Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Day 1: Half term - "baker extraordinaire"

I only said fuck once today.  This is excellent. .  As you may have gathered it's half term this week when all God's little children get a week off school; A week I have meticulously planned - to the minute.  As a working mum, it stands to reason that I would embrace this week with sincere openness and enthusiasm.  And I believe I have.  Like I said, just the one 'fuck' today. 

The day started well with The Silverback taking on all the morning duties while I had a lie-in.  Unlike other days, I got up immediately on hearing the front door click behind him.  The Lish dutifully installed in the front room with children's TV and breakfast, I made my own breakfast in a leisurely manner as I referred to the day's agenda.  Hackney City Farm. 

And indeed it was a joy to execute - it took almost no time (for London) to get there despite being on the other side of town.  I made sure to engage all the way with The Lish.  Usually I will read but not today.  Either she has matured or I've succumbed to what' I've always known I've had - a bad case of arrested development - but we got eachother.  She asked her usual obtuse questions like :  Is daddy 10? or her favourite, Am I (her) older than daddy? to which I usually answer yes to both but not today.

Today, imbued with the passion and desire to be the mum I can't be when I'm working - I explained that daddy was considerably older than 10 and no, she couldn't possibly be older than the person who made her.  Right?  To which she answered - but you're still older than daddy right?

Yes.

To Hackney Farm then.  I wasn't expecting much, it being a city farm and in Hackney.  And in that respect I wasn't disappointed.  I remember thinking two things.  1. If the owner has even bothered to read the Trade Descriptions Act - this place probably just made the legal requirements and 2. It doesn't feel like 21 degrees today.

Still, I conjured up a secret garden with fairies for The Lish and what's even more amazing was that she bought into it pretending to see fairies in the most unlikely of places.  There were also chickens, two giant pigs, some lambs and a goat - which Lisherlicious mistook for a giraffe somehow.  Then the obligatory visit to the farm cafe.  Irritatingly expensive to say the produce used in the kitchen was less than 10 feet away and I imagine would take the cook less effort to harvest than it takes me to floss my teeth. 

As luck would have it, we just made it around the "farm" and into the cafeteria - managing even to get the comfy seats when it started to pelt it down with rain.  So I wasn't wrong about the weather.  When I say pelt, I mean Cats & Dogs, which to me made the whole experience that much more organic.  The Lish took her shoes off and lay her head on my lap as we watched the sheets of water run down the sky light. 

Once the rain stopped we bolted to the bus stop.  Large pools had formed at the sides of the roads - it had rained that much - and we narrowly escaped getting drenched as some fuckwit bus driver ploughed through the water causing a hip height wave of gutter water to splash onto the pavement. 

Being a life-long Londoner used to a.) the odd downpour of rain and b.) fuckwits in charge of public transport, I'd more than half expected it.  Lisherlicious on the other hand almost had a cardiac episode.  I have to say, it did make me chuckle though I made sure not to let her see this as she can get quite haughty about these things. 

I looked at my watch - it was 12:40pm.  How could this be?  Surely not? ONLY 12.40?  I'd grossly miscalculated how long you can keep a kid at a farm.  I had to think fast - the prospect of getting home at 1:15 with nothing else planned filled me with terror. 

What take ages?  Think! Woman.  Cupcakes.  Two-for-one activity.  It takes ages and then mummy gets to eat most of them.  So I put the idea of cupcakes into her head and it worked.  A little too well because for the rest of the journey home it was:  mummy, can I mixe the cupcakes?; mummy can I lick the bowl?, mummy can I eat the frosting?.  This is sadly the point where I momentarily lost it and said the F word - just low enough for anyone but my conscience to hear but she got the message.

As promised she got to mix the cupcakes, she got to lick the bowl and she go to eat the frosting...and let's face it when they look like this - that is where the culinary experience has to stop.  What do you think of my collection of bum cracks and fannies? Genuis no?

Though I say so myself,  these are not the kind that look shite but taste really rather delicious.  No these look shite and taste of shite.  I would go as far as to say they are fucking awful cupcakes.

Let's see how far off the mark I am, shall we ?  Compare my latest creation to a shop bought cupcake:

Yes, one might say, I have a little way to go before I win Cupcake Wars.  But you know what? We enjoyed making them and The Lish enjoyed getting her own back for the bus splash by pointing and laughing at my baking skills.  And, I've just enjoyed throwing the whole lot in the bin.

All I can say is:
I'd better get some sleep - day 2 of the half term tomorrow and I'm now conscious of the fact that I didn't bargain on kids doing things quicker than anticipated.  Frankly, the prospect of having to bake again to fill time is just too humiliating.

