Ah, the joys of the Secondary Transfer season. This just has to be the best spectator-sport available in the grim winter months, as all the parents in the village get themselves in the most almighty tizz, trying to crowbar their darlings into the school most likely to put them on the optimum dinner party list …
Have my darling children and I not suffered enough? Have we not been buffeted sufficiently by the move from Abroad and the reign of terror of the Puma of Peckham? And all that’s without even mentioning True Love and his antics. Huh! Well, you might feel we’ve been through traumas aplenty. I certainly do. But …
Well, the inevitable has happened. I am sad to report that our little bunny, sweet, innocent Jiffy, who has been menaced for weeks by the Puma of Peckham, has finally gone to a better place. The spare room. Unfortunately. As you know, I was never keen to have her in the house. Or, indeed, the …
A nice white envelope drops onto the mat, with the address all beautifully written in black ink. Things are looking up, I think – certainly a lovely change from all those horrid beige bills. I rip it open, only for an official Summons to leap out and bite me. Yikes! The Coroner, Mr John Sampson, …
Pandemonium at Child One’s school. Girls weeping at the gates, and a rather ominous ambulance stationed outside. Obviously business as usual, I think – until Child One herself staggers out onto the pavement, clutching her arm. ‘It hurts, it hurts,’ she yodells, causing every pigeon in the vicinity to shoot upwards into the air and …
The children and I were chatting idly about life and stuff the other day, when Child Two piped up. ‘I want to find a nice boyfriend at university,’ she confided. Fair enough, I thought, and not at all difficult to achieve. University was, I dimly remember, a place uniquely well-stocked with potential boyfriends in my …
Well, thank goodness for the Streatham Guardian. This public-spirited paper has taken it upon itself to ensure that the good folk of Herne Hill can sleep easy in their beds at night, with no risk of waking up with ginormous teeth-marks in their ankles, or indeed in any footballs, bikes or scooters left in their …
The other morning, when I woke up Child One to get her to school (now no easy process, as she bought her one-way ticket to adolescentville some time ago, and sleeps like a gorgeous hibernating bear) I threw back the curtains with my usual gusto. And stopped. And stared. On the lawn was a ghastly, …
Just in the nick of time, gorgeous Tarte Tartan has stepped forward and saved me from despair with her too, too sweet I Love Your Blog award. Je t’embrasse, TT, if that’s not too forward, and I’m only sorry I can’t award it straight back to you as it is so richly deserved. Instead, I …
My darlings, I’m so sorry I have neglected you. Needless to say, various shenanigans have occupied my every waking moment, to an extent which makes any other threads of rational thought a near impossibility. Normal service will be resumed soon. I hope. Dulwich Divorcee