The Iron Maidens
Although admittedly the Iron Maidens sound like a Tory trouser pressing service.
THE CLATTER OF TINY CORKSCREWS
Whether I want another child is an issue which tediously grinds around my brain like an old lady trying to open a tin of tuna. I already have a splendid child, who is golden of locks and charming to boot (and more importantly - can fart on command and blame it on his dad). But it seems that it's a popular idea to have kids in a neat sets of two or more, in case they, you know, might want company during their childhood or a shoulder to cry on when their parents die - or some such pish.
The other day, we went to a baby's birthday party which reminded me a) how weird babies are b) how excited I get around buffets and c) how really, truly weird babies are. They are so unrepresentative of human beings in general that it's no wonder women lose their minds when they have them. Having slowly - but obviously not completely - regained my marbles after childbirth, I now wholeheartedly enjoy watching frazzled new mothers from the sidelines while holding a glass of wine and saying 'You'll learn!' in a loud voice. If I have a baby, how will I be able to do that? And more importantly, what if I have to stop drinking wine?
QUAINTLY SHOCKED OF GLASGOW
Earlier I was earwigging on a conversation between two girls on the bus, who were having a high spirited studenty chat about a great party they'd been to. As they talked about a gorgeous boy and recounted the party as if recalling a fabulous dream, I was taken back to a time when a night out really meant something. Then one of them started talking about some 'stuff' that made her teeth feel fuzzy and her hair feel like straw, and I realised they were TALKING ABOUT DRUGS. They then went on to describe STEALING A POLICEMAN'S HAT at which point my head exploded. Of course, I shall be informing the Daily Mail about this forthwith.
1 year ago