Blighty fights back against Dr Spamkenstein

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Techno Blights and Other News

Hi there Dahlings! Now, try not to be too jealous of my exciting lifestyle, but this week I took delivery of a brand new vacuum cleaner. Yes, glamour, find it here.

To my horror it arrived unassembled and I had to read the manual and fit it together myself.  I always feel that reading any product manual is a sign of defeatism, but needs must.

It was a tense moment but I managed. I expect to get a Nobel Prize for Science soon. Or at least a request to help out with the Hadron Collider.

And look - a warning about rip off bags.  I thought one only had to be careful when buying Louis Vuitton or Chanel but apparently vacuum cleaner bags are equally tricky.

In other news, now the snow has gone I am back to embracing my midlife crisis, fashion wise.  (Is the new vacuum cleaner another manifestation of this, most people buy  Meno-Porsche but maybe the new cleaner is the nearest I can get? I did enjoy taking it for a drive yesterday, it certainly has good revs).

Look, dodgy camo trousers.  Boy 1 was HORRIFIED. "Are those Army trousers you are wearing?" he asked, in shock.  Note also the studding detail on the pocket.

 

 

And look, dodgy pixie boots.  With studding.

 

 

 

And yes, Converse All Star hi-tops.  With leopard trim.  And studding.

 

 

 

It seems that studs are Key to a midlife crisis.  Also, I seem not merely to have embraced my Midlife Crisis but to have taken it out to dinner and bought it champagne.


Meanwhile I have read this.  It's very good, a murder mystery set in West Virginia, in the Appalachians.  Unfortunately I guessed who the baddie was early on.  Because I am a Smartass.  Who has read too many murder mysteries.

Finally Mr B and I are having Quality Couple Time watching this of an evening: Scandi Noir drama, The Bridge.



 



 It's brilliant!  And I really can't work out who the baddie is .  I love Saga, the blonde woman detective.  The Guardian have a very good blog about it, all the comments and speculation are very entertaining.

 

Right I'm off to watch Boy 2 play football for the school.  Wonder who will have more studs on - the entire football team on their boots, or me, in my Midlife Crisis Fashion Outfit?

A bit chilly

Dahlings, how are you?   Really, a kitchen extension with an orangery and water feature? Me?  Oh no, I am very happy with my beige linoleum thank you (right eye twitches).

Here we had a bit of snow yesterday but just a light sprinkling, I have to be honest I wasn't completely happy with the coverage.

I suppose I am a bit like Faux Fuchsia and her Christmas tree coverage - she likes it plentiful and well distributed.  Well so do I, with snow.

By the way, here is a pic of the Blighty 2012 Christmas tree.  It did not have uniform coverage, as Boy 1 of his own accord took it upon himself to decorate it.  So there is heavy ornament application around the front and lower branches.  But I don't mind.  I think he shows great promise - one day perhaps he could be a window dresser for Selfridges.

Selfridges window last year - a tribute to Japanese artist Yayoi Kusama

Right, back to the cold weather.

Luckily I bought some boofy snow boots in the sales.

I also popped on my Alpine style waistcoat number, from H&M.  I bet they all wear them at Klosters.

I also rolled out my new fluffy waistcoat, Mr B bought it for me for my birthday, I must let him know.  It's very soft and stroke-able, like having a cat except it does not bring mice into the house or scratch the sofa, fingers crossed.

Last night I decided I wanted a Korat cat, till I read they were very sensitive and got upset by loud noises.  Hmm, probably not ideal for Blighty HQ then.



source

It is essential to eat properly when the weather is cold.

Nourishing drinks are also vital.

I have been reading in the newspapers that according to the Government and various charities,  it is very important to keep an eye on the elderly in this cold weather and call in on them to make sure they are alright.

Well, it's been a couple of days now since the cold snap started, and I am still waiting for my visit.

I even rang the council, I believe in being pro-active.

I talked to a very nice lady and explained I was an older lady and would very much like a young person to drop by the house, to make sure I was nice and warm.  I said I wasn't fussy, a young man,  6 ft 4, blonde, blue eyes, lightly muscled, six pack preferable....there would be some light duties around the house...

source - hmmm, typical

Gosh, I am feeling much warmer already...

