Saturday is Caption Day...

over at Mammasaurus. Anyone who knows me twigs that I do not have a sound relationship with telephones. I don't even know my own mobile number. I find the pressure of modern communications oppressive. So, as you can see, do my children:




Blog comments are my chief source of gratification, so don't wait for wit; I'll rejoice in any caption here!

Comments

  1. Mammasaurus4 August 2012 at 08:39

    Austeric times led to Middle Aged Matron running a profitable sideline in vintage phone boxes - her profit margins were superb due to her supply of child labour ;)

    ReplyDelete
  2. Mammasaurus4 August 2012 at 08:39

    Sorry that was less caption more 'short story'!

    ReplyDelete
  3. Older Single Mum4 August 2012 at 09:12

    Hi Ho! Hi Ho! It's off to work we go!

    ReplyDelete
  4. Erica Price4 August 2012 at 09:16

    They hadn't realised that the phone boxes were actually giant dominoes.

    ReplyDelete
  5. The Mini Mes and Me4 August 2012 at 09:26

    Lets keep looking, this one isn't the tardis either x

    ReplyDelete
  6. Dawn 4 August 2012 at 10:23

    **shouts** Quick kids, stand them up before anyone see's what you have done!!!

    ReplyDelete
  7. Unknown4 August 2012 at 11:03

    Fiendish Villan 'Domino Tumbler' causes a catastrophe at Gotham's Telephone box factory. Where is the Batman??

    ReplyDelete
  8. Jenny4 August 2012 at 11:48

    That's taking mobile telephoneS to the extreme !

    ReplyDelete
  9. Irene Fitzpatrick4 August 2012 at 13:30

    Oooooops..............

    ReplyDelete
  10. Unknown4 August 2012 at 13:45

    With only a week left, the tidy up for London 2012 had already begun.

    ReplyDelete
  11. Unknown4 August 2012 at 14:57

    I think superman is trapped in this one...

    ReplyDelete
  12. Bibsey Mama4 August 2012 at 18:24

    Just squeezing in a quick phone call before they go.

    ReplyDelete
  13. Actually Mummy...4 August 2012 at 19:36

    Right Mum, these are the most old-fashioned we could find - surely you can let us know what time you'll be home now!

    ReplyDelete
  14. Anonymous4 August 2012 at 22:17

    Yoooo heave hoooo!
    Did you remember to call and let them know we were coming?

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Daily Mail Columnists Should Wear Burkas

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...
Read more

The Various Uses of Rubber

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...
Read more

A DIY Guide to the Middle-Classes

I wonder sometimes what I am. I have lived the last decade on an inner city council estate, amid Oxford academia, in a remote country town and in London suburbia. In the first we were, with our relentless consonants and sagging bookshelves, regarded as aristocrats. In the second, as the 'squeezed middle'. In the third, as city sophisticates and now, sometimes, isolated in my tweed amid the Ralph Lauren and the hoodies, I feel myself a bumpkin. Class should no longer matter. Nowadays, for most of us, it's more a question of perception than birth. But the perception matters. My daughter battles to adjust speech, habits and dress to blend in with each new environment; the political parties compete to woo the amorphous throng they deem Middle England and Melvyn Bragg has started a television series on class and culture. The British, he decides, no longer define themselves by class, but by the music they listen to, the books they read. I listen to Dolly Parton and Beethoven....
Read more