|Everyone was 'out' on the way home from the weekend...|
I have just picked up my friend’s 18 month old who I am looking after for the day-her husband has been away for 6 months, they have 3 kids, and he’d just got back. So I looked after the baby whilst her bigger 2 were at school. That way they had the day to themselves (lucky b*st*rds, bet they weren’t thinking of me and my day??!). Actually I offered, so I am keeping schtum. As I drove off, baby K screaming her heart out as we tackle the 'separation from mummy' difficulties by singing really badly French nursery rhymes. They’ll never be to me, like the English ones, I should maybe have educated her, and sung ‘God Save the Queen’ with gay abandon or something English and traditional, but this was maybe not the moment. Out of nowhere, as I am driving along, I squint quite hard, making my eyes hurt, and just about recognising, OMG, WTF? Screeeeching to a halt, I realise I have just been flagged down by Make-Up lady, in al her glory, arms wildly flailing round, bouncing up and down, like i was gonna miss her or something…She has finally managed to buy a car *praises the God of cars and finances to get them and the God of no more trips for me bringing little miss ‘I can’t hear you, ever, speaking as I am always too busy talking myself, about ME!’* (because those Gods exist). It’s like, well, really, really rude, really…it’s like I am chatting to a child who finds me boring and is thus forced to do the kid putting fingers in ears, whilst singing ‘I can’t hear you, I can’t hear you, I can’t hear you’. She’d be f***d if I did the other popular kid gesture-put my hands across my eyes so she couldn’t see me. But I don’t, quite fortunately, well, haven’t yet. She hoys her whole body (she’s not a small lady) out into the road, waving wildly, jewels flying everywhere, lip gloss and phone in other hand. Oh no, what’s happened. I pull up, to be met with a torrent of woe and despair, and a car broken down. As other cars whizz by beeping coz we’re in the way, which BTW, WTF is that about? To put it in triples. ‘Get in!’ she practically screeches, ordering me and half pushing me into the car, ‘I’ll push, you steer’. Again, another triple, because WTF is going on here? I turn to question her logic, but her hand is now on my head squeezing me into her Nissan teeny tiny mobile, one of those cars for no liscence drivers. They call them ‘yoghurt pots’ over here, which is not the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. But there you go.
|Lola Grace snooooozing it up after the weekend, love this pic...|
I start playing with all kinds of knobs, yank a big stick, and await further instruction. This is when the Police pull up (not that my train of thought went anywhere with the ‘knobs’ thing ooooooo, controversial!) They all get out to help push, thoroughly pissed off, and giving us evils. The whole time this is going on, I am dying of mortification, having to drive a car I could not sit up straight in, Make-up lady standing up for herself to the police, me internally, weeping. They try pushing for what seems like the whole rest of the day, the car is going nowhere. ‘Can’t we just pick it up?’ I attempted humour, it went down like a sack of sh*t, but I tried. The police man looks in the car, ‘this yours?’ For fook's sake, make an effort Policeman Plod, mine’s parked right next to you. We then work out why the car is not moving, I have my foot, thinking it’s the clutch, flat to the floor on the brake.
So no, that trip did not go well. Today at school I turned up 10 minutes late, was remarkable, as we’d got up at 7.50 am! Not the most stress free of wake up calls. I bump into my friend who asks me if I’ve brought my picnic? Why? Because I had forgotten I was supposed to be ‘sit in’ in the school today, in protest. They want to do a class of bilingual students, learning the language that has not been spoken for centuries. Fair enough, if you want to do that, but there are only 13, which means the 2 other classes for the non-bilingual students will have to accommodate 30 in each class. We say ‘NO FAIR’. And I thus signed a petition, ran home, grabbed some bread and water (I did it Jesus style, although I have never, apart from that once, been able to turn the water into Mannies…If my husband reads this, I meant to say Nannies, OK?). and got my pie ass back to school to 'sit'. It was actually on the National radio news and everything!
I ‘sat’ for one and a half hours, then just had to get to the house work…fairly good performance I reckon, and plus my friend was leaving, and she was giving me a lift, as Alex’s car is broken down, and we are shuffling life with one car-not the easiest task around, and so he had mine, I therefore had to leave. Excused.
|Monty and his Dad....|
Right, I am going to stop there, although I could go on for another ½ hour. You are all excused too! See you tomorrow,