Tuesday, 31 May 2016

Peter and Jane Go Camping

Today it is the start of a  Bank Holiday weekend, and Peter and Jane are going camping with Mummy and Daddy.

It has taken quite a lot of persuasion for Daddy to get Mummy to go camping.

Mummy went camping once before with the Girl Guides and it ended rather badly when the Guide Leader confiscated Mummy's fags and told her she was a disgrace to Girl Guiding.

Mummy was already aware she was a disgrace to Girl Guiding, but she was annoyed about her fags.

This time Daddy has promised that there will be booze, and Mummy had to give up smoking anyway because Peter and Jane's school brainwashed them into being very judgmental about it.

It is hard to enjoy a crafty fag when you are being stalked by small children who jump out at you screaming "YOU ARE GOING TO DIIIIIIIIE!!!!!"

Mummy has actually rather come round to the idea of camping and has visions of Breton tops and hampers and Enid Blyton style japes and frolics on the beach, and some really good smug Instagram opportunities.

Despite all the evidence to the contrary, Mummy is an eternal optimist.  A mostly drunken optimist, but an optimist all the same.

Mummy has packed a selection of adorable shoes and floaty skirts and several bottles of gin and lugs her suitcase and her hamper out to Daddy's car.

"What the fuck are they?" says Daddy as he surveys her luggage.

Daddy and Peter and Jane appear to have only packed a selection of nasty nylon rucksacks.

Mummy does not do rucksacks.

After a brief row, Daddy grudgingly loads the suitcase, and the booze stuffed hamper in to the car.

Mummy distinctly hears Daddy mutter "This is fucking ridiculous" about her hamper, but she chooses to ignore him, for she knows he will be glad of it when they arrive at the adorable campsite.

Peter and Jane and Mummy and Daddy set off.

Daddy has to drive, because Mummy is not allowed to drive Daddy's car, because he doesn't understand that it is not really Mummy's fault that she quite often accidentally drives into things by mistake, and Daddy refuses to travel in Mummy's car because apparently it 'stinks'.  Mummy thinks Daddy is a supercilious bastard, but she can have a little sleep if he drives.

The sun is shining and Mummy made being allowed to play her Nineties Hits CD in the car a condition of coming, and everything is really quite lovely.

After half an hour, the Bank Holiday Traffic Jams start. 

As the car grinds to a halt, Jane screams "Peter is looking at me." 

"I am not!" shouts Peter.



"Mummy, tell Peter to stop looking at me NOW!" Jane screeches.

Mummy remains quite serene throughout this exchange, because Mummy had the foresight to stash little cans of G&T in her handbag, and she has already had three.

Daddy is not as serene.  There is a vein throbbing in Daddy's temple in a most alarming way.


"What about a nice game of ISpy?" slurs Mummy.

"I really, really, really need a wee." says Peter.

Three hours later, Mummy and Daddy and Peter and Jane arrive at the campsite.

After an hour in the traffic jam, Peter had to wee into one of Mummy's empty gin cans.

It is with difficulty that he is made to put the can of piss in the bin, as he is determined to keep it as a souvenir.

The campsite is not entirely what Mummy expected.  It is a field, with tents in it.  And some mobile home caravans.  And a very Soviet looking toilet block.  Mummy had presumed there would be bunting, and perhaps some jaunty old fashioned gypsy caravans.  Maybe ponies.

"Help me put the tent up." says Daddy.

Mummy looks at Daddy blankly.  Mummy cannot think of one single thing she has ever done in her life that could have given Daddy the impression that she might know how to help put a tent up.

Mummy mutters a vague excuse about taking Jane to the toilet and wanders off, leaving Daddy and Peter to deal with the tent.


Daddy has finally got the tent up, and Peter has stopped having hysterics after getting trapped inside in the process.

Mummy is sitting in the sunshine with another little gin, and thinking that despite the unsatisfactory toilet situation and the general fieldiness of the field she is in, camping is not so bad.  There is a nice pub just outside the field, where Mummy has insisted they will be going for dinner, and there will be plenty of wine and chips, and Mummy has taken lots of really good photos and put them on Instagram.

Mummy is not entirely sure where Peter and Jane are, but she thinks they have probably gone to have some japes and frolics and will doubtless come back when they have thwarted the plans of a dastardly gang of lower class criminals.

At bedtime, the horrid reality of what she has done dawns on Mummy.  

Mummy has allowed herself to be blinded by visions of Breton tops and Instagram smugness and now Mummy is going to have to sleep in a field!  In a tent, with Peter and Jane and Daddy.

Mummy is in her sleeping bag.  Mummy is not happy about this.

Daddy farts.  Peter farts.  Jane farts.

Daddy snores.  Peter snores.  Jane snores.

