I want to be a Red Coat

Dear Marianne,

I keep checking the calendar to be sure, but it really is only three days and not three weeks since the end of the school term. I felt bad when all the Mothers were agreeing that it was great to have the summer holidays here at last, because I was also a wee bit worried about it.
I joined in and I meant it. I'm just as tired as they are, feeding dressing and dragging exhausted children up to school to exhausted teachers, who also wish it was the summer holidays, and that they were laying on a beach in the south of France and not working on the mini beasts project.

Mind you, you don't want to actually meet a teacher on a beach during the holidays. I remember one beautiful summers day with my family at Climping beach being completely ruined when we bumped into my trumpet teacher playing beach ball with his friends.
He was a slimy fellow even with his clothes on. Mum said he went red every time he spoke to her, and she thought she knew what was on his mind - yuk. On that summers afternoon, he was wearing only a very tight fitting swimming costume and his slimy grin (none of his teeth were his own , he had them all taken out so that he could play the trumpet better) and even though I was only 12 I felt sick for all the right reasons. I can still see him looking like ...oh what's the word?.. bleugh.

Anyway, holidays. I am glad they are here, and we have the boys for three weeks this year and that Grandad John is coming down from Scotland tomorrow. But six weeks is a very long time when you have to provide entertainment twelve hours a day to a three and five year old.
My friend "Dundee" is berating herself for breaking one of the cardinal rules of "Modern Parenting" (by Susie Swift, 14.99 in all good book shops), she peaked too soon! On day one of the holidays she took her kids on a big, fun, sugar fuelled, friend filled trip to the SEASIDE. Amateur! Actually I nearly went too, but can now be smug about the fact that I didn't. The highlight of day two of the holidays for her children was a trip to the hairdressers followed by stale cakes and rubbish biscuits at my house; she is going to have to throw some serious money and relatives at this holiday to get her parenting badge back up to level three.

Just spent an afternoon of jigsaw puzzle hell. Mike is obsessed with them, but I don't like them, they take too long and there is no point, just look at the picture on the front of the box and then you don't have to bother. After this I had to play the book + buzzer game - another Anna invention - I wont bore you with the details. Actually I will. It is a modern version of the local Library, you press the "on button" and make a buzzing sound and a hard back book gets thrown down the stairs at you - you read it very quickly (or else) press the "off button" and (shut your eyes) the book miraculously disappears back up the stairs.
This kind of thing is difficult, especially if you are hot, bored, hungry, pre-menstrual and don't believe in make believe anymore. In fact the ages four to eight are impossible if you don't believe in make believe and if you don't do surreal, or stories about poo, bums, wee or knock knock jokes.
I walked with a friend to school the other day and her son told a series of rubbish knock knock jokes all the way, which she forbore with her typical patience, but after five long minutes even she was forced to plea "last one then Henry".

Saturday
The plan was this: New day New attitude. I was going to work so hard on my "parenting" skills that I would get my Red Coat by the end of the summer. Today was to be the first day of the rest of my life etc. etc. But then I listened to something about mid-life crisis with Giles Brandwrewthethweth (who I should hate, but I quite like)on radio 4 and I realised that I too am having a mid-life crisis, and that I should buy a motorbike, get a young Greek boy and leave the family to "find myself" somewhere exotic. But since I can't do this I am going to do what all people with no money do when the time comes for a bit of self analysis - keep it inside and grow myself a tumor.
Its better I think than doing the self awareness thing. I don't want to "recognise" (see)the "challenges" (mess)which "play a role" (will)"and pose certain limitations" (stop)"on my daily endeavours" (me living my life).
This is what I "recognise": I have achieved nothing in my career, I will achieve nothing in my career, I have no time or money to do the things I want to do or want my family to do, my body and mind are degenerating, one is going south and the other is going wrong; its all going to end in tears, and sooner rather than later.

Mustn't dwell though, I'm off to feed a friend's hamster which may have died of neglect already, who knows with those things?
Tomorrow will have to be the first day of the rest of my life...

Rx

No Immediate Ceasefire

Dear Marianne,

So Israel is bombing the hell out of Lebanon and children are dying every day and important people in Rome are unable to find "agreement on an immediate ceasefire".

I looked at the wee ones sleeping soundly last night and thought how lucky I am that they are in no danger from falling bombs, then I worried that they will be, sooner rather than later, then I worried that by the time they are my age they will be fighting people for water and then I worried and then I worried some more.
How can any person not decide on an "immediate ceasefire" - I suppose their children must be sleeping soundly.

