I can't watch Ballamory any more. PC Plum's apparently innocuous daily visits to the supposedly demure Miss Hoolie? Honestly, you know as well as I do that they're straight in that stationery cupboard the minute our backs are turned...
Miss Hoolie was drooly for PC Plum's truncheon,
Succumbed to his charms and had a wee munch on
it, caught by young Penny who cried out "Och noo!
A respectable school teacher, it jest does nae do!"
Tuesday, 24 November 2009
Tuesday, 17 November 2009
Mary Poppins arrived with us at the start of the year, in preparation for my full-time return to work. I'm not sure of the correct criteria for assessing a nanny's performance, but I'd say she's been a resounding success. She hasn't resigned, the children don't cry when I leave them (although they do often cry when she leaves, which does little for maternal confidence), and she doesn't appear to have stolen anything or sold my secrets to the Daily Mail. She hasn't found my vibrator (at least, if she has, she's very good at putting it back undisturbed) and most importantly - according to the nanny horror stories with which I was regaled when I first suggested the idea to my friends - she's not sleeping with my husband. To my knowledge. And I have to say, the children are so very happy with her, and she keeps the house so very nicely, and we pay her so very little, that if I were to come home and find her in bed with my husband, it'd be a tough call as to who I asked to leave. Well, nannies don't grow on trees, you know.
Wednesday, 4 November 2009
Why does it have to be so fucking hard? I thought time was supposed to be a great healer? Well you know what? It still hurts like I've been punched in the solar plexus. Tomorrow my little boy will be three years old, and if life wasn't so cruel I'd now be writing two birthday cards, wrapping two lots of presents and swearing over two birthday cakes I should have made sooner.