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
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
'Bucker!' cursed my then two-year old when she got behind the wheel of her Little Tike car. 'Bucker, bucker, bucker!' I admonished her for swearing. 'I have to,' she said. 'I'm driving.' Now her language has become more decorous as she steers a Skoda across the roof of a car park and topples a bollard. And she keeps a cool that would elude me as she dodges an oncoming car and brakes just before the wall that separates us from a five-storey drop onto the Brent Cross retail park. Multi-storey car parks do not bring out the best in my character, but my 13-year-old shows signs of being superior in temperament and skill. Behind, her 11-year-old brother reverses tidily into a free parking space. Unlike me he collects no strangers' wing mirrors in the manoeuvre. I, meanwhile, am still recuperating from wrestling my own Skoda through the perils of the North Circular to get here. I had to get the Vicar to park it. The children are having their first
This will get us through the vicar's sermons.
ReplyDeleteNow I know why Spanish beer tastes of cats' pee...
ReplyDeleteI'm guarding the good stuff....hic
ReplyDeleteMy eyes are too beautiful to be seen in public all the time! bye
ReplyDeleteI found the EMPTY box... someone else drank the beer ... honest! hic
ReplyDeleteIf I hide in here I might some beer
ReplyDeleteDon't forget your pets this Christmas
ReplyDeleteSan Miguel's advertising idea of getting a free cat with each cartoon was a roaring success!
ReplyDeleteIs it a coincidence my eyes are the same colour as lager?....hic!
ReplyDeleteTa da! What? Oh, right, you said Puss in BOOTS. Sorry.
ReplyDeleteWho's the designated driver?
ReplyDeleteA cat is for life not just for boozing . . . ;)
ReplyDeleteWhat beer? *hic* *meow*
ReplyDeleteMiaow who drunk all the cats piss?
ReplyDeleteI'll be hibernatingin here for the next few weeks, come and get me when all that darn christmas fuss is over
ReplyDeleteIs it safe to come out? Has xfactor finished yet?
ReplyDeleteAnother reason to drink San Miguel - it comes with free cat carrier! (pet not included)
ReplyDelete