Why I should never help with homework

Dahlings, long time no blog!

So Boy 1 has started Really Big School, no more Daphnes4Boyz, country club with lessons. Now he is at the local state* grammar school for boys, let's call it Greggs Grammar.



After a carefree summer my big boy put away his shorts and T-shirts and went back to the daily grind; also Boy 1 went  to his new school

 Keen that Boy 1 makes a good impression, I am helping with homework as required.

Today he had to design some sort of heraldic shield for Religious Instruction.

He got a bit stuck on thinking up a motto.

"MUUUUUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAMMMMM!" he requested softly, in his usual dulcet tones, "THINK OF A MOTTO. NOW. COME ON!"

I came up with a few suggestions:
Just Do It.
Work, Rest and Play.
Go to work on an egg.
Mind the gap.

No good.

I studied the design carefully. I concluded the key elements were:
fear of heights;
keen on footie and ping pong.

"I've got it", I announced triumphantly:

"Keep Your Feet On the Ground and Your Balls in the Air."

Really I'm wasted here.



In the end Boy 1 opted for the more succint "Believe in my sport." He looked at me with pity: "When you say something you think is funny, you laugh, and then you keep on laughing, long after it isn't funny..." Harsh but fair.

* This means it's FREE. No more school fees. It takes extreme willpower to refrain from throwing myself at the staff, sobbing "I can't believe all this is free, thank you, thank you...."

New species spotted at Blighty HQ?

Email to: WildlifeTrustIdentifyThatCritter@beetle.com
From: BledwinaBlighty@wheretheheckaremyreadingglasses.com

Dear Wildlife Trust,

I would like your help in identifying a strange new creature which I spotted emerging from our bathroom this morning. I  am pretty sure it is a mammal, though it does has some reptilian features, in particular its ability not to blink when asked if it has cleaned its teeth.

It may be a member of the porcupine family, or possibly hedgehog.  It seems to have some sort of spikes.

It has been making a couple of interesting noises: yesterday it emitted sounds along the lines of "muuuuuuumcannaIhavsomehairgel" a strange, unnerving refrain.  Today when approached it let out a harsh cry:"DONTOUCHDAHAIR!"

The creature also seems to be leaving a sticky trail ....which can be traced back to a pot labelled "Beachy Surf  Dude".

I attach a visual.

I eagerly await your reply, as do not know whether to feed this creature as it lies on the sofa or chase it outside for a good run around the garden.

Regards
Mrs Blighty



Email to:  BledwinaBlighty@wheretheheckaremyreadingglasses.com
From: WildlifeTrustIdentifyThatCritter@beetle.com

Dear Mrs Blighty,

From your description and the photo it seems what you are dealing with is homo sapiens pre teenagius : Pre Teen Boy.  This subspecies is fairly common in the British Isles.  Eventually a fully fledged teenager will take its place, turn day into night and leave half eaten bowls of cereal under its bed.

In the meantime, to ensure your PTB thrives, try to limit the amount of commerical TV it watches - these complex creatures are highly susceptible to ads for hairgel, bodyspray and other grrooming products.  Make sure its drainpipe jeans do not cut off its circulation.  Never under any circumstances ask if it needs a wee.

Finally, if the hairgel situation gets out of control, warn your PTB that he looks like he is evolving into a dangerous mutation: the justinus bieberus.  That usually does the trick.

Regards
Bill Bored

Watching With Mother

Dahlings,  just dropped by as a kind of insurance policy....I can't say too much* but I am sure one of the Dahpne4Boyz mothers works for the FBI or the CIA (she is American and very clever and used to work for NASA, this is true)....so if I suddenly disappear, please contact Mr B - code word RENDITION PROTOCCOL 5 - FAILURE TO PAY SCHOOL SWIMCLUB SUBSCRIPTION - he will understand what you mean and swing into action on the Thai brides website to get me back....

You see, the mother in question has been regularly updating us on our son's movements during the epic Cornwall school trip - by cleverly locating and linking us into public webcams where ever they are. Her surveillance skills are outstanding.....

