'My family, by Deborah
I have a family a not very kind one my brother always wants to play football and my sister when we go to fairs she spends my money and my mum does not sit with me at bedtime and my dad does not ever go shopping with me and they all don't love me'
"That child doesn't know she's born," says Bad Lindy, when I tell her. "Let me babysit one evening and I'll soon put her right."
"Dont even think about it," Vicky texts later. "Only time she looked after mine she got so over excited reading Fireman Sam to them they self-registered themselves on the 'at risk' list."
Monday, 7 January 2008
Saturday, 5 January 2008
A feather from Lovely land
"Happy New Year," says Lovely Mummy to Vicky and me as we collect our children on the first day of the new term. A small form hurtles towards her. "Oh, sweetie, how was your day? Come and give me a big hug."
She and her daughter hold each other close. They are wearing identical coats, hats and gloves and no doubt would have gone for a 100% clothes match had the the school's brutal uniform policy not intervened - though her petite figure and ability to buy clothes for herself in children's departments means that a large sweatshirt and regulation hairband can't be completely ruled out.
Lovely Mummy is new to the area, and has yet to work out that some school run audiences are more sympathetic than others. "So, did you draw a picture of your guardian angel, like you said you would?" Her daughter nods, looking up at her with a radiant face.
"Woman's obviously got a paid residency in Lala land," says Bad Lindy, very nearly quietly enough not to be overheard. She's come to persuade either, or preferably both of us to thrust our children into the hands of the nearest gullible-looking parent and join her in a post-Christmas drinking session.
"I know it sounds silly," says Lovely Mummy, defensively, "but I'm quite sure everyone has their own guardian angel. You ask them something and tell them what sign you'd like them to send you as the answer. When I wasn't sure if we should move here or not, I asked for a feather if it was the right thing to do and two weeks later, a beautiful snow white feather floated down and landed in my hand. So I knew." With great dignity, she takes her daughter's hand and sets off down the road. We watch, temporarily silenced.
"Blimey," says Bad Lindy, "Let's hope she doesn't ask her guardian angel what it thinks of me. Forget feathers. Give it couple of weeks and she'll get a flock of pigeons flying over and crapping on her head."
She and her daughter hold each other close. They are wearing identical coats, hats and gloves and no doubt would have gone for a 100% clothes match had the the school's brutal uniform policy not intervened - though her petite figure and ability to buy clothes for herself in children's departments means that a large sweatshirt and regulation hairband can't be completely ruled out.
Lovely Mummy is new to the area, and has yet to work out that some school run audiences are more sympathetic than others. "So, did you draw a picture of your guardian angel, like you said you would?" Her daughter nods, looking up at her with a radiant face.
"Woman's obviously got a paid residency in Lala land," says Bad Lindy, very nearly quietly enough not to be overheard. She's come to persuade either, or preferably both of us to thrust our children into the hands of the nearest gullible-looking parent and join her in a post-Christmas drinking session.
"I know it sounds silly," says Lovely Mummy, defensively, "but I'm quite sure everyone has their own guardian angel. You ask them something and tell them what sign you'd like them to send you as the answer. When I wasn't sure if we should move here or not, I asked for a feather if it was the right thing to do and two weeks later, a beautiful snow white feather floated down and landed in my hand. So I knew." With great dignity, she takes her daughter's hand and sets off down the road. We watch, temporarily silenced.
"Blimey," says Bad Lindy, "Let's hope she doesn't ask her guardian angel what it thinks of me. Forget feathers. Give it couple of weeks and she'll get a flock of pigeons flying over and crapping on her head."
Friday, 4 January 2008
Crimping the sausage rolls
"Surprise!" says Vicky, putting a plate of what appear to be utterly ordinary sausage rolls in front of us. We crane forward, waiting to recoil in amazement while the labrador puppy looks hopefully on. "Nope," says Lindy. "I'm not getting anything so far, apart from puff pastry crumbs up my nose."
"I crimped the edges," says Vicky. "Can't you see?"
"I think it only works before they're frozen," I say. "But the holes round the edges have a certain charm. And if they ever introduce finger-print based identification, I'm pretty sure they could use these for reference."
"You've got post-Aga guilt, that's your trouble." says Bad Lindy. "There's a part of you that's always going to feel bad because you're not decorating jars of home-made lemon curd with gingham ribbons. And that labrador's not helping."
"I rang the Aga man to see if he could come and dismantle the dog, too, and install it in a new home but he refused. Said they don't touch anything that runs on raw meat and walkies."
"You could always bring it round to the vet's," says Bad Lindy, eyeing the dog speculatively. "I'm trying to bring in bargain treatment options for the meaner pet owner."
"What do you mean?"
