Risk it for a biscuit

Why I can't trust ParsleySage to go and buy the car park ticket:

*sigh*

and my keyring sure does look bare without it!

In 2002, at the conclusion of her hen weekend in Edinburgh, my mate Boglet bought all of those present a 'hairy haggis' keyring. I've had it ever since but, alas, it detached itself (appropriately enough, in a pub car park) this weekend.

If you asked me what was so fantastic about that weekend now, I'd be hard put to explain it all (except that we drank a LOT of Flaming Sambucca and smoked a LOT of fags).

At the start of the weekend we each had to draw, at random, two 'challenges' from a bag. We had all contributed some challenges to the bag, so no-one knew exactly what they were going to get. Photographic evidence had to be collected to document the achievement of each challenge.

I got 'Drive a bus' (I did get as far as sitting in the driver's seat, and the girls decided that counted) and 'Hug a traffic warden'.

Walking up an Edinburgh street on the second day of our weekend, the girls suddenly became very excited and starting gesturing across the road and whispering "Sixy! Sixy! Traffic warden!" and whipping out their cameras at the ready.

This resulted in one of my favourite photos of all time:

I know you'll want to know, so I can now exclusively reveal that the conversation ran thus:

Sixy: Excuse me - have you got the time please?
Traffic warden: Yes - it's ten past twelve.
Sixy: Oh - THANK YOU!!!!
*embraces astonished Traffic Warden with ardent enthusiasm, and then walks off*

Bye bye, hairy haggis...

I have just emailed Kraft with a complaint about an irregularity on the Philadelphia Cheese website.

Nobody tells you when you are a frivolous young thing that life will eventually bring you to these depths.

So sue me.

Highlights of half term:

At the Space Centre, watching a fantastic digital media projection of the world turning on the domed sreen above our heads:

"Der's a ball!!"

Entering the kitchen and seeing me slaving over a hot stove, having earlier been informed that dinner will involve that majestic foodstuff, the mighty Sausage*: *(and I ain't talkin' about Mr ParsleySage on this occasion )

"Where is sausage gone?"

On seeing Daddy enter the car wearing a hat which, truth be told, did bear a teeny tiny resemblance to Grandpa's:

"Daddy Pa-Pa Hat!"

And finally... on being moved to a more comfortable position whilst fast asleep:

"Tank you pleez"

(wait for it; I haven't finished my sentence)

...by electrical hum?

I can't be the only person, can I?

More than once I have had to get up at 3am and go into Smudger's room (at the other end of the landing) to switch the radio off at the plug (it's already off but the switch is on) because I can't concentrate on being asleep otherwise.

I suspect you are going to tell me this is not normal.

But I can hear it I tell you!!!

Smudge's rapidly increasing language skills have now extended to the three-word sentence.

I know this because yesterday morning, from behind the privacy of a locked door, I overheard him making the following announcement to his dad:

"Mummy go wee-wee"

Since evaluation is my professional specialism I am easily irritated by minor design flaws in other people's evaluation forms.

Today I went on a training course. The first question on the evaluation form was, "How did you find the trainer?"

I felt I was morally obliged to write, "I came up the stairs and turned left".

Pedant? Moi?

(Parsley's worse).

Smudge tripped in the bedroom this morning and put his teeth through his bottom lip He is such a brave boy! After a few tears he sat on my knee while I pressed damp cotton wool against his profusely bleeding wound and complained not a jot.

I still have a lump on my top lip from a similar injury when I was about 7 years old. I was showing off to the other girls that I could ride my bike with only one hand on the handlebars. Not as well as I thought, it turned out.

I was playing schools with my mates the next day (as girls do) and when we were allocated roles I was told that I would have to be called "John".

When I queried why I was required to be a boy I was told "Because you look like you've been in a fight".

I failed to query this apalling stereotyping at the time... But then that was the 70s.

My 'Back to Blogging' campaign (day 2) is already struggling, since the domestic nature of my life leaves me short of material. The most exciting thing that happens to me on a Tuesday being a visit to the 'Feckity* Mums & Toddlers Group'. *Feckity being the village where I live. That's not its real name.

The Mums & Toddlers Group meets in Feckity Village Hall where lots of well-used toys are dragged out each week and you pay a princely £1.50 for the privilege of having a sit down while your child runs about and plays. Although for about the first six months Smudger, who is a shy and retiring type like his mama *cough*, spent his visits to the group clinging to my kneecaps and howling profusely if I dared to, say, make myself a cup of coffee, or speak to anyone.

However he is now a little more confident and wanders around gawping at all the more boisterous kids, occasionally treating himself to a little go on the baby slide or a 'boun, boun' on the trampoline, but mostly running for the door (Smudge has a door fetish. Opening them. Closing them. Going through them. Going through them the other way. Endless fun.)

Anyway it’s a nice informal group but last week I thought we’d try somewhere different. I have seen advertised all over the locality sessions for young children run by ‘Musical Molly’. That’s not her real name. So I thought we’d give it a go, as Smudge likes a bit of a singsong and boogie.

However it turns out that Musical Molly’s is some kind of nightmarish cult. On arrival we were forced to wear stickers with our names on and directed to a specified cushion against the wall. Musical Molly opened the session by announcing “We have some new children with us today”, peering scarily over the top of her glasses at Smudge. Everybody then sang Musical Molly’s ‘Hello’ song. We didn’t join in because we didn’t know it. Nor did we know the rest of Musical Molly’s special songs, so we pretty much sat in silence. All the children had to sit nicely in a circle and anyone who didn’t was soundly and publicly reprimanded. Now, Smudge isn’t really one for sitting nicely for any length of time; I didn’t think any under-2 would be, but all the other children did, so either Smudge is a badly brought up rebel or else all the other children have been grossly indoctrinated into Musical Molly’s ways. We were allowed to stand up and pretend to be penguins at one point, but Smudge refused to co-operate. In fact after the first ten minutes he started making for the door as usual. However I feared he would be subjected to public humiliation for his disobedience and was forced to pin him down. Musical Molly had, at this point, lined up a row of cuddly penguins in size order and was calling selected children by name to come and hold a penguin. The children obediently started picking off the penguins (smallest first, as directed). Noticing Smudge attempting to wrestle free from my grasp, Musical Molly said “Smudge – would you like a penguin?”

He didn’t need a second invitation. Racing to the centre of the room he seized King Penguin from his perch at the far end of the line, leaving the other smaller penguins rolling around in disarray. There was an audible intake of breath from Musical Molly, and discernible tutting among the cult members. But Smudge didn’t care. He charged back to me pleased as punch waving his penguin and shouting “Mum! Doggy!”

I don’t think we’ll go back this week.

My text message to Smudge's new/temporary childminder:

Pls give him smack & drink b4 his nap