Not suitable for people with irony deficiency and
cannot guarantee nut-free

Friday, 28 May 2010


I had hoped to start my blog with a description of my life as an international supermodel, wife, mother of two adorable boys, living in a beautiful country house with organic free range peacocks roaming in the park and -er- stuff. I would have liked to tell you about my charity aimed at bringing aromatherapy to stressed out bankers around the world. And how I am an inveterate fantasist. But none of the above is remotely true, except the last bit. Instead I am starting with a photo of small boy pants. Why? Because for me, being a mother sometimes feels just a little bit pants. I had a day like that yesterday. It went something like this:

Before school - Boy 1 and 2 playing rowdy, good-natured (and to me totally ANNOYING) game of hurling at least 15 soft toys to each other in the kitchen; followed by the standard "male of the species" non-hearing of shouts to come and eat breakfast; then long negotiation of whether Boy 1 can take my ski sunglasses to school (he gets full custody but I get access once a year for ski trips), removal of toothpaste and most food substances from boys while chasing them around house and/or sitting on them.

So far, so good. Then things go sour when Boy 1 dons blazer and rucksack, and heads decisively for the door. I laugh as I notice he has forgotten to put his shoes on. A minor detail but an important one.

Boy 1 FURIOUS. Terrible wounded male pride. Some back peddling by me, general smoothing, I wish Boy 1 luck with his cricket match that afternoon and I remind Boy 2 to be nice and not shout at the other boys (to which he shouts "I DON'T SHOUT AND THEY'RE ALL IDIOTS!").

Drop off done, back home, exhausted, for a soothing cup of tea.

Fast forward to 3.30pm. I pick up Boy 2. His first and only words: "Can I play on the computer?" No, I say, we have talked about this, no computer on weekdays. Boy 2 goes PUCE. Massive eruption of displeasure "You never let me play 'puter, never, it's not fair, can I play, pleeeeeeeeeeez, waaaaaaaaah" Other parents watch with the quiet satisfaction that at least this time it's not their offspring who is kicking off. Boy 2 keeps up his vociferous protests as we walk home; neighbours turn to see what is going on, cats hide, car alarms go off. When he bangs his head repeatedly against a wooden fence I am horrified: what if he damages the fence? I try to record the tantrum on the voice bit of my phone (some half-baked idea of playing it back later to shame him, or at least it could be produced in evidence at the Bad Mothers Tribunal), but I am so distracted that all I find later is some stressed woman whining "oh, it's not recording" ...

At home Hurricance Smallboy continues. A moment of calm, then further Boy 2 wailing when DVD player won't work. Ring Mr B for technical back up but he is not at desk. I have evil vision of him lounging around in colleague's room eating biscuits and drinking tea. Eventually get DVD to work but now time to fetch Boy 1 after cricket. Cue further wailing from Boy 2: he wants to be left at home on his own and I say no, he is only 7, I am not leaving him on his own till he is 30...

Get to school in car, Boy 2 appears and shouts at me "Go, Go" as if he has just pulled off heist of the century and I am his wheels. "How did the cricket go?" I ask. "Cuthbert got 4 people out" he says. "That's good" I reply. "No it's not!!" yells Boy 1, going an even deeper puce than his brother's earlier shade. (I am puzzled, my cricket knowhow is sketchy but I am sure getting people out is good).

"The people he got out were on his own team!" screeches Boy 1.

There follows a furious, sobbing explanation: Boy 1 went into bat with Cuthbert as batsman at the other end. Boy 1 hits the ball straight at the other team's fielder, so he shouts at Cuthbert "No, stay!" But Cuthbert runs anyway, forcing Boy 1 to run and so Boy 1 is run out.* The harshness of Boy 1's fate is underlined by the fact that this was his first go and he has spent hours waiting to bat. I comfort myself that this is Good Life Training, for example, if he ever attempts to fly with British Airways ("Sorry your flight is cancelled").

*Apparently this tactic worked so well that the unfortunate Cuthbert tried it successfully three more times, making for a somewhat strained atmosphere in the minibus home from the match. Names have been changed, so I apologise to any real cricket playing Cuthberts out there.
When Boy 1 hurls abuse at his chair at dinner (chair not behaving) and then unleashes the full force of his wrath at me, I really feel that I Have Had Enough. "Come home now" I tell Mr B reassuringly on the phone, "otherwise I will murder your children".

And guess what happens when Mr B arrives? Yes, of course, the boys are 110% adorable, so sweet and good-natured and eager to please. Mr B looks at me enquiringly as if to say "What is your problem?"

Pants. Just a bit.


  1. Congratulations on starting your much called for blog, Blighty! You really are brilliant. I hope you don't mind that I am laughing hysterically at this post! (Not in mean spirited way, but because you have such a knack for humour!) I think the world needs your blog and many will love it, I already do! Have a lovely weekend I hope, Rosie
    PS: Replace Boy 1 & 2 & Mr B with 3 screeching parrots, 3 moody teenage siblings, hoarder mum and my messy fiance - and you get the jist of my very glamorous household/life. Currently being summoned by the electronic screaming of finished washer, dryer and dying mobile phone. I'm laughing with you. Xx

  2. Hooray! Excellent work that you have finally Blogged it up. You can dedicate your 1st book to me xx

  3. Dear Rosie and FF, thank you for your kind comments, I won't let it go to my head, luckily I am very grounded, excuse me while I go speak to my PA, personal masseuse, wardrobe conultant and the waiting paparazzi...
    Rosie, yes, there is always something electronic going off in my house too, not a moment's peace, either the dryer, oven timer, fridge to let me know I've left it open (possibly with small boy dangling out), microwave, and smoke alarms which go off if I so much as think about cooking and if I vacuum clean under them. I am a nervous wreck! And the car is no better, Mr B has set up the satnav so it quacks at me if I exceed 30mph, go within 2 miles of a speed camera or look at male cyclist's lycra clad bottom for more than 2 seconds..

  4. Well done Blighty, I expect a book deal any day now. Love the blog, and promise to tune in regularly. Mostly I am laughing with you, not at you.

    P.S. Love the do-rag, great for those bad-fur days.

  5. Hurrah!
    Hello Blighty. Thanks so much for heeding the call and starting this blog.

    I love it.

    I am inspired by your model of motherhood. Being childless, I have much to learn about Real Life With Children.

    Take care and love,

    SSG xxx

  6. Oh Blighty. As a fellow FF blog reader it was comforting to read your blog given my life more closly reflects yours ! I often recall your comment on the FF blog about the "poetry" your husband writes for you. I get similar "love notes" although they are emailed to me as he sits in the next room.

  7. Dear Septicsue - I know who you are! love the Cockney rhyming slang!
    Dear SSG, thank you for your comments, do not follow my model of motherhood unless you want Social Services to get involved;
    Dear Anon, almost moved to tears reading about your husband's love notes (then realised Boy 2 was poking me in the eye with a Lego creation); your husband is obviously an incurable romantic just like mine, so much more touching to get an email or a text ("GET TROUSERS THX") than a handwritten note hidden in a silly bunch of white roses!

  8. Blighty - hilarious first post!


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