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Sunday, January 19, 2014

I'm beginning to wonder if Lisa's been slipping Grove's Tasteless Chill Tonic into my tea for the past ten years...

After all, it's tasteless. And the picture looks like Toby. I've never developed malaria either.

But that aside, I could certainly do with some kind of tonic at the moment (possibly with gin), as these children are draining me faster than the batteries in Amelie's Innotab. I'm forty now, so I'm legally too old to party, but unfortunately I'm being dragged into the hedonistic lifestyle by my daughter, who's being invited to all the exclusive events on the socialite's calendar and is turning into a five-year-old wild child with a chauffeur. And that chauffeur is me. Although I'm the one being driven around the bend.

I'm currently looking after Toby (I think he's in the bedroom turning on Lisa's hair straighteners) while Amelie dances the afternoon away at a friend's birthday party down the road. Lisa's hanging about in the hope of getting some free sausage rolls and a slice of cake, but I'm keeping my distance until I can get my hands on some Pink Pills for Pale People...

I had enough of the blood draining from my face yesterday afternoon when I was forced to attend another five-year-old's birthday party at an indoor play centre. The location was Westows in Hove, a delightful indoor play facility which would be a whole lot nicer if it was empty. Unfortunately, it tends to be full of children, particularly on a Saturday, with the kind of noise level which makes it difficult for Lisa to hear me asking if I can leave.

We weren't actually obliged to stay for the party, but having been given free entry on the back of Amelie's invitation, we thought it would be nice for Toby to have a clamber about for a couple of hours. It was a decision we regretted within about five minutes. And after twenty, we'd had enough of the mania, claustrophia and wild screaming (mostly from me), and decided that whilst Toby might be enjoying the indoor play centre, he'd probably be even happier sitting in a quiet coffee shop, watching his parents sip lattes.

So while Amelie scaled the heights of the play equipment, the rest of us decamped to George Street, and a branch of Caffè Nero. Unfortunately it took us a long time to get there. Now that Toby's found his feet, he insists on walking everywhere, generally at a speed which makes a tortoise look rushed, and by the time you get anywhere, it's time to come back. Any attempts to carry him result in struggling and screaming (partly from me again), so it's usually better just to let him get on with it.

Yesterday he was particularly pleased with himself, and started waving to people in restaurant windows as he toddled past. He even banged on the glass if they ignored him. By the time we got to Caffè Nero, we basically had to down our coffees like shots, and head back out to Westows.

Having collected our daughter and driven back home, I was then forced at gunpoint to play SpongeBob on the Playstation for an hour (I'm surprised Lisa likes it that much), before taking Amelie down to Asda to do the weekly shop. Which on this occasion featured a bracelet, Hello Kitty chocolates, and about six other things my daughter sneaked into the trolley.

As things stand right now, I still have a dozen household chores to do, two dozen work-related jobs to complete, and three dozen e-mails to write. And Toby's just woken up from his nap. To be honest, I probably shouldn't be writing this blog post...


zed said...

It gets better, truly. Once adolescence is finished with. Sadly, the teenage years are the worst by far, but after that it's great.

Phil's Mum said...

I guess you'll be booking yourself onto another course pretty soon.