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.
Daily Mail columnist Liz Jones has provoked the ire of Twitter with by declaring that mummy bloggers are blinkered dimwits whose lives are spiced by Napisan. I'm afraid I have to sympathise with her, for all of her prejudices echo my own: Writing about my life has pretty much ruined it. Supper last night was an elderly carrot glued to the fridge shelf by a pool of brown mucus and the floor was flooded when I left the bath taps running because Blogger has diverted me from domestic essentials. I've had to shut the children in front of the television when a new post has assailed me and some family members no longer speak to me because Twitter interactions leave me no time to reach the telephone. But there is a big part of me that thinks writing should be hard: you should cringe whenever you press that 'publish' button. Artists – and I'm sorry, I do consider myself an artist – have to wrench the dirtiest, most disgusting part of their inner soul and show it t...
Earlier this week a 40-something blonde journalist called Samantha Brick wrote an article for the Daily Mail about why the world resents her beauty. I have watched the fall-out from her candour with appalled fascination. Hate campaigns have rippled through Twitter. 5,000 mocking comments were left on the Daily Mail’s website. Columnists in rival newspapers have lined up to condemn her delusions. I am a lone sympathiser. For I too am a 40-something blonde journalist and I too know how it is to be condemned for your looks. This is my story. Fifteen years ago, as I hurried for the morning train to work, a voice hailed me urgently. I turned and saw a handsome young man in hot pursuit. As he drew close he held out a flaccid parcel. It was the egg mayonnaise sandwich that I’d packed for my lunch and which I’d dropped on the pavement in my haste. I knew, though, as his eyes met mine, that the favour was a pretext and the alacrity with which he moved off after handing it over confirmed ...
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