Yesterday was mostly spent trying to ignore the tail end of hurricane Bertha/Martha/Beaky whatever. I would say that we were lucky in that our house did not blow down. Which is nice. The having to wear fourteen layers of clothes, keep all the doors and windows shut and sit shivering in the light of the cold, grey rain, was not so much fun however. A taster of the weeks to come when the summer decides to sling its hook once and for all.
The cat was suicidal, and spent the day marching about, pawing at the doors, and then being horrified, when they turned out to not open onto tropical sunshine. She shouted and wailed and flung herself hither and yon, until by mid afternoon she had completely given up and went to sleep on the stairs. In everyone’s way. In protest. This is also a taster of the weeks to come when summer sods off. She has finally become an outdoor cat, and is really not impressed when the weather does not suit.
Outraged of Knighton.
In honour of yesterday’s enwintering, we bit the bullet and went out to purchase trainers for school. I have been avoiding buying uniform, not wanting to upset Oscar’s delicate state of mind with regard to going back to school, and also because I hate it. I did the maths however, and realised that being away next week, and with school starting the week after, I really cannot put these things off any longer. More’s the pity.
I particularly hate having the children’s feet measured. The woman in the Clark’s concession in John Lewis was as helpful as a woman trying to please four hundred parents and their toddlers and operate a ticket machine swiped from a local deli counter can be. We got there before they were actually open for trading, and we still had to wait twenty minutes for someone to measure them, and then inform us that none of the shoes we were interested in were available in our chosen sizes, but we could either a) order them from the Dundee branch when they may or may not be delivered at a time convenient to us, or b) buy these alternatives for £70 per pair more.
It is the same every year.
It depresses me hugely.
We took our measurements and went to a local shoe shop that sells end of line ranges, and got the trainers there for a fraction of the price they wanted in a real shop. I object to paying outrageous sums of money for trainers that will only get clarted in mud, lost, smell like a dog’s nether regions in six months time. Or, if they are really nice, just get nicked.
Tonight, after everyone sensible will be at home watching television and prancing about in their pyjamas, we are off to Sainsburys to do the school uniform shop proper. I reckon if there is only me, the children, and someone packing the crisp aisle to deal with, we might get out in under an hour, and with all limbs intact. I cannot vouch for my sanity. I’m hanging by a thread here. There is nothing redeeming about school uniform shopping. The best that can be said for it this year is that because the children are all at new schools, with reasonable uniform policy, I am not having to pursue branded sweat shirts to the ends of the consumer universe and pay three times as much for a logo stitched by some poor bugger in Thailand working for tuppence a week.
I have also made the unilateral decision regarding footwear, that all the children will be wearing Doc Martens this year, purchased second hand from EBay. Sod you Clarks, with your stupid bloody light up shoes and the frankly insane idea of putting toys in secret compartments in the bottom of the shoe. Because everyone wants children to tread in dog shit repeatedly and then fiddle about with the bottom of their shoe to extract a small plastic toy that is also a choking hazard. Well done.
I think they’re being sponsored by drug companies eager to create a market for distemper. Or Dr. Heimlich.