The other morning Mr B left me another of his adorable little love poems; once again I was Lady Antonia and he was Harold*.
"Have no shirts left
All in wash
Boy 1's Hawaian shirt
My sole option"
Mr B feels this blogging business has gone to my head and I have been neglecting my duties as wife and mother. I feel this is a little unfair, I have been exemplary during boys' week long half-term holiday: for example, I successfully disarmed Boy 2 of bread knife which he was brandishing at Boy 1 when he was a teeny bit upset; I prevented Boy 1 and his partner in crime - er, sorry, his playdate - from throwing Boy 2 over the balcony by putting him on picnic mat and then each grabbing a corner...(Boy 2 quite happy to go along with this scheme for reasons unclear to me); I have properly supervised their TV viewing (though there was a close call when Boy 2 informed Boy 1 he had got a DVD from the local library entitled “Hot and Hard”; a few moments of maternal panic happily relieved by discovery that in fact DVD was “Mario Bros, too hot to handle”).
But when I carried out an on-site inspection, this is what I found waiting for me by the washing machine. AAAAAAAAAAGH, dreadful.
I realised I needed to action this straightaway, this Could Not Go On! I set to work, feverishly.
There, much better! Job done. I find completing household tasks so satisfying!
*have not been the same since reading Lady Antonia Fraser's book about her life with Harold Pinter, "Must you go?" He was always writing her poems, and her life was full of glamour, literati, parties, and stimulating political discussions, but I felt a bit disappointed she did not cover the weekly supermarket shop or how she kept Harold sorted for clean shirts.