Everyone will be utterly delighted to know that my e-mails are back, and I am happily deleting offers of shed plans, and poop plans and what to do if someone runs amok with an AK47 in our cup-de-sac plans, just like there had never been a blip. I am pleased to say that I am now also getting lots of offers for ‘dog coupons’. As I never actually open the spam mail, merely read the title before deleting, I am unsure as to whether ‘dog coupons’ are actually to do with free stuff for mutts, or something weirdly sexual that happens in lay-bys.
I shall live with the mystery.
On the domestic front, you will be pleased to know that the children are all still alive. Thriving in fact.
Tallulah is grumpy because Food Tech, as cookery is now called (food tech! I ask you. Food bollocks more like), turns out to be largely not made up of cookery. Last week she made cous cous salad, which, as we all know, she considered a personal affront (I don’t like cous cous. I don’t like salad. WHAT is the point?). This week it was more health and safety (rolling eyes – ‘Health and Safety, mama! Gah!) and next week there is no cookery because she is compelled to go on a one day, outward bounds bonding session (I DON’T NEED TO BOND). I cannot help but sympathise with her ‘Disgusted of Knighton’ role. She is nothing if not her mother’s daughter.
On the other hand I am secretly delighted that I do not have to a) provide ingredients and b) pretend that the things she brings home are delicious. I think I am coming out on top here. I have appeased her by teaching her how to bake chocolate cake, and promising that other baked delights will be taught shortly, should her behaviour warrant it.
Oscar is thrilled because he got some kind of merit sticker at school yesterday. I asked him what it was for. ‘I think it was probably for answering some questions about the kind of food the Tudors ate.’ I asked him what kind of food the Tudors ate? ‘I can’t possibly remember that now, mama!’ Huge sigh. ‘It was probably fish I ‘spect.’
He is swimming today. Since they stopped putting him in the deep end, where his head goes under every thirty seconds, and he can’t hear what they want him to do, other than not drown, and since I have purchased a lycra swimming hat instead of the brain crushing, insanely difficult to put on, rubber one we had before, life has become much more sunny on the swimming front. Duncan Goodhew he aint but competence in not drowning will suffice. I have low standards.
Tilly is splitting her time between not making any fuss whatsoever about school work, and dreading the two hour UCAS parent/student evening we are compelled to attend on Thursday night. I am with her on this front. The last parent/student meeting I went to, when she was in Year 9, consisted of parents being shouted at for two hours by the head teacher, ordering us to baby our children through the next two years of school or else, and then telling us that this constant supervision, clucking, nagging and forcing them to do things will be brilliant at instilling self sufficiency and motivation to learn in the children. She could not see the irony in this.
I forsee more of the same on Thursday. I have agreed to go, but Tilly and I have both agreed that if it is too 1984 we shall simply leave and take the chance that the head will pull out a taser and blast us back into our seats. If this happens I shall make sure that I totally let go of bladder control and allow warm urine to pool all over the parquet as my gift to the school.
I am kind like that.