Mummy is trapped in a noisy nylon bag of stench and outside it is dark and there is field and there might be cows and the only place to wee has already been wee'd in many times by dubious sorts who don't look like they shop at Waitrose.

Mummy is not drunk enough for this shit.

The next morning it is raining.  The tent is wet.  Mummy is wet.  The hamper is wet. Peter and Jane are wet.  Daddy is not wet because he is a smug twat and has some special hi-tech jacket.  If the jacket was slightly less fucking ugly, Mummy would demand he lend it to her, but Mummy has standards and she would rather be a drowned rat than wear anything so hideous.

The people staying in the caravans look out complacently at Mummy shivering in the rain.

Mummy thinks "What has it come to that I am envying the caravan people?"

Mummy says "Fuck this shit Daddy, we are going home."

Friday, 27 May 2016

Peter and Jane Go To Bed

Today, Peter and Jane have been very trying.

Mummy is counting the minutes until she can put Peter and Jane to bed and have some peace and quiet.

Daddy is working late at the office, though Mummy suspects he has gone to the pub in order to avoid bedtime.

There are still many things to do before Mummy can shut the little bastards in their bedrooms for the night.

First, Mummy must give Peter and Jane some dinner and listen to them whine for chicken nuggets instead of the nice middle class dinner she has cooked; lecture them on why they must eat their vegetables, and stop them trying to stab each with their cutlery, before giving Pat the Dog Peter and Jane's rejected vegetables, and wondering when they are going to get scurvy.

Next, it is bathtime.

Bathtime involves trying to pin down Peter and Jane while they are screaming, writhing and wet, and scrub the worst of the filth off them, while they shriek that the shampoo has gone in their eyes even though Mummy hasn't even got the bastarding shampoo off the shelf yet.

Mummy hates bath time, and she hates those sodding bubble bath adverts that show nice children playing quietly in their bath with rubber ducks, and not screeching like banshees and drenching the entire bathroom, and their mothers, before getting out and slipping on the wet floor and howling loudly about it.

Mummy also hates those fucking 'parenting tips' that suggest 'incorporating a soothing bath as part of your child's bedtime routine will help them to sleep.'  

Mummy wonders if the twats who write these tips even have children, and if they do, how  smacked off their tits are they, that they think there is anything calming and soothing about trying to bath fucking children?

Once Mummy has wrangled Peter and Jane into their pyjamas, it's story time.

Story time is shit, but Mummy has to do it, because she is middle class and if Peter and Jane ever told anyone that Mummy doesn't read them a bedtime story, she would probably have her MyWaitrose card confiscated.

"Read me this Pokemon book." says Peter.

"Read me this Rainbow Fairy book." says Jane.

"No" says Mummy "I am reading ONE story, to you both, and I am NOT reading about pissing Pokemon or Rainbow Fucking Fairies.  We are having Green Eggs and Ham."

"Noooooooo, we hate Green Eggs and Ham." whine Peter and Jane, but Mummy ignores them.

Mummy loves Green Eggs and Ham, and actually knows it off by heart, which is good because she can now recite it very, very fast and get story time over with as soon as possible.

Other good things about Green Eggs and Ham are that Mummy can snigger every time at the line 'Could you, would you, with a goat' and also she hopes that if she reads it to Peter and Jane enough, one day they too may follow the exhortations of Sam I Am and try to eat a new fucking food.  This is probably quite a vain hope, but in the meantime there is always the goat smut to cheer her.

Story time over, Mummy tucks up Peter and Jane, and gives them a kiss, quite as if she actually likes them.

Peter and Jane spoil the moment, as they always do by letting Mummy get almost to the door before firing a barrage of pointless and annoying questions at her.

"Mummy, what is your favourite object ever?" asks Peter.

"Mummy, who was your second best friend when you were nine and three quarters? asks Jane.

"Mummy, how many camels do you think there are in the world?" asks Peter.

"Mummy, what do you think is better, Spongebob or Adventure Time?" asks Jane.

"Mummy, do you like Pokemon or Moshi Monsters best?" asks Peter.

"Mummy, who do you think would win in a fight- Pat the Dog or an otter?" asks Jane.

Mummy does not give a shit about any of these things, except Spongebob Vs Adventure Time because she identifies strongly with Squidward and thinks Adventure Time is the most fucked up thing she has ever seen.

"Go to sleep."  says Mummy.

Now that Peter and Jane are in bed, Mummy can have a little gin and watch Eastenders and hope Creepy, Fit Andy spends most of the episode walking around in nothing but a towel for no apparent reason.  