Eddy the cat has been in a big fight. He has scratches up and down his chest and a great big bite on his tail.
He really shouldn't even be out - since he is a posh/breed/no hair thing and the most expensive household object we own apart from a tasty Linn sound system which will soon be available to buy on eBay because we need the money for a car.

Most people have a view on our cat - they hate him or they love him. I love hate him. Mike's friend Billy who is two and a half is absolutely terrified of him, but so keen on the dollies and prams we have here that he is willing to take the chance of bumping into him now and agin.. When he does, he cartoon jumps in the air and then hares off shouting "scary cat..scary cat!" , this is a reaction, unfortunately, that many of our adult friends can relate to.

I did get a consolation moment from Eddy the other day though, when Perry the "room counter" came AGAIN, to count rooms AGAIN and look at the back wall AGAIN (a fetish I think)and tell me he couldn't decide between three properties he was looking at.

It's a difficult and complex relationship we have. I can see that he is becoming distant, he is distracted when he is here. I knew something was wrong, but I didn't want to know the details.
He told me anyway - he told me about the other women - Brenda in High Brooms who has fewer rooms than me but has a larger garden and Sara at the other end of Camden Road who he says is cheaper! How the hell does he expect me to feel...why does he keep me hanging on!? Why don't I just tell him to leave me and my plumbing alone...I suppose the truth is, I need him.

Where was I? Yes, the consolation moment came when, as I sat re-reading a bank statement at the table in the yard, in an attempt to look busy and uninterested in him (Perry), I heard a yell from the kitchen. A few moments later he came out with Eddy attached to his shoulder. "Friendly little thing - just jumped right up" he said through gritted teeth as I peeled Eddy's claws from his neck.

"The cat is part of the fixtures and fittings - make me an offer", I said; see how he reacts to tough love...

Rx

Let's get out of Dodge

Dear Marianne,

There are two kinds of buyer for our house – the family who want to move from London but don’t have enough money for the posh houses around the corner, and have to settle for this place with too many rooms, a yard not a garden and a view of the Hot Pot Cafe, and there are the “room counters” – the buy to rent folk.

I had to show a room counter around the house today. I’m not very good at this and Craig usually does it whilst I take the children out. This time it was me and the children.
So firstly I’m pissed off that I tidied up and hoovered and put cushions on the bed and threw half a hundred weight of plastic toys in to the loft. Because I know that room counters don’t care about tidiness they just count rooms and money.
His name was Perry, so that makes me hate him more. He was suffering from that male disease, “a little bit of knowledge”, and he wondered around the house and yard pointing at cables and pipes asking what they were for. I put up with it for a bit until I said well that’s obviously for the bog, but I don’t tend to worry about these things. He responded with: “Oh, I see you have a crack in your wall” – “Yes – sorry “. This is what happens I end up apologising for everything in the house.
Lots of uhmming, ahhing and chin scratching. Anna kept asking, “What is he looking for?”

“Well I may come back and see it again, or I may send some agents.” He said finally.

“Yes, why don’t my people talk to your people and then you can fuck off and fuck yourself!” I didn’t really say that – I just thought it.
I must leave this sort of thing to Craig.

It was "eco week" at Anna’s school last week. On Friday the children had to dress up in recycled costume. This sort of thing can put me out for weeks, I don’t knit or sew or have any artistic bent at all. So Anna went wearing a rubbish bag with pieces of rubbish stuck to it and a sign which said "recycle me!" – not ground breaking haute couture, but good enough, and more importantly her best friend Sara was wearing the same thing! I could have kissed her Mother for being as crap as me. Other Mothers see this sort of thing as a kind of competition – and true to form there had been some stunning work done over the last month. Sewing, knitting, working well with the media they had chosen for the year 1 project.
“Everyone looks rubbish!” I shouted hilariously as I left the classroom …silence.
My most favourite moment though was watching the Mums drop off their little recycled children and without any sense of irony settle in to the leather seats of their 4x4 BMWs and their Hummers – what the hell are they for? And drive off to put their two cans and four cleaned bottles in the bottle bank, before driving little Johnny to Planet Carnival for the air conditioning. I need to sell this house and soon!

Can’t wait to get to Brighton – see you there.

Rx

This is Kent Calling

Dear Marianne,

On my journey through London yesterday the announcer at London Bridge tube station took time out from telling us to move down the platform, stand behind the yellow line and stop being so mardy, to encourage us to have a bottle of water with us at all times to avoid dehydration as the temperature will reach 35 degrees today. I liked his concern though and it caused at least one spontaneous conversation to break out amongst the gloomy city folk.

