One more day, one more hour



If having it all means doing it all, and I believe that is exactly what it means, then I'm sorry. Not interested.  When you work, have a child and your other half is away on business and half the team at work are on annual leave, time doesn't fly - it transponds.  Last week was so incredibly manic that between school runs, frantic news generation (I work in PR)  and you know, a little thing called life (shopping, cooking, eating and maybe fitting in the odd shower and yoga session), Monday became Friday in the blink of an eye.  In fact I was convinced it was only Thursday on Friday because I needed one more day to fit everything in. That will be my epitaph.  Just give me one more day.

Of course come Saturday morning, all I wanted to do was loll around in bed - preferably asleep - but the chances of that, with a 5 year old (seemingly into paganism) around are pretty slim and this morning was no exception however I knew that in order to buy myself an extra hour in bed, I'd need to get Lish Losh set up with breakfast and children's TV.  It sort of works in that you do get to stay in bed a little longer but once you've been roused from that beautiful state of REM sleep, it's pretty much Game Over.  So I got a coffee and reached over the side of the bed for my book.  I'm currently reading about the life of Isabella Blow - stylist, icon and fashion guru. 

The rest of the day did take a much more laid back flavour.  Library. Park. TV. 
 
Here's a curious thing.  At the library I went to check some more books out - I admit to being a total book junkie.  I read two, sometimes three at the same time - always have.  It's weird I know, but I can't help myself, and the librarian points me in the direction of what looked like a soft drinks dispenser.

Piss take

Turns out it's a self service customer point.  A nice way of telling you to: Do it yourself!  So now you can check out, return and pay overdue fees without the can need of a person.  Already you can reserve and check for books online.  You can renew books online too.  Am I the only one here worried about the fate of the round-shouldered, tofu eating, bicycle riding, leather patch wearing humble librarian? 

I have a librarian friend, who sometimes reads the drivel I post here and I wonder what she makes of these machines? Whatever next?  Reading circle via Skype?  That's what I remember most about my childhood library - weekly visits with my school class for reading time followed by the mad rush to borrow the handful of copies of the book the librarian had just read to us from. 

Anyway, tomorrow is Sunday and I'm hoping to get a proper lie in.  I hope that having allowed Lishy to stay up a little later than usual, she will be so amazingly exhausted, she won't wake up until oohhh at least 8am tomorrow. 

I wonder when the tipping point happens? - you know - when kids stop acting like Pagans up at the crack of dawn like they're celebrating the summer solstice or something to the scornful, loathesome bags of hormones that can't get out of bed before 11?

Actually I'm not sure what's worse; sleep deprivation or life with a teenager?

The Staff Jolly

And just like that two weeks have gone by with very very little to report.  I say very little - it depends what constitutes "news" to you.  I mean, if hangovers and overindulgences are of interest, then perhaps I might be able to oblige.  The head of department decided it was high time to get the Tech Team, as we are known, out for a jolly around Soho. This was achieved with the ease of a hot knife going through butter.  Since you can't flick a bogey without hitting 10 pubs in Soho, a pub crawl is a) the obvious choice and b) with the exception of a show at the peelers, drinking is pretty much the only thing worth doing.

It was a night with multiple choice endings. The first ending (should you choose to select this one), was at "Byron at The Fox"a burger place in Wardour Street, today an upmarket diner that serves posh burgers and is located in what was once The Intrepid Fox pub.  OH THE IRONY! If that wasn't once the greebiest pub in London.  I do believe I spent my whole 16th - 17th year loitering in the general vicinity.  It was a legendary punk pub on the street where the original Marquee Club used to be before it moved to Tottenham Court Road and then finally went the way a lot of the old school cultural landmarks - up in a puff of gentrified smoke.  It sure was weird to sit at a table in a place where furniture was once banned and the closest thing to food was crisps.  The carpets (or what was left of them) were so sodden with beer and vomit that standing in one place for too long was as difficult as walking in quick sand and almost as dangerous. But....

That was then...

This is now...

...today you won't find a tattoo or piercing within 10 metres of the place

You could choose to end the night there.  You could.  But you don't.  Instead you say your goodbyes to the boss and the out-of-towners and then there was 3.  We slip down a side street to fit in a couple more pints, because we just can't help ourselves.  We just don't know when to stop.  We're just having too much fun and we're feeling way too sober.

But not for long.  And then the morning after pays a rude visit and you want to die.  We all make it into work - though I dare say very little of the stuff (work) got done.  Still, if the aim of the Tech Team jolly was to bond with work colleagues? I think I can safely say: Mission Accomplished.

And just as soon as we bond, the first casualty.  One of the team resigns and of course, we must celebrate, Soho style.  Can you guess what we did?

So that's really the long glass and shot glass of that.

