Childrens Personalised Books

The Old Man suggested a fry up for dinner yesterday so not one to look the gift horse so to speak- come on ladies how often do the men actually offer to cook- strike while the iron’s hot!!!!

So I said I’d get the essentials- eggs, beans, bread and beef sausage- The Old man has to have beef- no he’s not a Muslim- his reasons for not eating pork are all to do with seeing a boil on a pigs leg when he was 12- yeah right!!

With no time to run down to Sainsbury’s I thought I’d try the local Halal shop. Surveying the meat counter with interest; looked nice and clean and the meat looked healthy. Two types of sausage were down in the bottom corner- one a highly suspicious looking thing that resembled a baby’s umbilical cord and a much more enticing pinkish one.

With not even a hint of a pig in the whole of the shop I confidently pointed at the pink sausage and said I’ll have some of those please. Not quite understanding what the shopkeeper said I nodded happily in my choice of sausage, and didn’t think twice when he began rolling up link after link of the fat chubby meat rolls. As the shopkeeper grinned and wrapped up the parcel he said £7.50- I nearly choked- “what” said I a bit louder than anticipated.”£7.50 for sausage”?. Too embarrassed to admit I didn’t know how much a kilo was, I happily took the £1.50 discount he offered me and hurried outside with the priceless chipolatas.

I left the Old Man cooking- brave I know- but duty called- whilst I picked up the 6yr old who sensibly ate at her friends.

On arrival home a gust of freezing cold air hit me- just before the revolting smell of old socks. There were the Old Man and the 11yr old sitting huddled under blankets back door and windows flung open to relieve the house of the smell of the richly priced sausage. Needless to say we didn’t attempt to taste them!

So if anyone out there wants a kilo minus a few beef sausage from the Halal shop- give us a ring. They’re going really cheap!!

I was very excited about our holiday in Spain- but not so excited about the journey. As I packed, then unpacked the cases, taking out all the ‘I don’t really need those’ items, my hands shook as I started on the ‘carry-on bag’. Stomach churning, sweat forming I went through my usual panic about not having enough entertainments for the kids. Every holiday journey it’s the same. The airport is great- loads of things to see, a bit of money to buy something special for the flight, kids get fussed over on boarding, excitement carries over to take off- and then!!!!!!

It seems that no matter how many sticker books, favourite books, soft toys, new toys I can fit in the bulging carry on- it’s never enough. How come Mr Bumble’s a great book at home and we can spend two hours reading it- yet on a plane we can’t even read it once without fidgeting, scratching and kicking the heck out of the seat in front.

The snacks are soon seen to and it’s not that easy to play eye-spy with a two year old. The aisles are sooo inviting to the 2yr old who decides now is the time to practice for the marathon. On the 17th trip to the toilet the 5yr old is convinced that the man with the eye pads on doesn’t really want to sleep, they really want to be woken up by a child yelling “wakey wakey” really loudly in their ear.

With lots of apologies and umpteen choruses of wee willy winky the two yr old decides it’s time to sleep. Bliss thinks I- until 5 mins later I’m told it’s “cabin crew, prepare for landing”.

Ever entered a country with a screaming two year old, a grumpy 5 year old, a jumper covered in stickers and a very dehydrated face? Bet Victoria Beckham never has this problem.

Well the old man has finally outdone even his own stupidity.

Picture him now, 7am Camden market, and fish tray in hand delivering just inside the stall area. He walks towards the entrance swerving to avoid some workmen setting up a tent around a hole in the ground. The weight of the box of salmon caused him to veer slightly too far to the left where he felt he was in danger of bumping into an Arab lady dressed in black with her back to him, standing at a scarf stall. Using his initiative, he called out to the lady in an attempt to ask her to move slightly to let him through.

“Excuse me”, he asked in his nicest voice. No reply
“Erm, excuse me” he said a little more forcefully- as the weight of the Salmon was now bearing down on his not so beefy arms. Still no reply.
“Oi, lady”, came the third attempt.

At this point a man popped his head out of the hole in the ground and piped up, “Ere, mate, that’s a dummy”. To which, the stall holder promptly swivelled the Arab lady round to reveal a mannequin draped in an assortment of black scarves.

Not too sure what the Old man’s reply was- something witty I’m sure ????