It’s Valentine’s Day. Sniff. The children are with Mr X. The only post was from the Inland Revenue, demanding £793.
But am I downcast?
Well, der, as Child One and Two would say in unison, if only they were here. My cast is definitely down. However much one steels oneself, that naughty little worm, hope, will keep on wriggling. And, in fact, I will be seeing my True Love later. But sometimes we both seem to be lugging so much baggage around that we each need a separate carousel.
Luckily, there are important cybermatters to attend to which will distract me from the sight of the rest of the world, and especially Dulwich, wallowing in red velvet-swaddled deliciousness, the lucky, lucky beasts.
Right, now, before I get distracted and go off on another rant, what was it that Potty Mummy asked me to do? Ah yes, ‘Go to the 4th folder in your computer where you store your pictures. Pick the 4th picture in that folder. Explain the picture. Tag 4 people to do the same.’
Off I go, weaving in and out of the good, the bad and the ugly stacking up in my computer. Though I am fairly hopeless at remembering to capture those golden moments, somehow the PC’s innards are silting up with blurry, out of focus images culled from my mobile and stored here, for what purpose I cannot say. I come to the fourth of the fourth – and it’s one I can’t show you. Like the lovely Potty herself, I shy away from using real pictures of my children in my blog. I change names, I change events, I can be economical, not to say parsimonious, with the truth. And yes, I know you’ll be shocked, but I feel we know each other well enough now for me to admit it, my first name is not Dulwich.
Nevertheless, I am perfectly happy to blather on a bit about the picture, even if I’m not going to whip it out of my cyberskirts with a great voila. It’s a (blurry, out of focus) shot of my darling Child Two, at her – gulp – 9th birthday party, just after we had hit these shores. The party was held at the Build A Bear Workshop, in sunny Bromley, with Child Two’s newly acquired schoolchums. Build A Bear, in case you have had the good luck not to be exposed to it, is a joint where you can choose, then stuff, your own bear. You even choose a little satin heart, make a wish, and put it inside the bear. Then you dress it up in mini clothes, including firemen’s outfits and tinkerbell costumes. The whole place is so camp, I’m always surprised that the entire line-up of the Village People doesn’t burst out of the shop performing YMCA every time we pass. It is also completely shocking that you can buy skateboards and sunglasses for your bear – so very Marie-Antoinette before the tumbrils that, if I were the company, in these crunchy times, I would start building my own barricades.
Still, there we are, and she looks very happy in the photo, clutching the bear which she named Blossom, and apparently at ease with the other girls. But, looking back, I realise how difficult it must have been for her. She hardly knew these girls, whereas she had grown up with the friends left behind Abroad.
I’ve put everyone through so much. I hope they’ll forgive me.