My let-them-get-bored strategy has come back to bite me. “Mum, please can we do some painting?” are seven words you don’t want to hear at 6.35pm after a long day.
I have Camp Bestival news: I’m doing a wine tasting on the Saturday night with the wee-inducinginly funny, gold catsuit-rocking comedy duo The Scummy Mummies.
So, London Fashion Week finished yesterday. I know this because lots of pictures of the bottom half of people in ‘distressed’
Pre-wine tasting egg & baconbreakfast (not incl. wine) I’ve spent the last couple of days at The Oval, but I’m not there for the cricket.
An old friend said this morning as we passed at the school gates: “Isn’t it someone’s special day tomorrow?” I must have looked blank.
I’m starting to think about writing another book. One of my oldest friends wants me to write one about bubbles: Champagne, Cava, Prosecco, English Sparkling Wine and anything else that fits the bill and should be in your glass at some point.
Last weekend, Youngest Girl was 5 years old. She had a little party at home with her friends from school, involving a game of Pass the Parcel, Musical Statues and an early Easter Egg Hunt in the garden.
This weekend is the Isle of Wight Festival. My mum went years ago, saw Jimi Hendrix in what turned out to be his last ever performance, apparently.