NOTE TO BOY 1 - NEVER EVER SWIPE SURVEILLANCE MOM'S BOY'S BLAZER UNLESS YOU WANT TO WEAR ORANGE .  Which to be honest is a very tricky colour for you to pull off with your skintone. And well done on watching all those Jason Bourne films in pre-trip training.


One other thing is worrying me.  Apparently the boys have been romping around in Lusty Glaze and Hydra Waterworld.  I really, really hope these are local attractions of the beach/swimming pool variety...as I can't help thinking, they would make great names for porn stars. I may have shared this thought already with a few of the mothers.  Funny how we can never get playdates these days.

Right, I'm off and if a man in black with an earpiece  and a minivan comes looking for me, I was never here, ok?






*That would be a first.  Ha ha, Mr B, ha ha.

All lips and teeth

Recently at Blighty HQ we've been all about lips and teeth. Above is an action shot of a MAC lipstick called Vegas Volt.

But first, in case the glamour gets too much,  let me tell you all about our trip to the dentist.

Caring mother that I am, I was determined that Boys 1 and 2 should not enjoy themselves during their half term hols. No, instead I hauled them off to the dentist.

Boy 2 in particular objected, but I reassured him, first by explaining it was only a check up and secondly, by showing him that bit from Little Shop of Horrors featuring Steve Martin as the sadistic dentist and Bill Murray as his patient (the latter probably not such a great idea..)

Boy 2 remained uneasy.  

Disaster struck - this X Ray revealed a rotten baby tooth, already filled.  Boy 2 ended up having what us laymen call an extraction and to what dentists technically refer as "yanking the blighter out."

Post-extraction Boy 2 was very weak and pale and whispered he wanted to go straight home, using his special brave little soldier voice.  Boy 1 chipped in that he was all for going to Cafe Rouge for a steak and chips.  I told Boy 1 to be quiet.

However, on the Underground Boy 2 suddenly underwent a miraculous recovery and whispered, still in brave soldier voice, that he wanted to go to the Games Workshop (purveyor of all things Warhammer) in Kensington.  I am now ready to write a learned paper for the British Journal of Dentistry that post extraction recovery is speeded up 100% by the liberal application of credit card to the GamesWorkshop - exact dosage needs to be tested further, but £80 worth of Warhammer did the trick in this case. ( I was bamboozled by BoyMaths which showed an £80 starter pack of Tyrranids was much better value than just spending £18 on a smaller set... this is probs the male equivalent of girlynomics where you save money by buying things because they are on sale..)

But in Kensington I did discover what I  now call the Courtyard of Hope.

The photo below of Lancers Square (off Ken Church Street) is not very clear but the orange figure is Boy 1 hunched over the Games Workshop window; nearby is Starbucks, and then just to the left is a standalone MAC store.  Yay! Suddenly I am all for trips to the Games Workshop.  I have timed it - you can leave Boys 1 and 2 in the Games Workshop ogling the stock, hotfoot the couple of metres across to MAC, try a few lipsticks, have a quick chat about highlighting powders, buy a lipstick, wiggle into Starbucks for an uplifting beverage and be back in the Games Workshop in less than 6 minutes. RESULT!  And may I say what a joy the MAC shop is, quiet and with great customer service, a wonderful contrast to the rugby scrum plus smeared lippie testers (I mean the actual lipsticks but actually you could say the same about the customers trying out the wares) which is the MAC counter at Selfridges.

Since then I seem to be having a lipstick moment.  The pic below shows Mac Impassioned, hot pink, (thanks Warhammer); Yves Saint Laurent Rouge Volupte #114 (pink) (thank you lovely B for my House of Fraser giftcard)  and Illamasqua lip pencil in Titivate (in, oh, pink).  I love bright, vibrant colour as I find it does lift one's ageing, tired face and also distracts attention from the large spot on one's cheek...

I have also become slightly obsessed with a new make up blog I have found called Lipstick Rules. (which coincidentally featured my new MAC Impassioned lipstick the other day AFTER I had bought it, how's that for the planets aligning?) Lipstick Rules is written by a lady in Toronto who really knows her make up.  And her blog contains not so much as a hint of Warhammer. Or dentists.  Bliss.

