I am struggling with something that I am not sure I should be struggling about. It seems a bit pedantic and petty and a bit nerdy, but every time I am at Barnaby’s school, and I see that nice, home counties-esque young teacher who has a ready smile for me, and who does a good line in inoffensive linen trousers and florally sprigged blouses, I am bluntly reminded.

Reminded of her Bad Grammar.

Specifically, in the classroom newsletter that is given out once a week, which (unfortunately for her and me) has the offensive errant apostrophe reprinted each time as it is part of the school schedule, duly repeated to remind us that “Tuesday morning’s = P.E Kit”. Like that. It shouts at me, that little sneaky apostrophe, and I am confused as to what to do. Mention it flippantly to the headmistress? No, no. She has proper work to do. Mention casually to the lovely teacher? No, as she would hate me, and have her confidence destroyed and ebb away over the year and she may never come back to teaching after the holidays and instead she might consider a career in something that avoids paperwork, i.e. life-drawing nude modelling/roadworking/burlesque artist and it would be All My FAULT.

So I say nothing, but have a feeling that this is all wrong. But then Charlotte, Houseguest with Extras, pointed out that the lovely teacher doesn’t teach that kind of stuff, but rather sings songs and pushes phonetics, and I should get a grip. Any thoughts?

I am also concerned as to what level of quirky dressing a pregnant mother-of-three can go to. As I may have twittered, Barnaby’s first day at school had me turn up in a £4 vintage polyester swirly vaguely-see-through vivid red summer frock. I fancied I was channelling Princess Margaret in her Mystique heyday, but I was actually a badly misjudged lone tropical fish in a sea of mostly head-scarved cod.  And my penchant for exposing my enriched cleavage could be said to verge on inappropriate,  as was today’s short Kate Sylvester puffed sleeved bias-cut black and silver-threaded tunic. Frankly, my legs have never been lovely in a mini, and now they are filled with water and resemble badly-stuffed sausages, should I learn to dress more appropriately? Pop the charity-shop finds away in acid-free paper and go boldly into the maternity section at Gap and cover up in pastelly wrap-around cardigans and cargo trousers? It may be more comfortable but where is the fun in that, I ask you.

Signs That I Covet For My Wall#5

I am also disproportionately in love with Tiffany Celebration rings, Prada Neroli perfume (mmmm sprayed on at all times, even worn to bed just like Marilyn), Selfridges Beauty Hall at about 10:30am when the beauty counter girls are gagging for a first sale and are a bit bored and so they give you free makeovers and samples and pretend to be charmed by your baby.