Boy 2 enjoyed a little birthday party with a few of his closest friends, which ended in them all wrestling in a sweaty heap on the kitchen floor (why do I never go to that sort of party??)
Mr Blighty discovered a flat tyre on his new bike. The horror!
Mr Blighty discovered his old cycling shorts from 1996. The horror!
Boy 1 left his school library book out in the rain and burst into floods of tears at the thought of taking the soggy mess back to the School Librarian. We spent an evening trying out various drying out techniques - use of Parlux hairdryer (did not add Moroccan oil to speed up drying time); placing by/in tumble dryer and lastly, oven.
Small panic when Mr B came home, and collected his supper from the oven. Would Boy 1 have to explain at school that his father had eaten his school book? (a variation on the dog eating homework scenario). Luckily Mr B was able to tell his supper from a mushed up paperback book; with my cooking that is not as easy as you might think.
Mr Blighty has decided he needs to do Project Management on various home improvement projects mooted for BlightyHQ. He wants to do something important sounding called a Gant Chart. I was summoned to provide a suitable note book. This is what I came up with.
Mr B was not impressed. But I do believe the business world would run much more smoothly and harmoniously if nice books with kittens on were used, though I am also prepared to accept covers with butterflies or pretty flowers.
Bad news here in Blightyland: the government has announced that it is stopping child benefit payments for higher rate tax payers. This is a bitter blow: I only had children to get my hands on the benefit money. I will now have to return the children , but am worried I have lost the receipts for them. Ha! Relax, I am only joking, I am not such a bad mother....the receipts are carefully stored under a magnet on the front of the fridge, so I can get a full refund from the Chelsea and Westminster Hospital maternity ward. Phew!
Mr Blighty has just arrived home from another tumultous day at the Big House (in a quaint custom, a hangover from more civilised times, the lawyer/draftsmen down tools at 5pm and go take tea together; parliamentary democracy as we know it could be undermined if the chocolate Bourbons run out..) He has just caught me staring vacantly at this, from the Zara on line shop.
Hold on, I'll just ask him if I should get a Cherokee necklace.
Well, I really don't think that kind of language is very parliamentary, Mr B. Your dinner is in the oven. Or the tumble dryer. Or the school library.