Even if Creepy, Fit Andy is wearing clothes, Mummy hopes he finally gets round to offing Ronnie Bloody Mitchell and does a better job than everyone else who has tried to kill her.  Mummy is astonished Ronnie Mitchell is so hard to kill, given all she ever does is trudge around sighing and swishing her stupid blonde hair at people while pretending to be a gangster and accidentally killing good characters like FatBoy.  Even if Andy only managed to put her in another coma that would be quite nice, as long as Roxy doesn't try and bring her out of it again by shagging her husband at her bedside.

Oooooh, oooooh, Andy's prancing about in his towel!!!!!!

"I can't sleep." says Jane.

"Of course you can't fucking sleep, you're standing in the sitting room instead of lying in your bed WHERE YOU SLEEP!!!!" says Mummy "Now go back to bed."

"I think there might be a spider in my room." says Peter.

"Why do you think there is a spider in your room?"  says Mummy.

"I just have a feeling." says Peter.

"There is not a spider in your room, go to bed." says Mummy.

"Can I have a drink?" says Jane.

"GO BACK TO BED!!!!!" says Mummy

"Maybe it's not a spider, maybe it is an earwig." says Peter.

"GO BACK TO BED!!!!" says Mummy.

"I think my leg is sore, I think I might have polio." says Jane.

"GO TO FUCKING BED!!!!  GO!!!  JUST FUCK OFF AND GO AWAY!!!!!" says Mummy.

"Can I just give you a hug?" says Peter.


"Now my other leg is sore, I really think I have polio." says Jane.

"BED!!!!!!!!" says Mummy.

An hour later, Peter and Jane are finally asleep and Mummy is half a bottle of gin down and is watching Andy in his towel in peace.

Daddy comes home.

"Why are you watching that rubbish?" Daddy says "You could talk to me instead, would you like to hear about my day?"


Friday, 20 May 2016

Peter and Jane And The Sports Day

Today it is Sports Day at Peter and Jane's school.

Peter and Jane have mixed feelings about Sports Day.

On the one hand, anything that gets them out of school work, must be A Good Thing.

On the other hand, Peter and Jane are not very good at Team Spirit or Taking Part.

Peter and Jane are more inclined towards the Fight To Death, Hunger Games approach to sporting events.

This is frowned upon by the school.

Mummy has come to Sports Day.

All the Boden Mummies are at Sports Day, and they have made all the Boden Daddies come too, and bring giant Boden cameras so no one else can see past.

Peter and Jane's Daddy has not come to Sports Day, as he said he had to be busy and important at the office, though Mummy distinctly heard him mutter "And I'd rather stick pins in my eyes" as he made his excuses and left.

Mummy can't really blame Daddy, she wouldn't be here in this sweaty, fetid hellhole either if she had been able to think of an excuse.

In Mummy's head, Sports Day are gracious and elegant events, involving strawberries and deckchairs and cricket pavilions (even though Mummy isn't totally sure what a cricket pavilion is, but it sounds civilised) and floaty dresses and shady hats and gallons of Pimms.

It's possible that Mummy has got Sports Day muddled up with some sort of Merchant Ivory fantasy, as each year she is disappointed anew at the loathsome spectacle that is the reality of Sports Day.

The Boden Mummies are not wearing delightful hats and silken dresses, they are all crammed into hideous Lycra from a terrifying shop called Lulu Lemon, which is a stupid name.

Mummy looked at the Lulu Lemon website once.  It was not for her. 

The Boden Mummies are all stretching in preparation for the Mummies' Race.

Mummy will not be taking part in the Mummies' Race because she is not a fucking stupid exhibitionist.

The headmistress walks by.

The headmistress has been to Lulu Lemon too.  

The headmistress is a large lady and the effect is unfortunate.

Mummy hides from the headmistress.

The headmistress does not like Mummy.

There are a number of reasons for this, not least Mummy suggesting that Sports Day, and indeed all school events, would be vastly improved if there was a bar.

The headmistress and Mummy have also had some disagreements about Mummy's notion that it might be an awfully nice idea if the school concentrated on teaching Peter and Jane to read and write instead of wasting at least one day a week on something wanky and pointless like 'Diversity Day' where they all were supposed to dress up like a foreigner, only Mummy forgot.

Peter and Jane's repeated attempts to set the school on fire have not really helped Mummy's relationship with the headmistress either.

Peter and Jane both shout at Mummy to come and watch them in the 'Sporting Events'.

"Where are the races?" asks Mummy

"We are not doing races for the children this year" says Perfect Lucy Atkinson's Perfect Mummy, as she crosses the finish line first in the Mummies' Race.

"It is upsetting for the ones who come last, so we are just having lots of non-competitive events, to show them that everyone is a winner."