Final thought: despite the title of this post, lips and teeth do not mix. Note to self: check gnashers before leaving house.

GUB GUB GUB

Need your windows cleaned, love? Pic from Vogue on-line

WARNING: THIS IS ME WHINGEING ABOUT FIRST WORLD PROBLEMS FOR A LAUGH, I DO REALISE HOW LUCKY I AM TO BE ABLE TO DO SO!


Things are not going smoothly at Blighty HQ and I am officially Grumped Up Bigtime (GUB).  Details as follows:

Gary and his very pretty wife, from TNT magazine

  

1. My idyll with Gary Barlow is Over.  He has just announced he is expecting his 4th child with his very pretty, slim, blonde wife.  Wail - he told me he was sleeping in the spare room!  Linda in Chile - I need Daniel Craig back now, just dust him down and post him to me.  Note to Gary's lawyers:  I have never actually even met Gary, these are just the musings of a woman suffering from a midlife crisis, and I can produce a medical certificate to prove it (receipt from TopShop for leatherette leggings).  On the bright side, Gary is still working really well as punishment for Boys 1 and 2 - after a violent, sweary tussle over a hockey stick, I played Gary's very lovely rendition of "A Million Love Songs" in the car this morning and Boy 1 moaned piteously that his ears were bleeding.  By the way, why do Daphnes4Boyz think hockey is a good idea, surely arming them with wooden sticks is an incitement to riot?  Have we learnt nothing from the Peasants' Revolt?
2. Grandma Whacker is in residence again and has been continuing what can only be described as a vendetta against my window cleaners.  A few months ago during a previous Blighty HQ minibreak, Grandma Whacker sacked the cleaners while I was out.  This led to Domestic Tension: Mr B saying to me testily, " Will you please ask YOUR mother to stop sacking MY window cleaners. And you can tell her to get up on the roof herself and clean the skylight." (The last bit was really unfair as Grandma is over 80 and  not as agile as she was and so I would have to give her a leg up, which would strain my back..)  I managed to get the cleaners back by grovelling and having to hear for the 100th time that they clean Sophie Dahl's windows.  Well, history has repeated itself - a couple of days ago while I was out, the window guys came and the Big G "supervised" them. They have also put their prices up. They have not been back to get paid so I assume they have Got the Hump and I will no doubt have to grovel/hear about Sophie D.  But just yesterday Madame Whacker mentioned they did not have their hose attachment thingie...further enquiries have now revealved that these guys were not actually my window cleaners at all, which explains the unexpected price hike...it transpires that the Whacker has surpassed herself, she is now sacking window cleaners who aren't even my window cleaners.  Final score:  The Association of Fenestration Hygiene Technicians - 0; Grandma Whacker - 2.
3. Before Christmas, with guests coming, I went full speed into decluttering, re-purposing and minimalism - I read a lot of those blogs!!  Now every time anyone goes in the garage there is an almighty crash as they fall over all the stuff I have stashed away there, and in the house no one, including me, can find a darn thing.  Grandma has taken it as a personal affront, she suspects I am trying to pull off a Fanny By Gaslight number to make her think she is getting a bit vague with age...
4. Boy 2 was strongly advised not to take his brand new Warhammer figues to school as he would lose them. Boy 2 took his Warhammer figues to school.  Boy 2 has now lost his Warhammer figures.  Last night I found myself deep undercover SAS style dressed all in black including balaclava in the boys changing rooms searching for the missing Warhammer, without success.  Parents are strictly forbidden from entering the changing rooms for child protection reasons so now I will probably be on some sort of register. Super.  In my view, boys should be strictly forbidden from taking Warhammer to school for child protection reasons.
5. Boy 1 came home from Dahpnes4Boyz yesterday and informed me he has lost his trousers and his games shorts.  Is loss of garments from these regions a worrying sign? Don't worry, he still had his white PE shorts which he came home in.
6. Boys 1 and 2 have given me to understand in no uncertain terms (by wailing and shouting) that Daphnes4Boyz is putting them under unbearable academic pressure and that the homework demands are excessive.  They have also told me I do nothing at all all day except think about Gary Barlow and nail varnish and have loads of fun prancing about the supermarket. I find this a bit dismissive of my contribution to Blighty Inc, as there is lipstick to think about too.  But when I suggest that perhaps I might get a job OUTSIDE THE HOME Boy 2 bursts into floods of tears and has to be consoled by his (lazy, stay at home doing nothing) mother...
7. Boy 1's  Science homework is getting too biological for my liking.  I can cope with plant cells but his homework last night seemed to focus rather a lot on, ahem, sperm.  Boy 1 said he would love to see some sperm with their wiggly tails - I was sooo tempted to quip about "wait till you are fourteen and then ....
8. I just managed to delete this entire post and have just re-typed it...aaaaaaaaaaaaggggggh!

