Some small things this week has taught me… Easter holidays are too long. April is a windy month meaning it really is very easy to lock yourself out of the house by putting the key on the hall bench then going out to the car to get some things… and the children.
Cutting a fringe is instantly regretted.
Trains are delayed when you are early and on time when you are a tiny, tiny, tiny bit late.
When you need to write your column on the train, it will be packed, the man next to you will snore and smell of sweat and there will be no elbow room so pressing return will get you a shove from the aisle and a control-alt-delete will wake up old snoozy chops.
Sorry, sorry, do go back to sleep and did you know there is a bogey in your nose?
Okay. Sorry again. I shouldn’t have pointed it out.
If you lose one of your son’s school reading books and you think you’re smart by ordering a replacement in time for school you will discover that Daughter has taken the other reading book out of his school bag and says ‘I don’t know where I put it Mammy’ when you’re about to leave the house for the first day of term.
Horse racing is a dodgy sport. It is taken very very seriously by horsey types who forget that the majority of us choose our bets on the basis of the horse’s name or whether the jockey is wearing a cute outfit.
And now it’s allegedly less the sport of kings and more the sport of doping after the Godolphin anabolic steroids scandal. Eleven horses trained by Mahmood Al Zarooni have tested positive for anabolic steroids.
A lengthy ban no doubt awaits no matter how cute the costumes.
Zaha Hadid is still peeved that her bracelet (necklace?) design for Wales Opera House didn’t get built all those 20-odd years ago. A woman scorned and all that, even though she went on to fantastic things and was named Veuve Cliquot Businesswoman of the Year just this week.
If you want a plumber to repair a leaking toilet you will need to ask at least four plumbers who will all promise to come over.
And then cancel. And then promise. And then cancel. And then…
You really can run a marathon and look a million dollars. Well, if you’re Katherine Jenkins
you can. I thought her ‘after’ picture was her ‘before’ one. How amazing is she?
It reminded me exactly of how I looked when I ran my first 10k for Kidney Research in Cardiff… not.
As I stumbled into the Millennium Stadium on a super hot day I spied my friend Jenny Johnson ahead of me.
Adrenalin kicked in and I decided to sprint past her. I got half way around the stadium when my body went on strike and I had to throw up on the sainted grass.
To add insult to indigestion, Jenny patted my bottom as she sauntered past way ahead of me.
Oh the shame.
Oh if only I’d been wearing sunglasses.
Not everyone abides by the common courtesy of repaying a round. You know who you are.
Ten drinks at £10 a pop and then I have to go and get Husb and me the next round.
I am too old to go to a nightclub although I was rather proud of the nightclub stamp and was delighted that it didn’t wash off for days. Lord, I felt cool.
Reading my former colleague, Laura Kemp’s book, Mums Like Us which is all about mothers aiming to be good enough and not mothers superior is not an acceptable excuse not to take Son to rugby and Daughter to church. In my defence Husb was in bed dealing with hangover issues so neither of us was good enough that day. (Book is great though, I recommend).
Measles outbreak is scary and, in my view, completely unnecessary. The idea that children are at risk when there is a vaccine against it beggars my belief.
Maybe I have an unhealthily trusting view of the National Health Service. Or maybe I’m right and the vaccines are there to protect us.
It is possible to spend hundreds on a pair of perfectly ordinary looking blue court shoes.
Pregnant Kate Middleton chose a visit to an inner city park to showcase her bump in a £1,000 dress and £350 shoes and Aspreys button necklace.
There’s manners for you.
Primark is a formidable force but I never realised it was part of Associated British Foods.
Son starts school swimming lessons and I am more nervous than him even though we spent a Kate Middleton type of budget on a crash course in swimming for him and Almost-Four-Year-Old. It was prompted by memories of my own school swimming lessons (very infrequent I must say) when everyone else dived in and powered through the water and I had to jump in holding my nose and swim a leisurely breast stroke with my head sticking out of the water.
Easter holidays are too long.