Saturday, May 28, 2011

Sloth week

I am looking at a beautiful horizon.  One that involves not having to work for a whole week.  It's half term and like it or not, no school = no work.  Marvellous ennit?  I've been looking forward to spending a week with The Lish, just me and the bum bum doing fun mummy and daughter things.  And of course I will also fit in some slattern time.

I hardly see my little one during the week and don't get me wrong, I really don't beat myself up about it - I've tried the stay at home gig and it bored me into a wooden Kimono - I cannot lie - I am a much better mum, in work.  But now and again, a little one-on-one time is warranted.

I put a lot of thought into what we will do this week.  I'm pumped!  And then the holiday actually started. Cocking hell if I'm not already so irritated by it all I could put The Lish in a kennel and head back to the orifice.  And it's only day 1.  I am a terrible person.  Yes, I am and God will punish me.  Any day now The Lish will come home with a boyfriend who looks like something out of Shameless and then I'll be sorry. 

Before you jump to any conclusions here, I do DO stuff with the child.  This morning I spent a whole hour and a half cutting paper dolls out with her.  I then took her for a bit of fresh air and let her take her bike out in full knowledge that within minutes I'd be the one dragging the pigging thing around.  It's not like a normal bike where you can hang all your shit off.   It's just small enough yet somehow heavy enough to give you a slip disc AND a hernia.

Tomorrow, weather permitting I will go to the local farmer's market to look at food I would never buy on principal (local produce should not be more expensive than supermarket food that is flown in from Costa Rica) and run The Lish like a dog in the local park and pray that the sight of swings doesn't make me want to gouge out my eyes with my own thumbs. 

So far I have planned a day at a jungle jim, a day at a city farm, the Miro exhibition (it's basically drawings that look like a child did them - what could go wrong?), the dinosaur exhibit at the Natural History (ok, I will probably only go and look at the naked bodies in the Human Biology area - it's tradition), and I'm not going to lie - a lot of shopping for make-up, perfume and shoes.  I'm also thinking I may, just may go to Bournemouth.  My experience of hotel breaks where it's just me and The Lish though have always ended with me gorging on macadamia nuts and little bottles of spirits while staring blankly at the TV until 3am.

So maybe best I rethink that last item - after all if I want a long day full of restrictions and compromise - I've got work and this week is meant to be about playtime and freedom where anything can happen.  Wish me luck.

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

An even keel

So another hum drum week rolls by and to be honest it's the best way to live when you think about it - as I have done, given, well....that it's a hum drum freaking week and what the heck else is there to do but think.  And I've come to this conclusion - hum drum is good.  It means no dramas, no mishaps, no disasters.  I think it's probably ok even to talk about the flat. You know - THE flat.  The one we've been looking for since last summer so as to become fully fledged Londoners again and stop the hungry little chatter of house rental money blades that shred your hard earned dosh with nothing but NOTHING to show for it - aside from NOTHING. Yes siree - so far, so good.  Flat in already desirable (none of this up and coming cock and bull) area. Check.  Offer for well under the asking price accepted. Check.  Mortgage applications.  God knows how, but - Check.  Evaluation. Check and dog's bollocks of a good lawyer on the case with the rest. Checkety Check.  We do need a few things still to go our way but all that going well - looks like we'll be moving into a delightful place in ooh a couple of months or so.  So Hum Drum - long may you continue.

On a much less hum drum note - I did attend the wedding of one of my oldest friends - with whom I've also had one of the longest running rifts.  Still, as her sister pointed out, it's only real friends with real affection that have rifts the size of the San Andreas fault line. So I was very happy to be at the wedding but will admit the pang, the surge of regret that I was but a mere guest and not a part of the wedding party.  A few years ago that would have been unthinkable.  Ah how the mighty have fallen. Still, thankful for small mercies because it really was the stupidest of things that caused this at one time seemingly irreparable rip, so I may have fallen but I've also travelled.  This is good and this here is better:

Thursday, May 19, 2011

Chairman of the bored

Having a blah week.  Are you?  Is this like Manic Monday or Black Friday?  Maybe this week has a name too, something like Stalk Old Boyfriends On The Internet You're So Bored Thursday. Bored RIGID.  I don't know whether I just need it to be the weekend or whether it's time to organise a trip or something.  Actually a festival would be ideal.  I'd love to go back to Bonnaroo in Nashville.  It was pretty special and the pulled pork they serve down that way is unforgettable - momma is used to some heat!  Aside from not being able to understand a fucking word they speak down there, it's perfect.  In fact come to think of it,  it's the  not being able to understand a thing that makes it so perfect.  I mean, if I don't know what you're saying, I'm unlikely to give a shit.