 

(A belated) Day 4: Browning the Beef

I had high hopes for today, it being the last and the sunniest of the half term week.  I wrestled with my conscience over not taking Lish Losh to the jungle jim but it was more than I cold stomach.  The connection between indoor playgrounds and the frosty years in Canada was too disturbing.  In fact it all made me realise that there is a real possibility I might never be able to visit that place ever again. The Silverback will freak.  On second thoughts I might have to go.  I'll walk that plank when I need to. 

Moving on - please.  The day began in a leisurely fashion.  Midday I think it was before we actually set off.  So long term it would appear this staying at home lark would stagnate at some point.  In fact, I know so having been there before I was working full time.  There were days when it was pushing 3pm and we still hadn't left the house.  So all the more reason to celebrate how lovely this week was and appreciate why that was.

It was a scorcher yesterday so I knew at some point a park or fountain would make the itinerary but first we had an appointment with fear.  The dinosaur exhibit at the Natural History Museum.  The first time we went Lishy had a full blown panic attack when it came time to file past the 'real' dinosaur.  Here:



I kid you not my friends, this animatronic full size T-Rex is flippin scary.  Even more than a good scare myself is watching other people shit themselves.  Lishy was one of these the first time round.  She covered her head with a bag (not a plastic one  - put the phones down) but afterwards she pledged that next time, she would look the bugger in the eye. 

So we set out, as I say, like people who had all the time in the world.  I decided to bus it - it's a chance for The Lish to calm the freak down and rest a little while watching the world go by.  It's usually a very Zen experience.  Today (or yesterday to be exact) the traffic was murder.  It took a long-assed time to get there only to find the kind of queue you find outside embassies to countries people actually want to live in.  The sun was now hanging like a succulent peach, dripping it's sticky hotness onto us.  I lobbied hard to go to the Victoria & Albert next door which had no queue (never a good sign) but nonetheless.  The Lish was adamant.  We were going to see the dinosaur.

So we stood in line. For a long time.  Eventually we made it into the cool main hall.  Sweet relief. 

"I don't want to see the dinosaur," said The Lish.  Now, the Natural History is a busy place and that is the only thing that prevented me from drop kicking her into the iconic giant dinosaur skeleton that greets you on entering. 

Suffice to say, we went to see the dinosaur and after a little bit of sheer unmasked terror, Lady Lish came round and stared, if from somewhat an awkward angle, at the very realistic eyes of the beast.  Well done cockerliscious.  I don't think we'll be visiting the exhibit again.

Then it was a hop skip and jump and walk and stop for a pee-pee and a mummy, I'm hungry - you promised me a popsicle to Somerset House in The Strand.  This is a water park that puts all other water parks to shame.



It was slightly busier than this but I want you to feel the grace of the place.  And luckily for mummy there was an exhibition of zodiac heads by kidnapped artist Ai Weiwei which I flippin love. They are freaking amazing.  Such a mystery what's happened to the poor man. 



The day scorched on and I browned the fat a little bit more.  In fact, I will look like I've actually been away at this rate. 

I revelled in the sculptures but before you start pegging me as one of those namby pamby, arty farty types - all I could think was: I wonder is Ai Weiwei is pronounced I wee wee. Which just goes to show that you can take the girl out of the council flat and give her an education yet she will still take the most base route to humour.

Day 3: Chlorine popsicle

I woke up this morning, correction, I was woken this morning at an ungodly hour, I should add, by who else? - The Lish - demanding I put a DVD on.  I'll admit, I cracked.  I did all the things I've been trying hard not to do all week and then I put the DVD on. But I've decided I'm setting a new rule that no-one, talks or moves before 8am on a holiday or weekend.  To help the little one understand what 8am looks like, I'm buying one of those alarm clocks with eyes, specifically designed for whacko kids who, no matter what time they went to bed, no matter how tired they were (or tired out) the night before, still wake up at 6:30am.  You can set the eyes to open at a specified time.  So basically - you don't so much as fart before those eyes are open or there will be hellfire to pay.

After that little morning battle, I just couldn't face a jungle jim despite having proposed the activity myself. The fact is, I hate the damn places. They remind me of the loneliest and most depressing time of my life in Canada.  They also smell of feet.  Canucks prefer to call them, indoor playgrounds and since most of the country is under 9 feet of snow for 6 months of the year, you can understand why there were so many of them over there.  Yet every time I took The Lish, I was usually the only person there besides a bewildered Bangladeshi at the checkout, no doubt questioning the decision to have left a warm (if somewhat humid) paddy field for this shit.  What or where other Canadian children do for 6 months of the year in Ontario remains a secret.  And no, they are not slicing the powder on some breathtaking slope cos there aren't any worth skiing on in Ontario.  None.  So I imagine they are all sitting in the basement eating Cheetos practicing for a life of obesity. 

But I digress.  So I vetoed the jungle jim on the grounds of emotional trauma and instead decided to take The Lish to one of London's few open air pools.  It's in the heart of London too.  One could say the capital's best kept secret.  One could say that or one could say it's not going to win any prizes any time soon. 

