Dear Universe

Dear Universe

I love you. You are full of stars, and comets and other things that go twinkle, twinkle, pop. You seem like a nice place to live. I’ve done pretty well so far, but I’d like to ask you one tiny, teensy favour.

Could you just give me a feckin’ break?


Just for a moment or two?

Life is a trifle hard at the moment and would be improved by either a bottle of gin, a bong, or a miracle that allows me to split myself ninety six ways from Sunday.



Today’s litany of woes include juggling another stupid time table of places to be at ridiculous hours, whilst relying on the parental units and uncle Robber to stop anyone falling down the gaps.

Breaking my neck to get Tilly to the dentist for an appointment to have her retainer fitted, only to find that the technician had forgotten to make it, and had also thrown away the moulds. This required re casting her teeth and me holding back my simmering rage by reminding myself how tired I was, and how going postal takes a huge amount of effort.

Being reminded by text after I had left the dentist, that we all have check ups at the dentist tomorrow afternoon. This is something I had totally forgotten. I was giving a friend’s daughter a reading lesson. Now I’m not. She is now coming on Saturday afternoon because I will have run out of week otherwise.

I have had to call on my friend Nicki’s kindness of heart to pick the two little children up from school tomorrow and take them home with her, until I can pick them up, after I’ve picked Tilly up from school. Uncle Robber is on a health and safety course, and Granny and Granddad are off to the exotic climes of Peterborough to stand in a dank hall selling their wares. The sooner all three of my children go to local schools, and ones which start and finish at roughly the same times, the better.

I cannot cancel the dental appointments and reschedule, because there is a fine for cancellations less than 48 hours before the event. It is probably the gross national debt of Venezuela.

There was a PTA meeting. What can I say about the PTA? Not much. I have now officially resigned my post as chair, but suspect that I will still be lurking in a fringy type way for some time to come.

The highlight of the meeting was discovering that the itchy eyes I thought I had from lack of sleep, are actually conjunctivitis, inevitably caught from some bacteria ridden child. Probably my own, which does not make things easier.

By the time I had picked up the children from granny’s house, detoured via The Asda to get eye drops from the pharmacy and have my suspicions re: the conjunctivitis, confirmed, and picked up some more boxes for my EBaying activities it was ten o’clock before we got home.

I was exhausted but needed to beat the cat, poke the children, do the washing, and inevitably wrap a trillion parcels.

Then I couldn’t sleep.

Now it is half past one.

Universe, I’d settle for a good night’s sleep without dreaming of survival techniques and a cheery wave at this stage.

See what you can do.

Kind regards


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