GUB GUB GUB!!!

From Wikipedia.  Government Health Warning: this sort of thing can cause excessive expenditure on Warhammer

I leave you with action replay of Grandma cleaning the windows.

Boy 1 The Teenage Years

Dahlings, long time, no blog! Disgraceful!

Here events have taken a strange turn and Boy 1 seems to have entered the teenage years, even though he is only going to be 11 when his birthday comes next week..

There were a few warnings signs - increased interest in personal hygiene for a couple of weeks which meant showers in the morning/pool of water on bathroom floor and a desire for body spray products.  I even caught Boy "I don't need a bath my knees are only a bit muddy" 2 surreptitiously spraying on some Lynx Africa under his pjs the other day.  (A friend who used to be in the Navy told me that the application of deodorant onto unwashed body is know as a "submariner's dobby", that's the kind of info my brain retains).

I could launch into a rant about childhood ending too early and the evils of advertising and consumerism and children being made to feel they need deodorising when they are not even whiffy...but the blog couldn't cope with an outbreak of earnestness...and  thankfully both boys aren't really that bothered, with body spray coming a long way down a list of activities where Warhammer, computer games, football, totally unfunny jokes about cheese and whacking each other on the head with Nerf guns take priority.

I did, though, find myself in Hollister in the Westfield Shopping Centre, London yesterday with Boy 1.  And what an unsettling experience it was!

We were on a mission to buy Boy 1 a T-shirt for his birthday. We located the shop, which was all decked up on the outside to look like a house with white shutters and tiles. Inside we found a warren of tiny little rooms overstuffed with kit.  And Boy 1, as if a switch had been flicked, got very grumpy and teenage with me.  He was so obviously finding me a total embarrassment.  Can't think why, I only said things like:

"Ooh, it's sooo dark in here, I can't see what colour that is, or the size, can you see the size?" 
"Oooh, it's so cluttered up, did you see I almost fell over that rail? It's a deathtrap!"

He almost died of shame when I pushed the stockroom door ajar to see what colour the T-shirt was I was holding..
And he got really narked when I said for the 50th time, "If you're too hot, poppet, you can take your hoodie off."

The shop was full of teenage girls and boys, both customers and sales assistants. The average age was about 16 ( and that's only because me and a couple of other wrinklies pushed the average up by 10 years).Gosh, I felt so old baggy and witchy, faced with a very pretty sales girl wearing a tiny little broderie anglaise top - why are teenagers so attractive these days?  What happened to acne and gawkiness and greasy hair? (oh, that was just me - thanks Grandma Whacker).  I saw another mother exclaiming about the bad lighting, and a very cross father shouting, "Right, that's enough, I'm leaving!"  It's the sort of shop that makes parents very grouchy.

But despite or possibly because of the parental disapproval, the stuff was flying off the shelves and I guess teenagers would be too embarrassed to return a T shirt which they thought was grey and then in the daylight turned out to be fluorescent orange...

It wasn't all bad.  We scored a couple of cool T shirts.
And I got to take this chap home.

To be honest he is not really my type, I hate a man whose chest is better developed that my own.

And as Boy 2 has just pointed out, he looks a lot like Grendel from Boy 2's Beowulf reading book.

Little know fact: Grendel only angry because someone nicked his surfboard and his agent never got him any really good modelling jobs.

2012 and the Entente Cordiale

Happy New Year Dahlings!