Here see for yourself.  That 3-tier gallery around the side there? Not a gallery.  They are council flats full of gypos that overlook the pool 365 days of the year.  Smoking their fags and having their dole arguments in full view of the unsuspecting Londoner who thinks he's just hit the jackpot by finding this place on an otherwise stuffy summer London day.



Also, the sun decided to hide behind the clouds the moment we stepped into our swimming costumes and didn't come back out until our lips had gone a deep shade of purple and our bodies began to show the first signs of hypothermia. By which point, we were done. Nice try. At least it only cost a £1 to get in.  Again, you can  understand why.  We found the nearest park and lay like sardines for 2 hours as we waited for our core temperatures to rise enough for circulation to return.  Again, I do believe that was the nicest part of the day for me.


So tomorrow, while like today the forecast is low 20s - I think I'll believe it when I see it and instead am planning an activity that does not require the removal of undergarments.  I'm thinking museum.  There are so many to choose from in London, we are really spoiled and they are all free.  So I may just mosey on down to South Kensington and do a kind of museum crawl.  The Natural History, Science (which has a kind of jungle type jim for eggheads and boffin children) and Victoria & Albert museums are within a minute's walk from eachother.  Or I may just go to the Southbank to the Tate Modern to see the Miro exhibit.   Or I may just lie on a rug in the park as this has by far been the most rewarding of all activities...nice to know children still do ultimately appreciate the simple pleasures in life.

Whatever we do end up doing, it will mark the end of the first ever holiday utterly dedicated to mothering since I became one.  I shall reserve judgement and Lishy's review of it all until then.

Day 2: Paedo-watch

So end of day 2.  Pass the morphine.  I know it's Wednesday which technically is day 3 in a typical week, but Monday was Bank Holiday and The Silverback was on hand, so I can't count it.  This is day 2 of hardcore 'mano-a-mano' single parenting.  I managed to eek a day at a fountain in a park until almost 4pm.  That's art.  I should point out it's not just any fountain, it's the Princess Diana Memorial Fountain in Hyde Park designed with children in mind.  Children or seals - the water is sub zero temperatures but the children do not seem to mind.


And what a motley crue of kids they were.  All shapes and sizes with very independent thoughts on the correct attire for public swimming.  The Lish went Canadian - shorts and T-shirt.  The Brits let it ALL hang out and with some of those kids verging on the oldish side to be that naked, it made for uncomfortable viewing.  Put it this way, it's a good job Muslims very generally speaking do not seem to bring their kids here.

The Lish went mad.  No hesitation, she was in like Flynn.  Up and down, round and round.  I decided at the start of the week that there would be no reading on duty.  I just watched her chase her tail and with good reason, this is a park.  At best you get mentalists who like to do tai chi in orange jumpsuits from the 2009 Guantanamo collection but at worst, parks and particularly places designed for children draw the nasty and depraved.  I kept a sharp look out for paedos all afternoon, not once allowing Lishy to leave my line of sight and almost willing some arsehole to come between mummy bear and her cub.  I was ready to rip his bollocks off with my bare hands.  Luckily I didn't see any - but then again, what was I really expecting? A fat, bald sweaty fuckwit with bottle end glasses and trousers round his ankles?  I dare say they were around, quietly taking it all in.  Makes my blood boil.

So cleary, I enjoyed this part of the day immensely.  But in all seriousness, I didn't obsess - it was just, you know, there, in the back of my mind.

Onto brighter subjects - the day was one of those days that get immortalised in photographs of your youth, when it seems it was only ever sunny.  Except of course today I forgot to bring the camera.  So you'll have to make do with me telling you - it was a bloody lovely day.  Warm, dry and sunny.

After what seemed like 3 weeks, Lish finally came to sit with me and eat her sandwich and this is the bit I will fall alseep to tonight.  We lay together - she wrapped in a towel like a piglet in a blanket and me cuddling her from behind - munching our lunch while sedately watching the park life unfold around us.  It was idyllic.

Then another age passed as Lisherlicious went in for a second dip.  Meanwhile I kept watch like a meercat.  I managed to persuade her that an icecream truck was about to leave if we didn't move fast at about 4pm.  It did the trick.

We hiked back to Queensway, via the wild part of the park which I somehow convinced myself  was full of grass snakes.  To distract from this I got The L to lead the way a la Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz kind of way.  In retrospect, had there been any snakes, I'd be feeling pretty rotten for sending the kid in first.   I made up for it with a strawberry ice cream ( I had mint chocolate chip) which we enjoyed to the symphony of the traffic on Bayswater road and the heady exhaust fumes.  Bangkok has nothing on Queensway.  Still, we had ice-cream, we didn't care.

It was 6pm by the time we got home.  So no need to bake today thank god.  I rushed the pleasantries of bathtime, dinner and bed - rattling through 2 books blocking Lishy's every attempt to stall.

Kiss kiss, click and slump.  Over and out my friends.  Tomorrow I have Jungle Jim planned.  I'm already feeling naseaus.