"Take euthanasia," says Bad Lindy. "You could have the luxury option for the discerning customer - chapel of rest, hand-finished casket, soothing massage - though that's obviously only going to be an option for the discerning male customer."
"And for the budget shopper?"
"Mallet over the head round the back of the surgery for a fiver."
"And how's that playing with the vets?"
"Funnily enough," says Bad Lindy, "they say it may need a bit of mulling over. The locum took me up on the trial massage, though we had a bit of a fight about just where the soothing oils should be rubbed in. Sometimes I just despair of getting them to see things from a commercial perspective. Mind you," she says, brightening, "Vaccination charges will shoot up this year."
"How do you know?" asks Vicky.
"Simple. I didn't bother sending out any reminder notices, so they'll all have to pay double and start all over again."
"And how's that gone down with the vets?"
"Haven't told them," says Bad Lindy. "I can't decide whether to break the good news when I negotiate my pay rise or leave it as a surprise for later on." She crams a couple of crimped sausage rolls into her mouth. "Honestly," she says, showing us with pinkish meat and greyish crumbs. "There are times when I just don't think they appreciate me."
"I crimped the edges," says Vicky. "Can't you see?"
"I think it only works before they're frozen," I say. "But the holes round the edges have a certain charm. And if they ever introduce finger-print based identification, I'm pretty sure they could use these for reference."
"You've got post-Aga guilt, that's your trouble." says Bad Lindy. "There's a part of you that's always going to feel bad because you're not decorating jars of home-made lemon curd with gingham ribbons. And that labrador's not helping."
"I rang the Aga man to see if he could come and dismantle the dog, too, and install it in a new home but he refused. Said they don't touch anything that runs on raw meat and walkies."
"You could always bring it round to the vet's," says Bad Lindy, eyeing the dog speculatively. "I'm trying to bring in bargain treatment options for the meaner pet owner."
"What do you mean?"
"Take euthanasia," says Bad Lindy. "You could have the luxury option for the discerning customer - chapel of rest, hand-finished casket, soothing massage - though that's obviously only going to be an option for the discerning male customer."
"And for the budget shopper?"
"Mallet over the head round the back of the surgery for a fiver."
"And how's that playing with the vets?"
"Funnily enough," says Bad Lindy, "they say it may need a bit of mulling over. The locum took me up on the trial massage, though we had a bit of a fight about just where the soothing oils should be rubbed in. Sometimes I just despair of getting them to see things from a commercial perspective. Mind you," she says, brightening, "Vaccination charges will shoot up this year."
"How do you know?" asks Vicky.
"Simple. I didn't bother sending out any reminder notices, so they'll all have to pay double and start all over again."
"And how's that gone down with the vets?"
"Haven't told them," says Bad Lindy. "I can't decide whether to break the good news when I negotiate my pay rise or leave it as a surprise for later on." She crams a couple of crimped sausage rolls into her mouth. "Honestly," she says, showing us with pinkish meat and greyish crumbs. "There are times when I just don't think they appreciate me."
Thursday, 3 January 2008
Little scaly faces
Francis is off on his travels again, consigned to airport lounges and hotel food for another week.
I have to say that he looks remarkably cheerful about the whole thing.
"The sardines are calling," he says, putting a hand to one ear.
"What are they saying?" I ask, suspiciously.
"Here's....Johnny!"
"Why are they watching horror films?"
"Why not? And don't ever underestimate the power of modern technology. They've probably got those unlimited DVD rental plans, same as the rest of us."
This conversation isn't going anywhere, unlike Francis, who is following the fleet with such assiduity that it can only be a matter of days before he's given a company waterside hovel and apron to wring his hands in when there's a storm at sea.
"What is it with you and sardines?" I say.
"They're touting Omega 3 as the wonder cure for Alzheimer's now," says Francis, "and the company's taking it very seriously."
"Fair enough," I say, "but aren't you taking things a bit far? I know Waitrose has this thing about naming every one of its organic chicken farmers, but surely you don't have to know every oily fish by name before it goes into a miracle cream or potion."
"Funnily enough, you get fond of their scaly little faces," says Francis. "I think I've got a real rapport going."
He heads into the kitchen, and soon there's the cheery sound of an orchestra warming up as the trademark tune of the many different pieces of software installed on his computer announce their presence.
"What are you doing now?" I ask
"Appraisals," he says. "I need a bit of peace and quiet. It's absolutely essential that I clear my head so I can summarise my team's contribution to sales in an objective and dispassionate way."
Two minutes later, he appears again.
"What's another way of saying 'cynical bastard who questions all my decisions'?" he asks.
I have to say that he looks remarkably cheerful about the whole thing.
"The sardines are calling," he says, putting a hand to one ear.
"What are they saying?" I ask, suspiciously.
