's pain in ackowledging a wellie-wearing, stream-paddling mother in public. I now distrust wellies with spots and swirls, so order a safe-looking green pair. Better to be waterproof than glamorous. Royal Mail gets them as far as my door, thrusts through a 'Sorry you were out' card, and promptly loses them. Amazon is sympathetic and dispatches a replacement pair. This also makes it to my door and again a card is left. This time I decide to pick them up in person from the Royal Mail depot. The man behind the glass screen makes off with my delivery card and probably has a cup of tea and
I have always done my own cleaning. Not very often, mind. Once every month or so keeps the funghi at bay. But, each time I've worked out where I keep the dusters, boy do I let rip! Skirting boards. Pelmets. U bends. With my portable radio in one armpit and a sheaf of Miele nozzles in the other, I stalk the vicarage assaulting cobwebs and secretly binning any infant possessions that can't be kicked to oblivion under the beds. But uncooperative lungs have prevented me terrorising the family filth since mid December and even the Vicar is noticing the dustballs that skim in his wake. Sensibly, he seeks out a cleaner for a day to tide us over. I am excited because someone else can fidget the grime out of my daughter's shell collection. And I am nervous because I'm not sure I can cope with someone toiling over my bacteria while I lie on my day bed. What if she forgets to tame the muesli-like stuff under the sofa cushions? (We don't buy muesli. How does it get there?) Wh
Someone made their sand sculpture for the competition a little bit too realistic.
ReplyDeleteRight that's it we're off!
ReplyDeleteNow quick, let's eat all the ice cream before he can get up.
ReplyDeleteDigging for treasure went to a whole new level!
ReplyDeleteAnd...the only thing left was his head...argh!
ReplyDeleteBones and Booth get the fright of their lives.
ReplyDeleteSevered head found on popular tourist beach
ReplyDeleteWait till she finds out I've got her handbag in here with me.
ReplyDeleteNow the little blighter can't annoy me anymore!
ReplyDeleteMothers attempts at experimenting with new way to save on central heating costs were proving a tad messy...
ReplyDeleteThe parents had discovered a way they could really enjoy the holiday, bury the child outside the beach bar
ReplyDeleteMummy enjoyed the peace and wondered if she could install a beach at home to bury dissenters in.
ReplyDeleteThat's what I call 'getting a head'.
ReplyDeleteIt's ok, I'll have the last laugh when they pull me out and see what I have done in here! Oops!
ReplyDeleteOn Saturday the very hungry caterpillar ate through a beach full of sand... but he was still hungry...
ReplyDeletelooking out for dragons! (random I know but comment supplied by my 4yo daughter when she saw the pic!)
ReplyDeleteTime Team were thrilled to discover a fairly fresh-looking ancient relic in someone's back garden. It did smell, though.
ReplyDeleteI wonder if this is what Mum meant by saying she feels like a 'headless chicken'?
ReplyDeleteWhen the novelty of the kittens had worn off daughter thought she would have a go at growing a new brother/sister. After all she must have inherited her Mums green fingers.
ReplyDeleteI have a parcel for you, Singing Angel. Could you let me know where to send it...
DeleteIf it's the burnt left overs from last night I'll decline thank you...
ReplyDeletethat bloomin sand gets everywhere !
ReplyDeleteMission completed!
ReplyDeleteWhen you said you had an alternative to suncream, I wasn't imagining this...
ReplyDeleteYes as you can tell... its the simple things that keep mum happy, I just go along with um (hope my mates don't ever see this)!
ReplyDeletesomeone told me that mud is good for the skin, but why pay for the fancy bottles of the stuff?
ReplyDeleteA mud pack's for your face not your body!
ReplyDeleteOk, now I know you will stay put!
ReplyDeleteand that is how you make a sand-wich hahaha...
ReplyDeleteI just peed!
ReplyDeleteHis psoriasis didn't half make the bath water lumpy.
ReplyDelete