I was in London on my way to Wrexham to interview a race walking Olympic gold medallist who really did get dehydrated during the Rome Olympic Games in 1960, he was in the lead with only 8km of 20km to go and then he was on his face on the ground.

I booked a wake up call last night for 6am – the person on the other end of the phone said they could do 5.55am or 6.05am which caught me off guard and I spent ages considering my options. I really did want 6.00am.

I was pleased to find myself awake at 5.40am so that I would be able to take the call wide awake! But then dissasterously fell into a deep sleep and woke to the sound of lively jazz piano playing in the hotel lobby of my five star hotel somewhere exotic– then woke to the sound of the phone ringing; answered it with a ner...er...

When I got home I was so knackered that I sat and watched any old rubbish on the telly and I managed to catch a woman in her sixties, lower m/c, kindly, delicate looking husband leaning on her arm, being interviewed on the local news (cat up tree-dog down ditch!) last night.
The subject, not surprisingly was immigrants (always to be confused with asylum seekers/foreigners/terrorists/convicted criminals etc.) and she said that she thought “we had got enough now and we shouldn’t have anymore." She said it so sweetly and with so little malice, that I thought she might be talking about biscuits. What did she mean by enough? Has she carried a figure around in her head for years, and now, privvy to numbers on immigration the rest of us don’t have, she finds her personal target reached. Or does she “feel” that there are enough – it only takes one poorly clothed, differently coloured, stuttering english, confused looking neighbour to bring some parts of the south east to a halt.

It must have been somewhere in Kent – I have been got twice in Kent in 6 months by Radio: the first guy asked me to tell a joke he had written down which was un pc I dutifully obliged and then he asked me to say it again “with more oomph”! Why did I say it again? The second bloke wanted my opinion on the “hundred minute bible” I felt so churlish after my “I’m an atheist – so I don’t care “ that I followed it up with a feeble “but there are some good stories in the bible so...”, but he had wondered off by then. This compares favourably though to my response to a tv crew during the queens “annus horribilis”. On picking up the guardian newspaper from Smiths in Victoria station, the interviewer asked, “do you think that the media should be able to criticise the royal family?”, my dashing response was: “they’re up there saying what they want so people down here should be able to say what we want” – what, what, what!? I swear I could see him thinking the word “drivel”. I told myself off (out loud like my dad) all the way to Bromley, and then tried to catch news bulletins all day just to check they hadn’t used it.

Rx

Jesus + Wedding Bells

Dear Marianne,

I know this is summer because i am sneezing like a bastard, I have swollen eyes, its too hot for people over 25 and our neighbours are having a bar b que or is it bbq, barbed cue, barbie que? Never knew how to spell it, which probably is an indication to us northern europeans that we shouldn’t bother. Our back yard – or garden as our house spec on our estate agents web site - says – is engulfed in lighter fuelled smoke, I look forward to popping over later for some food poisoning and knocker freezing mind numbing conversation.

I remember travelling to south london one time, (from north of the river mind - and with children by the way), after watching the dark clouds turn to rain we guests retreated inside a very small kitchen to watch our host burn the food with one hand and gamely fight the wind and rain with an umbrella in his other. His name was (and is) Howard and he does a fantastic impression of a pig being killed when he is very very drunk.

Anna has just asked me who made God – thank you St. James. I do remember Becky becoming devout when she was eight and she had to fight off atheist attacks from me, craig, stan, and even archie aged three (“shut up becky poo poo bum”), but at least it wasn’t school induced.

Apparently Mrs Ash of Daisy Class, not Lilac Class which is Anna’s, but Izzy’s class. Izzy is coming to the party on Friday and she is the elder sister of Milly and Felix, but her mum don’t speak to me any more because I said I thought the 11 plus system was unfair, but no but yeah... are you keeping up? Anyway, Mrs Ash told her that the Lord made us, and the chicken and egg conundrum that this threw up had been on Anna's mind all day. Anyway she says she is a believer, and what am I to do? I can’t compete with Mrs Ash let alone her Class teacher Mrs Grace – you can’t compete with Mrs Grace from Lilac Class.

We went to Paul and Jan’s wedding on Saturday, which ironically, nearly made me a believer. The sun shone all day, it was held in a beautiful chocolate box village in a wonderful church, surrounded by higgeldy piggeldy medieval houses, the bells rang out – people wore white and I didn’t fall over in my high heels, although I did sink into the mud as I backed away from the oncoming happy couple. It was just me and Craig – our wonderful friends had Anna and Mike all day and dropped and picked us up from the wedding – so we owe them.