"Here's....Johnny!"
"Why are they watching horror films?"
"Why not? And don't ever underestimate the power of modern technology. They've probably got those unlimited DVD rental plans, same as the rest of us."
This conversation isn't going anywhere, unlike Francis, who is following the fleet with such assiduity that it can only be a matter of days before he's given a company waterside hovel and apron to wring his hands in when there's a storm at sea.
"What is it with you and sardines?" I say.
"They're touting Omega 3 as the wonder cure for Alzheimer's now," says Francis, "and the company's taking it very seriously."
"Fair enough," I say, "but aren't you taking things a bit far? I know Waitrose has this thing about naming every one of its organic chicken farmers, but surely you don't have to know every oily fish by name before it goes into a miracle cream or potion."
"Funnily enough, you get fond of their scaly little faces," says Francis. "I think I've got a real rapport going."
He heads into the kitchen, and soon there's the cheery sound of an orchestra warming up as the trademark tune of the many different pieces of software installed on his computer announce their presence.
"What are you doing now?" I ask
"Appraisals," he says. "I need a bit of peace and quiet. It's absolutely essential that I clear my head so I can summarise my team's contribution to sales in an objective and dispassionate way."
Two minutes later, he appears again.
"What's another way of saying 'cynical bastard who questions all my decisions'?" he asks.
Scented candles - the new detox diet from Freecycle
'Offered: Two scented candles in pretty rose-patterned holders. Very sweet. I would like them if I knew they were vegan.'
Omega Mum's serving suggestion: A warming snack, though some seasoning advisable. Blow flame out before swallowing.
Omega Mum's serving suggestion: A warming snack, though some seasoning advisable. Blow flame out before swallowing.
Enchanted, I'm sure
"So we come out of the film and the kids both want to go to the loo," says Vicky. "So we go in and the first thing I see is one of those timetables by the door."
"You mean the ones that have to be initialled by the cleaners every hour, because they're linked to some implant that gives them an electric shock if they don't?" I say. "Well, it's got to be something like that, or why bother putting them up."
"That's right. And next to it is this sign. 'To ensure the highest possible standards, these facilities are regularly checked and cleaned by both female and male team members.'"
"And?"
"To give them their due, they had been conscientious. They'd made sure that every cubicle was missing its door and bog seat and accessorised with a large, unflushed floater in every bowl. They were even colour-matched, as far as I could tell. So full marks there, assuming that was what they were checking for. They certainly hadn't bothered to do anything else. I wouldn't mind so much except for the contrast with the film we'd gone to see."
"What was it?" I ask.
"'Enchanted,'" says Vicky.
"You mean the ones that have to be initialled by the cleaners every hour, because they're linked to some implant that gives them an electric shock if they don't?" I say. "Well, it's got to be something like that, or why bother putting them up."
"That's right. And next to it is this sign. 'To ensure the highest possible standards, these facilities are regularly checked and cleaned by both female and male team members.'"
"And?"
"To give them their due, they had been conscientious. They'd made sure that every cubicle was missing its door and bog seat and accessorised with a large, unflushed floater in every bowl. They were even colour-matched, as far as I could tell. So full marks there, assuming that was what they were checking for. They certainly hadn't bothered to do anything else. I wouldn't mind so much except for the contrast with the film we'd gone to see."
"What was it?" I ask.
"'Enchanted,'" says Vicky.
Tuesday, 1 January 2008
2008 - first impressions
Bad Lindy:
Social life shaping up well - senior vet whisking me off to conjunctivitis work nite out - evening conference on eye infections in domestic pets. Can't wait.
Harassed mother
Took children to ice rink. Very crowded. Some c*** whizzed past and knocked son off balance. Legs went backwards, face forwards and teeth took impact. Needed emergency dental treatment and root canal treatment next week. Tooth dead cos so much broke off and will need crown. Root exposed so v painful and risk of infection. Happy f****** New Year.
Vicky:
First resolution for 2008 - never to spend another New Year's Eve in remote house with septic tank. They say there's a first time for everything - can't believe this includes laundering tampons, but there you are.
Social life shaping up well - senior vet whisking me off to conjunctivitis work nite out - evening conference on eye infections in domestic pets. Can't wait.
Harassed mother
Took children to ice rink. Very crowded. Some c*** whizzed past and knocked son off balance. Legs went backwards, face forwards and teeth took impact. Needed emergency dental treatment and root canal treatment next week. Tooth dead cos so much broke off and will need crown. Root exposed so v painful and risk of infection. Happy f****** New Year.
Vicky:
First resolution for 2008 - never to spend another New Year's Eve in remote house with septic tank. They say there's a first time for everything - can't believe this includes laundering tampons, but there you are.
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