I made the silly mistake of going away ALONE for the weekend - although now that I think about it, it was silly only in as much as I came back. What was I thinking? (And while I’m at it – forget Singapore – I HEART Edinburgh. My God it’s gorgeous up there. And cheap! £6 for a cocktail! Or maybe London is just a rip-off? ) Anyway, I’ve now come to the conclusion that coming home is the price parents pay for going away.
This is a choice selection of what I came home to:
A pan full of mould. Not just any mould – oh no. This was mould crafted from the finest ingredients that money could buy. A mould of smoked-fish chowder, which was made with my own fair hands to feed the hungry hoards in my absence. It appears, however, that the hungry hoards prefer fishfingers and ketchup. I don’t mind so much that they didn’t eat it; it’s that they didn’t even look at the stuff that annoys me. There is little less welcome a sight after a 6 hour journey then lifting up a lid and being greeted by... green, rancid cat-puke. Blugh.
An indescribable amount of laundry. I will leave it at that.
Icky offspring. When I picked the Girl up from nursery I was greeted by the sight of her in her spare clothes, and her teacher with a look of... disgust / horror, bearing a plastic bag filled with... disgust / horror. She (the Girl, not the teacher) then spent the rest of the day wandering around doubled over with her hand on her tummy telling anyone who’d listen: “I have the diarrhoea”.
A Baby who has grown horns. (And, if her weight is anything to go by, has been eating animal sacrifices. Large animal sacrifices.)
A mouse. In fact I was sitting on my bed, hiding from the children, reading an article on the Daily
Misogynist Mail’s website (that my sister had sent me, I hasten
to add) about a lawyer woman in Clapham who heard a thud from her daughter Ava’s
room and went in to find... (I could barely read any more, assuming that I was
actually reading about MYSELF)... a FOX sitting on her kid’s bed, LICKING HER
FACE. At this point a mouse dashed
across the bedroom floor, giving me a fucking heart attack. I tell you, it’s non-stop wildlife in these parts.
Once I had regained my composure, and climbed, acrobat-like, from the bed to
the hall (without touching the floor), I went in search of the Boy who picked
up the dish-brush and announced, in a very serious voice: “Leave it to me, Lady.” Well he upended every
piece of furniture in my room, but no sign of our furry friend, until – SQUEAK!
– there it was ON TOP OF THE CURTAIN...
The Boy picked up my shoe and flung it at it, whereupon it jumped down – I think I’m going to vomit
just thinking about it – and scuttled out of the room, down the half-stairs,
into the Boy’s room. The Boy WHOOPED for
joy, legged after it, and disappeared into his room, slamming the door behind
him. I have seen neither the Boy nor the
mouse since, but there’s a Godawful racket coming from up there. (Update: The
mouse has, so far, escaped. The Boy has
just left the kitchen with a block of cheese.
“I have a plan”, he tells me. Beside me the Girl and the Baby are
huddled, both looking petrified. Nature
Just think, I could be back in Edinburgh. It was FANTASTIC. Being unbelievably high maintenance I had my own personal concierge to do ALL my thinking for me! It was like I’d imagine it to be to have a really fabulous wife. She decided that I was to hang out in a spa, have a massage, get pissed, read every weekend paper I could get my hands on, sleep in... She even organised a hair cut (I clearly look like someone who lives in a house with mice and foxes. And mould.) Mind you, the joy dissipated somewhat when I asked the woman cutting my hair to just pull out that big huge white hair that was, to my horror, sticking straight up from my parting. She looked aghast, I assumed because you should never pluck a white hair, or something equally random. “Don’t you usually pluck white hairs?” I asked her. She visibly squirmed, then said – “Well sometimes my mum does if she finds one on her head...”
Excellent. I am officially ANCIENT, older than a hairdresser’s mother. I’m never going away again.
Ps: Big thanks to everyone for the various comments, emails and messages I got about my Big News last week. I am very excited. Even if it is the other side of the world. And I don’t know One. Single. Person. I will have staff. STAFF! All the white hair in the world can’t diminish my exhilaration. (And anyway, I can order my
slave STAFF to pluck out all offending hairs and KILL HER if she
so much as thinks about being