Ah, hello again. Apologies for the absence. Sometimes I fancy I might attempt a stylish LibertyLondonGirl-esque daily post, where I would (hopefully but not very likely) write witty, aspirational things about place settings and wintery walks and adventures with my dogs and my footwear. But I have no discipline, not enough invitations to go out, and a too-close relationship with devices that enable my aimless web-surfing to actually document my daily doings. Besides, much of my life is cleaning up breakfast dishes and putting Casper into timeout. Which makes for boring reading, frankly.
So here we are, nearly April, and I have a bunch of instagram photographs with which to thrill/bore you with.
But first! My husband came to open our linen cupboard, such as it is, and he was heard to exclaim in a loud and frustrated tone
“What the FLIPPING HECK”
as a load of duvets, sheets, pillows and towels fell about his head. That is because I am a Shover. I like to see a space in a drawer/cupboard/whathaveyou and do a bit of Shoving until the thing in question fits. I don’t really Fold and I never Sort. I am the polar opposite of a Tamara Mellon. Those wardrobe sorting-type-people would totally find me repulsive. I think you could safely call me not just The Harridan, for the shameless shouting and mean shrill supermarket admonistrations, but also The Slattern for the very bad housekeeping skills. So Mark, in a fit of rage and shock, reorganised our linen cupboard and made everything look nice and sensible. Nothing falls out when you open the cupboard, everything fits and you can see what you are after. It’s a domestic revelation, I tell ya. And he is so smug. Pah.
So, housewife I am not, but I did make a good cake for Casper’s 4th birthday. And a watermelon shark fruit salad, ripped from one of those good-looking American blogs where the woman makes placenames for everyone and probably folds her clothes nicely. Ah! The creativity! The craft! Pinterest has a lot to answer for, really – this is the new subjugation – we must excel at cakes and party favours and be skinny and have an excellent job and our children should not hit each other in public. There is something a little odd about my new cake-one-upmanship. But that well be a topic for the therapist. See the treasure chest cake of Instagrammed Geniusness:
Casper had a rotten time at the party, due to some sort of shivery virus, which killed the vibe somewhat. But the others liked the pinata and the Fairy Bread. (Fairy Bread is something New Zealanders make, if they have leave of their senses. It is white processed bread, crusts off, buttered and covered in coloured sugar. And given to children.)
And Casper. He is four now. I am hoping for a better year. Ahem.
So the day after the birthday party, we went off to Harrogate for the day to attend a trade fair. The journey started at 9:00am and we arrived after lunch. I started to feel train-sick about 40 minutes into the journey and ended up doing impressive vomiting into a paper bag which split on the train in front of (and a little bit on) a Hen’s Party in Leeds. They were kind, in their pink tiaras and sashes and tiny bits of my vom on their shoes. It was most unfortunate for all concerned.
We ended up zooming around the exhibition centre while trying to look professional and interested, in between me rushing off to the loos to retch and lie down on the cold tiles. We caught the early train home while I clutched an enormous plastic rubbish bag and sweatily dreamed of Home.
Anyway, enough of that maudlin stomach-talk. It is school holidays and I have every intention to
a. Do the homework quickly
b. Spend quality one-on-one time with all the children, separately
c. Get to the Tate to see the Polka Dot Japanese lady (and finally become a member so I will actually go along rather than just read about the exhibitions in Time Out)
d. Take Noah to the dentist to stop him grinding his teeth away to nubbly little sore nerve-endings.
Wish me luck.