We cadged a lift from the Church to the reception with a woman who recognised me because “you look so much like your Mum”. The light banter about Paul and Jan’s lucky chance to meet and find true love the second time around, took a bit of a battering for the three very long miles of country road when the mystery Woman delivered her life story. This went along the lines, he left me for a twenty one year old and now I have debt and no life and the worlds full of lucky bastards... It was quite tricky to know what to say – Craig opted for staring out of the window really hard, I went for the “well I hope you...and if... but no... absolutely..oh dear yes, yes I know. “

We kind of avoided her when we got to the Barn.

We had lovely food, wine, wine, food and wine and cried a lot, and by the time mum and dad turned up for the evening do I was quite merry. I managed not to offend anyone and when our mate came to pick us up I loved the world. When we got home we talked at our friends and I ate – apparently- an old chip shop pasty and pickled egg. That's what I call heaven.

Love Rx

Jordan

Dear Marianne,

Bit of a faux pas this morning standing outside the nursery with other mothers. If I am not having some part of my house done up (which I never am) and I am not eagerly discussing how to get around the catchment area rule to send my child to the better school (which I never do) then the best thing to do is to limit conversation to the weather.

I should have stuck to it this morning. But without thinking I joined a conversation about Jordan and said that I thought the politician from there was great on Newsnight last night about the whole Lebanese, Hezbollah, Israel thing. I said he was really steady and calm but brilliant in his analysis. Turns out that the Jordan in question was the big titted one; felt like a big tit myself. They thought I was making a joke – honestly – but I wasn’t.

Came home, asked Mike if I could borrow the telly to watch lunchtime news, but he was quite keen to catch Lazy Town. Think I better learn to love DIY.

Rx

Last Weekend's "Fun" with the Children

Dear Marianne,

Saturday

Dropped Anna at RUNAROUND for Saskia’s 5^th Birthday Party. One and a half hours of violent running around and jumping on soft things, going down slides and arguing with friends, followed by half an hour of chicken nuggets and e numbers.

Whilst she was there went with “the lads” (all 4) to pub. Bravely sat outside in cold wind counting seconds until the sun appeared from behind dark black clouds.

Play area wet and broken, but boys enjoyed it – mike was thrilled to be out with big brovers Archie leading him over dangerous precipices, Stan teaching the correct rules of contact 4 on the life size model in the beer garden. Mike knelt on bird poo – so I decided he would get bird flu and we would all die – but soon recovered my senses when I realised that, what with the ice caps and all - the world would end before then any way.

After drinking our beers, coke and eating peanuts off a slightly stained outdoor table we went to the village butchers – family run and organic – bought stuff and five very flaky (not emotionally speaking) warm sausage rolls – yum.

Picked up a tired and pink Anna – with pink balloon, Easter egg and book in tow. This is Anna's 6th party invite this summer – I only remember going to two parties before I was fifteen and you got jelly and sandwiches and scared by “the uncle” and, oh, sandwiches.

Came home , made tea for Mike. His favourite at the moment is poo sandwiches (marmite actually, but whatever makes him eat!) Played with fireman Sam and tom the helicopter pilot – no, not a porno fantasy fulfilled – Mike’s birthday presents.

Food and bed for Anna and “TV bollocks”, as Craig calls anything not drama or news or documentary, with the big boyz until I began to fall asleep and sent them – wide awake – to bed.

Went to bed.

Sunday

We piled children on top of each other in the car and drove to place of fun in the country.

Animals – watch out for diseases. Huge slides – watch out! Trampolines – no somersaulting – lots of kids somersaulting. Soft play areas for small children – more RUNAROUND madness.

After fun we had COLA drinks and TEA FLAVOURED water. The kids loved it – I felt ill with worry. Ice –creams and home – Mike fell asleep sideways and had ¾ of the car seats.

There were lots of questions about melting ice caps which I felt unable to answer properly due to ignorance and fear. Tried changing subject matter to dirty travelling songs.

Home – knackered – Anna and Michael put us to bed…

Monday (today)

Dragged body out of bed and went to friend’s house with Anna and Mike for fun – screaming, sweets, messing up someone else’s house – lovely.

Archie and Stan gutted to discover that my suggestion for morning at swimming pool for them has been overruled by father’s suggestion that they do homework.

Stan buckles down to "Christians and other Religions" and Archie works on Greek Gods – removed all sharp objects in case either of them took me up on my other suggestion that it would be more interesting and educational for them to poke their eyes out with sharp sticks.

Back for lunch – nobody hungry. Which means they will all be hungry at 3ish – just as I take Anna to the Town Hall to see HI-5 - . You know “Hi -5 in the air, let’s do it together – yeah!!” I think I may need the sharp sticks.

Love Rx