2012 is already off to a really good start - Grandma Whacker has decided to take Boy 1's French language skills in hand.   For Christmas she got him this.

Bless him he was so thrilled with it on Christmas Day, he was speechless, just threw it over his shoulder and carried on unwrapping Warhammer and Lynx body spray.

What prompted this grandmaternal purchase was my surprise when I found out that Boy 1 had been learning French at school for the past 2 years...and also that there were lists of vocab he should have been learning each week.  I can honestly say there was no sign whatsoever of any Francophone goings on in Boy 1's busy schedule of activities.  He also steadfastly denies any knowledge of French, merely repeating his chosen mantra of  "The French are a load of cheese eating surrender monkeys" which he has picked up from Jeremy Clarkson's Top Gear . I had a little chat with Boy 1's French teacher (now I know she exists) about this and we both agreed that we could quite happily throttle Mr Clarkso. In the circs I feel that Boy 1's score of 3 and a half out of 11 for his French test is  - well, not as bad as it could have been.

So this morning at breakfast Grandma W decided it was a good time to debut the language CD.  She would brook no discussion.  She was on a mission.

I did try to point out that perhaps the boys were not in the right frame of mind as they had just been watching snippets of "Come Fly With Me" on YouTube.

But to no avail - on goes the CD.  Off sloped Boy 1 to the other room.  Leaving Boy 2 who at first appeared to be making a fair stab at repeating the phrases on the CD - "Bonjour, comment allez-vous?, je suis en vacances, je suis de Londres", etc

It was just a minute later than both Grandma and I realised he was now happily repeating the phrases- IN ENGLISH.   The nice lady on the tape was instructing cheerfully, "Now it's your turn, say you are on holiday"  - and Boy 2 piped up : " I am on holiday"...now urged the lady, "Say you come from London" - "I come from London" chirrups Boy 2.

Final score - Grandma W/Carla Bruni - 0
Boys 1 and 2/Jeremy Clarkson - 1.

Happy New Warhammer

Er hello, it's Boy 1 here, I am doing a post for Mummy as she is very fried tried tired after Christmas, she is asleep on the sofar with lots of rappers wrappers from After Eight choc mints and bits of tinsel in her hair.

Every few minutes she half wakes up and shouts "Does anyone want a mince pie?" Daddy says she has Post Christmas Hostess syndrome..

Most important is I got some Warhammer for Christmas.  It looks like this.

You buy the figures.

Then you spend ages painting them with special paint with cool names like Goblin Green, Devlan Mud and Skull White and oooh, Bleached Bone. Nice.

And then you play complicated battles with them, there is a long rule book and you have rulers and stuff to measure the distance that your weapons can fire. 

Mummy got quite interested in my Ork figures, I showed her all the paints they needed and explained at length their weapons and armour and boots and stuff..

When she saw all the paints, Mummy stomped off muttering that she could not believe that an Ork has more nail polish and paints and accessories than she has..
Mummy is back on the sofa now...

"No Mummy, I don't want a mince pie.."

A Worrying Pair

Dahlings, there are two members of Blighty Limited who are giving me cause for concern.

First, Boy 2.

I was prepared to overlook this (and blame it on all those wildlife programmes he watches).

Mummy: Can you stop playing now and get out of the bath?
Boy 2: OK, Mummy, the killer whale just has to finish off the seal..

I decided this was just a sign of his keen interest in History and not a warning of  Hannibal Lecter tendencies.

Excerpt from Boy 2's school report - proof that teachers do have a sense of humour or evidence of something more sinister?

But this.

Boy 1 was being particularly noisy and annoying the other evening when Boy 2 was doing his spelling homework.  I do vaguely recall Boy 2 saying something along the lines of "Mummy can't we tape his mouth over?"  It was only later I noticed he had got the electrician's tape from the toolbox in the garage...

So the youngest in the Blighty family is a worry. But so is the more senior end.

I thought Grandmas were supposed to sit serenely doing sewing and smelling of Parma violets and face powder, and for excitement might listen to The Archers.

Not so Grandma Whacker.  During her recent stay she was engrossed in these rugged detective novels set in Edinburgh,  which she has recently discovered at her local library*. 

