Ho Hum
The highlight of my week has been the arrival of Small Person's cousin #4, courtesy of beloved sister Fifi. She arrived yesterday morning at the ungodly hour of 6.14am (Smallest Person at the hospital, not Fifi at my flat) - welcome to the family, young lady. I'll be popping over on Sunday to monopolise her, probably much to the relief of the new parents. Fifi's done this sort of thing before, but am sure it will be a slight shock to the system of her Other Half. Bless them.
That aside, what a dull week so far. Even Big Brother has gone the way of the Cameron-induced yawnfest of the other year. I've switched it off for the last two nights as I just can't bear to listen to the shrieking any more. I must be getting old. I've spent the week doing the school run as my regular childminder has gone on holiday, the inconsiderate witch. Doesn't she know I rely on her to cover all the minutiae that being a working mother precludes? If only I can get her to come home with me after work, bath Small Person and put her to bed of an evening......Anyway, Small Person has instead been going to a friend's childminder, who has a trampoline and swimming pool in the back garden. Which has resulted in her developing childminder snobbery at the age of five, and sneering at the thought of going back to the regular one in September. Mind you, I suspect that September is as far away in her mind as her fortieth birthday, so we'll address that one agin nearer the time. From next week she's at holiday club, who are extorting £500 from me for the privilege of looking after her for four days a week. Trips etc are extra, and they've managed to shoehorn at least one a week. So for the next six weeks I'll be mostly staying in and sobbing gently into my value beans on value toast, as the bailiffs manoeuvre the sofa through the front door and Social Services collect the last of Small Person's belongings from the cubbyhole she calls her own since we've been forced to move into the caretaker's cupboard to save on the rent.
Still, could be worse. I could still be married. Perish the thought.
And on a lighter note, it's the departmental summer barbie tomorrow at the house of the universally loathed boss. I'm going to drink too much red wine and throw up in his sock drawer. Mind you, there might be a queue. I'll get drunk before I go, that way I can be first.
Dare me?
That aside, what a dull week so far. Even Big Brother has gone the way of the Cameron-induced yawnfest of the other year. I've switched it off for the last two nights as I just can't bear to listen to the shrieking any more. I must be getting old. I've spent the week doing the school run as my regular childminder has gone on holiday, the inconsiderate witch. Doesn't she know I rely on her to cover all the minutiae that being a working mother precludes? If only I can get her to come home with me after work, bath Small Person and put her to bed of an evening......Anyway, Small Person has instead been going to a friend's childminder, who has a trampoline and swimming pool in the back garden. Which has resulted in her developing childminder snobbery at the age of five, and sneering at the thought of going back to the regular one in September. Mind you, I suspect that September is as far away in her mind as her fortieth birthday, so we'll address that one agin nearer the time. From next week she's at holiday club, who are extorting £500 from me for the privilege of looking after her for four days a week. Trips etc are extra, and they've managed to shoehorn at least one a week. So for the next six weeks I'll be mostly staying in and sobbing gently into my value beans on value toast, as the bailiffs manoeuvre the sofa through the front door and Social Services collect the last of Small Person's belongings from the cubbyhole she calls her own since we've been forced to move into the caretaker's cupboard to save on the rent.
Still, could be worse. I could still be married. Perish the thought.
And on a lighter note, it's the departmental summer barbie tomorrow at the house of the universally loathed boss. I'm going to drink too much red wine and throw up in his sock drawer. Mind you, there might be a queue. I'll get drunk before I go, that way I can be first.
Dare me?
posted by surly girl at 4:59 pm
1 Comments:
I dare you...
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