The edge of reason

So Sunday night finds me blogging in an attempt to clear my head and begin the winding down process for hollybobs. I'm looking forward to getting away, mostly so that I can stop banging on about getting away. The last week at work has been torture and I'm really annoying myself now so I can only imagine how irritating it is for everybody else. The flat is positively subtropical as I've been doing last minute panic-laundry and realised this morning that I haven't got a hope in hell of getting everything dry in time for Small Person's departure for the Ex's tomorrow, so have whacked the heating up to eleven and switched most of the radiators off. Except this being a rented flat the heating system is predictably a bit wonky and therefore my bedroom is hotter than the sun despite the radiator being off in there. Still, the flat is sparkly and my case is nearly packed so not all bad. I'm having to pack virtually everything Small Person possesses as the Ex is not renowned for either housekeeping skills or, after Friday, his parenting. Small Person had her birthday party yesterday at a hellish place called Kidz Kingdom which I loathe with every fibre of my being but it was her choice so I relented. It's a massive echoing place filled with bouncy castles, rubbish food and slack-jawed Saturday staff underlining why it's known as the minimum wage - only those with minimum intelligence need apply. Small Person has had two bad pain-related experiences there in the past so next year I'm going to insist on something a little less fraught with danger. That's assuming of course that she lives to see her sixth birthday - following on from her theme park black eye the other week, this weekend's heart-stopping moment came in the form of a near-drowning. Small Person and Best Friend were apparently paddling in the sea at a nearby beach with her father and Best Friend's mother (I should clarify at this point that the Ex and Best Friend's mother are currently embroiled in what they consider to be a secret affair, what with her being married. However, they're so far from discreet that if Stevie Wonder had been at Small Person's party he'd have been wondering why they didn't just get a room...), when a locally-renowned for being a bit of a worry passenger ferry entered the nearby port. There's been a lot of kerfuffle over the waves this thing generates, but it's been running for three years now - there are warning signs up and down the beach alerting people to just this, but for some reason a) the kids weren't even nearly within reach (Small Person has just turned five, Best Friend is six and neither can swim), and b) no adults noticed the resulting 2-3 foot swell until both children had been engulfed and Best Friend was under the water. While no harm was done it could have turned out a lot differently, and I now have to spend two weeks hoping that my daughter isn't run over/burned alive/sold into slavery while in her father's care. I appreciate the argument that I could always take her on holiday with me, but I feel the more pertinent point is that I should be able to trust her father to look after her as well as I would, but I can't. Grrr. At times like these I find myself idly dreaming of horrible accidents befalling him, leaving me to ensure that Small Person becomes a well-rounded Large Person without too many physical or mental scars.

Ooh, a serious one for a change. Still, it's helped to get that off my chest. That aside, the birthday party was just plain horrible. The Ex, his is-she-or-isn't-she thing, and her friend turned up and almost immediately fucked off to smoke fags, leaving me to watch out for their kids (I don't mind watching mine but let's not take the piss here). They looked like they'd arrived fresh from a caravan on the roadside, and I'll admit to not being happy that my daughter is spending so much time with people who look as if they steal horses for a living. And that includes her father - talk about hindsight - what was I thinking???!! Next year's party will be very different - if the Ex wants to throw one he can organise it himself and I won't have to spend two hours worrying about people thinking I'm in some way affiliated to them. I know, I know, my middle class is showing but I make no apology for that.

On the plus side though, the staff were so woefully inept that I haven't paid a penny for the party. Every cloud and all that......