flossing the cat

This morning I took my daughter to a swimming lesson at the local leisure centre. As usual, my best friend H and I went to the spectator area to see our beautiful little six-year-old selkie-girls performing mushroom floats, swimming on their backs, and venturing into the Deep End for the first time. As usual, the vending machine with the “Out of Order” notice was working perfectly, and as usual, the other vending machine - the one without an “Out of Order” notice - was out of order. All was well with the world, until we saw him. Now I’m not saying that every lifeguard should look like an extra from Baywatch. In fact, there are very few ideas more revolting in life than the idea of getting one of The Hoff’s curly chest hairs stuck to your soft palate during a rescue. At the same time – and at the risk of sounding politically incorrect - I don’t expect a lifeguard to be both obese AND asleep. So, naturally, I was concerned. Any mother would be, and especially one with a diagnosed

Yesterday I had a crazy idea. The idea was quite simply this: to apply actual make-up before embarking on the school run. Unfortunately, the idea struck me at around 3.15pm, which is only five minutes before I need to leave the house. “You okay?” said my neighbour, at the school gates. “Bloody knackered,” I said, which is my stock answer to any question. My neighbour is extremely polite, because it was only later, whilst looking in the rear-view mirror, I realised that I looked like The Demented Wife of Pierrot The Clown. The day got worse on the journey to GroTesquo. I got honked on the A road by a suit in a Merc who was riding my ass even though I was driving at the 40mph speed limit. I gave him The Death Stare in the mirror, which didn’t work, in spite of the shocking state of my face. I think I will get a US-style sticker that says, “ I brake SUDDENLY for tailgaters.” Of course, it’s not only businessmen tw*ts that think it’s ok to break the law. I was having a glass of wine with

There are few things I hate more in life than the school run. 1. The mindless tit-fest that is The Sun ‘newspaper.’ 2. People who don’t pick up their dog crap 3. Going to the dentist (don’t mind needles and pain - just don’t like being told how to brush my teeth, ‘in a circular motion’, when I’m 42) 4. The Royal Family. Don't get me started. The reason I hate the school run is because I AM LATE for every pick up, for every drop-off, for every appointment. I say this to other mothers and in a well-meaning gesture of sisterly solidarity they usually say something like, “So am I. It’s a nightmare!”  To which I should say: NO. YOU. ARE. NOT. Just to clarify. I am not lazy. I don’t oversleep. I don’t go to Tesco Express in my pyjamas. I have even been known to be up and dressed before 7am, even in November. In fact, the daily psychic meltdown doesn’t really begin until around 8.30am, when the only remaining tasks are a) find a bobble for the bale of sticky hay masquerading