"Bollocks to that" says Mummy "I want to watch the fat kid trying to eat his egg in the egg and spoon race, and the speccy kid that no one likes getting shoved in his sack head first for the sack race.  I have not come to listen to  a bunch of fucking little bastards screaming their heads off while they chuck bean bags round and sing Kum Bye Fucking Yah.  I want entertainment.  And a sodding bar"

Mummy cheers up a bit when she has to watch some children trying to kick a football in a goal and a fat boy manages to slip and fall on his arse. 

Mummy and Peter and Jane are the only ones to laugh and point at the fat boy.  It is a bonding moment.

The Sports Day is finally drawing to a close.

The headmistress waddles to the podium, Mummy thinks to declare the horror over.

Instead, it seems her Lulu Lemon leggings have cut off her circulation, causing her to hallucinate that this is actually the Olympics, as she announces there will be a closing ceremony and then all the children will be presented with medals.

"What the fuck?" says Mummy in despair, as she is forced to endure twenty uncoordinated children flapping bits of material around out of time to some fucking pan pipe music.

"Gin" whispers Mummy to herself "Oh how I wish there was gin." 

Mummy resolves that next year she is going to bring a hip flask.  Actually, make that two hip flasks.

Saturday, 14 May 2016

Peter and Jane And The Barbecue.

Today is quite a sunny day.

Peter and Jane are going to have a barbecue for dinner, because that, along with cutting the grass, is what British people do as soon as there is a glimmer of sun.

Peter and Jane have been playing in the paddling pool, and also on some godawful thing that Granny gave them called a 'Slip'n'Slide' which is basically a cunning device for maiming children.

After Mummy mopped up the blood and 
steri-stripped Peter's chin back together and iced the large lump on Jane's head, and quelled the hysterical screaming with Jelly Babies, she confiscated the Slip'n'Slide and called Granny a very rude name under her breath.

Daddy has cut the grass and then had some beer.

Daddy is having another beer while he pretends to think about doing some strimming.  Daddy is not really thinking about strimming though, he is thinking about his Dream Shed and all the Man Stuff he could keep in it.  Daddy has gone off his current shed, ever since Mummy painted it a most fetching shade of duck egg blue and put bunting on it.  

Peter and Jane are playing in the paddling pool.

Jane is screaming something about Peter pissing in the pool, and Peter is waving his willy and laughing maniacally.

Lost in his Shed Dreams, Daddy hears nothing.

Mummy is not outside in the sunshine.

Mummy is in the kitchen, making lots and lots of delicious salads and marinading every kind of dead animal she could find in Waitrose, ready for the barbecue.

Mummy is dimly aware of the screaming, but it is not 'There Is Blood' screaming, so she ignores it, and pours a tiny glass of the nice pink wine that was on special in Waitrose.

Daddy lights the barbecue and has another beer until the barbecue is ready to cook on, because he does not feel gas barbecues are Manly.

Peter and Jane have got out of the paddling pool, come in, trailed mud and water through the house, got dried on a clean towel and dressed in a new set of clothes, then decided to put on a different swimsuit and get back in the pool a total of seventeen times now, and Mummy has put several slugs of gin into her pink wine and is convincing herself it is a summer cocktail.

Now the barbecue is lit though, Peter and Jane have abandoned all interest in the pissy paddling pool, and instead decide to ride their scooters as close to the fire as they can.

Mummy sticks a straw in the gin bottle.

Daddy is cooking on the barbecue now.

Cooking on the barbecue is a very complex and difficult task, therefore it is imperative that Daddy does not take his eyes off the barbecue for one single second, lest a woolly mammoth come and trample the fire that he, the mighty Man, has made.

While Daddy guards his magic fire, he shouts to Mummy to forage him beer from the cave.

He also demands Mummy run back and forth between the barbecue and the kitchen, delivering dead animal for cooking, and retrieving cooked animal before it burns, for Daddy Is Barbecuing.

Mummy thinks it's pretty fucking amazing that when she barbecues, when Daddy is being busy and important at work, she manages to do it without the threat of a single mammoth, and also without being such a colossal prick,

Daddy shouts for another beer, and Mummy shouts back "Go fuck yourself."

The food is cooked.

Peter and Jane do not like the food.

Peter says "There is stuff on my chicken.  I do not like stuff on my chicken." 

Jane says "This looks burnt.  I cannot eat the burnt bits.  Why is this burnt?"

Mummy says "It's not stuff, Peter, it's a lovely herb marinade.  And it's not burnt, Jane, it's char-fucking-grilled."

Peter and Jane say "Why can't we have sausages and burgers like normal people?"

Mummy says "We are fucking middle class and aspirational.  We have been to fucking Tuscany.  Eat the fucking chicken."

Peter and Jane have gone to bed.

The Dog ate the chicken.

Daddy says "Did you enjoy having a night off cooking, darling?  I'm quite tired now, after all that."

Mummy stabs Daddy in the eye with an artisanal skewer.