Ignorance may not be a defence in the eyes of the law but it sure as hell is bliss and besides the law is an ass. And since I find the most annoying thing about trips are all the other people, being unable to engage is a bonus. 

So let's reassess - I'm bored and hostile. Not the best time then to attend a children's school play say or a wedding. 

You call that a shepherd!  Your angel sucks!  Can you imagine?  I'm imagining going to a childrens' nativity play - I know it's May, work with me. 

Well at least tomorrow is Friday.  In itself a beautiful thing.  Talking of weddings, I do have a delicious wedding to go to on Sunday.  I've bought a dress (found a corker of a dress at a charity shop - you know me) that is just fabulous, if a little revealing.  I've had to buy dress tape - you know to stick the material to my skin.  It's very slinky and tantalisingly silky. Let's hope the tape works because if the dress slips off my shoulders as I reach over for a top up of fizz, it will be more than the champagne corks that will be popping.

Right I'm off to boil some bunnies.

Friday, May 13, 2011

The power of prayer

Sensitive sort that I am, I have been thinking a lot about the little girl Madeleine McCann who went missing in Portugal in 2007 and not just because her parents have recently stepped up the campaign for her search with the launch of a book (which I intend to buy); To tell you the truth I have never really forgotten their plight since it was made public 4 years ago. FOUR years.

I admit that my sensitisation to the issue comes from the fact that as a parent of a young girl, the thought of losing my little girl is physically more than I can bear to imagine.  That it happens more often than you think chills me to the bone but also fills me with enormous compassion for people like the McCanns.

Now, I know this is going to sound a little kookie, but being a little bit obsessed with all things spiritual, I often ask the 'guides' to send me a sign that this girl is still alive.  The other day, I believe I got such a sign in the form or not one, but two white feathers.  I took great comfort in that and just as quickly fell into a state of confusion over whether the guides had left this message or Madeleine herself - see I may be an afficionado of the 'science' but I have a long way to go before I can claim any powers.  More's the pity.

Anyway I decided to offer up a little prayer on my way home from work yesterday, as you do but I wanted to make it 'official' so to speak not that praying in one's own front room with a nice stick of incense and a candle or two isn't official - I decided to quickly pop into the local church St. Saviours - appropriate don't you think?

Except that it was in full methodist swing for the night (it's usually Church of England - guess times is hard) and full of Somalians singing and clapping and dancing; I have to say it looked wonderful but surely I didn't belong?  But it was too late, I'd been spotted and pulled into a pew where I remained for the whole seven minute long song.  This is long when you didn't mean to be there at all.  Anyway, with nothing to lose, I started to clap and shuffle with the best of them.

At the end of the song I thanked everyone but explained I had to get home to my daughter and that I'd really only come in to light a candle and pray for Madeleine.  It was obvious they had no idea who I meant but the priesty bloke at the front yelled (he has a microphone - it shook the putty out of the stained glass windows) 'we will pray for you lady!'

And I believe they did - at the top of their lungs.

I offer these prayers to the universe that it may provide a solution and bring comfort to Madeleine and her family. 

Please do the same.  And thanks.

Monday, May 9, 2011

Moving on up

It's going to be one of those mega updates again.  See, life happens when you're not paying attention. Since I last dribbled on about diamond earrings and hen-nights a few things have happened.  For one, we've had an offer accepted on a flat. That is all I will say on the matter at this point because I am so supremely paranoid that something will go wrong, I am going to have to leave it at that.  Except to say it's a corker of a place in West Hamstead and really oh, I've said too much already.  That's all for now.  I will post ad naseum updates galore on the ins and outs of the legal process, the chin dragging bore of the packing, the anticipated peel-off-my-own-skin hell of the move and all the wonderful idiosyncrasies of banks, lawyers and estate agents in between but for now, let's say:  What a freaking result for the home team! 

Meanwhile back at the ranch, we've had another kind of move - a desk move this time and one that I managed to side step completely by being away for it on that delicious Yoga retreat in The Canary Islands.  While I was saluting the sun and locking bandhas, some poor sod was given the hapless task of packing my desk up which has a unique organic filing system not even the most severe compulsive obsessive could cope with. 

Another result I think you'll find.  I could get used to avoiding all manner of responsibility.  I could be onto something.