mountain...bridge...trea...sure island!

Dear Marianne,

Anna and Mike nicked off school and nursery the other day to go and see Dora's Pirate Adventure at the Assembly Rooms in Tunbridge Wells; me and Craig nicked off work.

My old friend Stephen had spent an arm and a leg on the tickets for his family and mine and when we were there he spent a head and a torso on merchandise. As we approached the Assembly Rooms, he said to me, "If the whole thing is a papier mache head on a stick affair, we're leaving." I knew what he meant, this sort of thing is a lottery, the Australian "kids show" Hi-5 came to Town in April last year and I went to see it with Anna, who is a real fan and particularly keen on Kathleen. Oh, it was grim, all wrong for young children, long, convoluted stories, lots of dialogue and the weakest of piss weak songs. Attention drifted very early on in a very long night, there was a great deal of wandering about, bored faces and tired tantrums, and the kids weren't too impressed either.

The nadir came, not from the awful group of second rate dancers and singers on stage, but from the very close up view I had of a cool Dad, standing and dancing and singing to the sound of Hi-5's theme tune. His wife and child looked on helpless to do anything for him or me, I wanted so much to vomit up the oversized bag of maltezers I had just eaten. But I didn't throw up, or leave, or punch the cool Dad, I held it together for Anna, who, despite being very bored for the whole show and passing the time staring at the other kids, told me how brilliant it was all the way home. I agreed with her whole heartedly, even to the point where I said that I also thought Kathleen was the best, even though she had been replaced on stage that night by someone called Rose.

Dora's Pirate Adventure turned out to be an American production and was therefore magnificent, loud, bolshy, no talking, great songs, lots of shouty characters, exciting sets and it all moved along at one heckava pace. Mike, who was frightened to go, was just blasted into submission by the relentless pitch of the production and sung along and joined in whenever he was told to, by the relentessly positive Dora, he was even quite loud by the time we got to Dora's greatest hit, "We Did IT!". He waved his flag, shone his £8 torch (which broke that night)and wore his Dora baseball hat at a jaunty angle, which shows either a rather camp side to him or a rather cool dude side to him, only time will tell.

After the show I saw a poster which revealed that Chris from Cbeebies would be Buttons in the Panto at the Assembly Rooms this Christmas. I'm torn, Chris from Cbeebies! he's a hero, a breath of fresh air in a crowd of shouty, patronising, children's presenters, he is charming and sweet and very camp; Mike loves him.
I'm torn because, a) we have no money for such luxuries for goodness sake and b)we should be in Brighton by the time Chris scampers on to stage in Kent. But that all depends on selling the house, or as we like to say now, selling the fucking house.

Our poor house stopped being a home when it became our chance to pay off debt and our ticket out of Dodge. It's all fine and dandy whilst things are moving on between us and the buyers, but when it all goes pear shaped then the house gets some serious slagging up. It becomes a great big ugly bulk, and you can't believe you ever liked it, like a boyfriend who was sophisticated, romantic and witty, until that night he came home hugely drunk and you woke to find him dressed in socks, leaning over your dressing table trying to throw up in to the victorian egg cup your grandma gave you... Anyway, you know the kind of thing, you've moved on and he's holding you back.

Our house is holding us back, it is a stumbling block to a better life, where the sun will shine every day, people you've never met will stop to say hello, the neighbours will bring you cups of sugar and children will play in the streets. On the other hand, I could be putting too much pressure on my poor house to step up to the mark and look as sexy as the houses up the road, and I may be hoping for too much from Brighton, can it really be a cross between Passport to Pimlico and Dora's Pirate Adventure. I need to be more relaxed like Chris, and see the world as Dora does, If we sell the house on time we will be in sunny Brighton by December, surfing those crazy waves and having fish and chips for Christmas dinner and we can say "We Did It!" But, if we are still in the Royal Wells, I will be able to take the whole family to see Chris being magnificent as Buttons in Panto. Of course, if Cinderalla turns out to be a papier mache head on a stick type affair, we're leaving.

Rx