The dialogue is, to put it mildly, quite robust.   You know you are in trouble when Grandma is reading lines like this, spoken by our hero after he has visited a very rough council estate :

WARNING, THIS IS VERY CRUDE, NOT FOR THE EASILY OFFENDED
"Later, eh. I've just escaped Deliverance territory and I'm mightily relieved not to have a length of hillbilly parked in my farter..."

Should I contact the library and ask them not to let her have any more books by this author?

Must go.  Have to hide the electrician's tape again.


*Gutted;
Loss;
Truth Lies Bleeding; and
Long Time Dead, all by Tony Black.
I have now read Gutted and must say it's excellent, and a refreshing contrast to the whimsical Corduroy Mansions of Alexander McCall Smith

Important Parenting Advice from Mrs B

Dahlings, I need to share with you all a Parenting Top Tip.*


Here it is:
When you take small(ish, now getting bigger and even more bumptious) boys on hols, you MUST do your research thoroughly beforehand.

You MUST vet all names of local sights.

You may think a visit to Speedwell Cavern in the Peak District is a safe bet.  What you have overlooked is the existence of a combo ticket covering another cavern...with an unfortunate name.

Mmmmm, queueing for about 35 minutes with Boys 1 and 2 jubilantly shouting "ARSE!" every couple of seconds.

Pure class.

It's a good job they had hard hats on; it wasn't low overhanging rocks they needed protecting from, after their exuberant display of parenting failure..

Eventually the ArseFest stopped and we went down the cavern, a former lead mine.

I cheered up at tales of the child miners (a 4 year old worked the bellows providing the miners with air and other children dug for lead with candles clamped in their mouths; candles made with tallow that rotted their teeth and eventually their stomachs.  The average life expectancy of a miner was 27).

But it wasn't all doom and gloom.

There was something in the tour for everyone, even Mrs B.

* This Parenting Top Tip will rank alongside my other PTT which you can find here

Trouble

You know you're in trouble when....

.... you watch Black Swan on DVD and you then find yourself skipping about the kitchen, pointing your toes, and humming that music (Tum, tum  ti tum ti tum, ti tum, ti tum, ti tum ti tum ti tum..) and shouting, " I'm a prima ballerina and I'm absolutely bonkers..."

and you are growing feathers and stuff...

(you also know you are in trouble when you spend time trying to fashion a tutu out of paper tissue for a small stuffed animal...)

..............small boys dress up  Mad for a school charity thing and you can't tell the difference from their normal off duty attire..

.... you find a card to send Louise of InTownsville (Louise has just had a big operation on her back, wishing you Up and About soon Louise) and you are convinced this card is just the thing, telling yourself it depicts, left to right, you, Linda in Chile and Louise (you have a very jolly email playgroup going with these two ladies), and you are able completely to overlook the fact that it is, ahem, quite some time, since you were school girls...

.....you start your holiday packing* and put in 4 towels and an educational game which no one will play and then your suitcase is full and you are so done with packing and need a cup of tea...

......you reinstate the Wii which has been banned for 6 months and now Boy 2 has his mitts clasped to the controls EVEN WHEN IT IS NOT ON...

.....Mr Blighty discovers an ant infestation in the cupboard and spends the weekend in there dealing with it...

(by the way, those red boots do not have anyone in them, despite appearances - I have not, for example, been overcome by the sight of my spouse being all manly and fainted....they do look odd though...)

......................this is the scene after you have, in a weak moment, bought Boy 1 a new grip for his cricket bat*; and he has come home and ripped the old one off, and you hear wailing and after 10 minutes of panting and puffing you realise it is impossible to get the new grip on...

*why the bl**dy hell did they not warn me in the shop, do I look like the sort of woman who knows what she is doing? Of course not!

   If only I had paid attention to those saucy articles in Cosmopolitan about how to . .....never mind..with your teeth...no, that's enough

This particular spot of bother was resolved by a visit to yet another sports shop, it turns out you need a wooden thing to roll the new grip onto, inside out and then you roll it onto the bat....*

* Some of you really have filthy minds.  I like that.