Lisa and I have just got back from babysitting two of her three nephews while the third took on the demanding role of 'sheep' at his school nativity play. Having been dragged around Brighton town centre all day yesterday by a girlfriend who claims she's "literally just popping in and out of Next", only to emerge forty minutes later with a pair of trousers and some shoes, I wasn't really in the mood for child wrangling today, but as I said on the phone to my Mum this afternoon, we're only looking after two of them this time, so it's at least a third less stressful than usual. What could possibly go wrong?
So anyway, there I was, collapsed on the sofa, suffering from nervous exhaustion after having had a three-year-old repeating the mantra "You get up. You be a monster. I run." over and over for about half an hour, and ignoring my protestations that he was the monster, and I couldn't get up and run any more if my life depended on it, whilst simultaneously trying to distract him by singing the Fimbles song and doing the actions, when I decided it might be fun to play with the shapes sorting cube sitting on the coffee table next to me.
And I'm sure it would have been fun, had my little playmate (and I don't mean Lisa) not enterprisingly picked up a cold mug of tea when our backs were turned, and carefully placed it inside the cube, so that when I picked it up and shook it, I got half a pint of tea all over my lap. Well, I say half a pint. It was probably less than that, because quite a lot went on his Mum's sofa too. And then there was the puddle on the carpet. So all in all, it was probably only half that amount which seeped through my jeans and into my underwear.
But anyway, I spent an enjoyable hour smelling of Typhoo and feeling like I'd wet myself, whilst simultaneously stuffing kitchen roll down my pants, but the good news is that Nephew Number One's portrayal of a sheep was apparently a triumph. Although I didn't get any details, because we were straight out the door before they'd got their coats off. I must remember to tell the Scope Job Broker not to send me any childcare positions.