Off on holiday tomorrow. Which means we must be up early. In this house, that is unfortunately not a problem. We have had Noah, 2, devise a new plan the last two mornings. He gets out of bed, at 6, creeps up to Casper in his cot, pokes him a bit, then Casper starts his unearthly wailing. Which, apparently, makes it OK for Noah to come running into our room shrieking “Mummy! Casper sad! Wake up! Come into living room!” Or something like that – my ears usually stuffed with waxy earplugs to AVOID hearing this sort of thing.
At which point, I roll out of bed, Casper gets picked up, told to stop his wailing, has some milk, Noah gets into bed, Casper continues yelling, my water bottle gets tipped onto carpet (this is a given – every bloody morning of my life – there are little wet patches on my side of the bed and mostly it is not wee). At 6:10, I give up the pretence and get up and blindly search for coffee. And on we go.
Anyway, tomorrow we fly off to Nice to wear sun frocks, sniff stinky cheese (the others will eat, I will sadly not), quaff wine (ditto), go to beach, eat out and NOT cook. The closest I shall come to mothering is tipping exotic French cereal in a bowl, patting sunblock on their noses and making sure they do not poke nicely mannered European children with their plastic samurai swords. I have assured them that we will all eat chocolate croissants EVERY DAY. What is not to love?
Signs I Covet For My Wall #2
This one is above a tantalisingly disused, out-of-business newsagents. That sign is going to WASTE! It kills me.
A few streets away, the local hairdresser’s attempts to lure me in with these stylish shots. You can file this one under “Reasons Why I Insist On Going To Aveda Despite Husband’s Protests”.
I shall find more and worse.
On Saturday we took the pesky chilluns to the Serpentine Lido, where my boys chased Kimberley Quinn’s mysterious sons with said samurai sword (http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/4051777.stm. Muck-raking. Please forgive me.) Most excellent time was had by all, in this little secret idyll atop the cafe. It costs about £4 to get in, so no one goes. It looks like a mini Teletubby Land, with rolling hills, paddling pool, playground, sandpit, and a cafe. Cafe staff turn a blind eye to picnicking adults intent on drinking wine, and they sell iceblocks, pizza and tea. Really really English and secret and superfine.
That is Noah. Looks just like mother-in-law.
Sooooo gotta go to bed now. Have plane to catch in the morning.