Diary of a Mummy Misfit #1 (34 page)

Managed to avoid the drink with Pritesh.  Although he did kiss me on the cheek in full view of everyone and he smelt rather nice.

Fenella and I remained sober but, more importantly, our reputations are intact.

Guess who won the signed copies of MG’s cookbooks?   Would you believe it?

Sunday 16
^th
November AM

Knackered.

Didn’t even bother to get dressed, just flopped around the house all day.  Felt a bit low but couldn’t understand why.  Spoke to Fenella who said she felt the same, adding, “A bit like the come-down after a drug, I suppose - after all, we’ve been living on adrenaline for the past few weeks.  Perhaps we should ask Dress-Up Mummy for a few tabs?”

Decided to go for a ‘pat on the back’ lunch tomorrow when we’d be feeling more human.

PM

Now I feel even more miserable.

Ned hadn’t told me because he didn’t want to worry me yesterday, but there’s talk of another round of redundancies.  He says he’s going to start considering his options before it’s too late.

Wonder how much Harrods’ Father Christmases get paid?  Shame it’s only seasonal though.

Off to bed to resume ‘the ostrich’ position.

Monday 17
^th
November

Bugger, bum and poo.

Max calmly informed me over breakfast that his school shoes are too small.  Forty pounds for shoes that lasted just over two months!

Had a quick feel and, he’s quite right, his toes are totally scrunched up.  Sent him to school in his two-pound gym shoes (which ironically still fit!) and a note to his teacher explaining why.

Have to get new shoes straight after school this afternoon - a cost we could really do without.

Fenella must have sensed my concerns because she suggested we had lunch at her place, “Instead of paying for overpriced crap we don’t really need.”

Thank heavens for sensitive friends.

Cheered ourselves up over a bowl of pasta and a spritzer - initial figures from the school treasurer are looking like we made a profit in excess of five-and-a-half grand.

A record for any Manor House school fair so far  - the least successful stall was the food, which barely broke even “due to over pricing and possibly ill-advised choice of food”.

Both had a sneaky snigger and another spritzer - this time without the soda water.

Tuesday 18
^th
November

Email from Poo, on behalf of Shaaaron and the committee:

‘Congrats on a truly sterling job, ladies.  Manor House considers itself very lucky to have mothers like you on board.  Can we book you for next year?  Ha, ha!’

Ha bloody ha - NO!

Once was fun, twice would be considered utter madness - book me in for a half hour stint on a stall as my contribution next year.

And if Fenella says otherwise, I’ll be telling Josh about her illicit hat flogging.

Wednesday 19
^th
November  AM

Set off for school this morning, finally feeling the high again - the fair was over, it’d been a success and all was right with the world.

Our car was obviously oblivious to this fact because nothing happened as I tried to pull away at the traffic lights. One of my biggest nightmares had come true. I was sitting in rush hour traffic with a queue of cars behind me hooting and hollering and there was sod all I could do about it.

Max found it all greatly exciting and waved at all the irate drivers as they moved around us. 

Frantically called Ned and he had the nerve to ask me if I’d remembered to put any petrol in.

“Of course I’ve put bloody petrol in. D’you think I‘m
totally
stupid?”  I was aware that this wasn’t helping the situation but was frankly insulted.

Had to wait there for a mortifying half hour until the breakdown man turned up, only to shake his head in the manner of a perplexed neuro-surgeon, saying, “Sorry love.  Can’t diagnose the problem here.  Have to take her in for a closer look but I’ve got a feeling it could be your onboard computer.”

Walked the rest of the way to school, wondering how much
this
little hiccup was going to set us back.  First the shoes, now the car.  Let’s just hope the set-backs don’t come in threes.

PM

The garage called late this afternoon and it looks like we could be up for a seven hundred quid bill.  We silently polished off a cheapie bottle of plonk - not a lot of jollity in
our
house tonight, but sorrows must be drowned.

Thursday 20
^th
November

School assembly this morning - turned up looking and feeling like seven types of Dog shit (and believe me, I
know
cos I’ve pooper-scooped them all).  We’d overslept and then had the sweaty but rainy trudge to school - no hopping in to the car for
us
on a late day.

So of course, it
would
be the morning that Hinge & Bracket decided to summon Fenella and me to the front of the hall and present us with bouquets in thanks for all our hard work.

There I stood in my jeans and denim jacket, hair like a bird’s nest and not a scrap of make-up.  Beside me stood an immaculately Boden-clad Fenella in full war-paint and fab boots.

Had that awful feeling of ‘not belonging’ again.

Accepted my flowers with good grace and set off for the walk home, not wanting to stick around and talk to anyone.

Fenella called me on the mobile, “Where are you, you silly cow?  I was going to offer you a lift home.” 

Explained that I wasn’t feeling very sociable and just needed to wallow in my own self-pity for a while.  Hung up with a heavy heart.

Was surprised to see her outside the house when I got there, dangling her car keys and telling me to give her a lift home.  “If you drop me off, you can keep the Bug until your car’s done.  I can drive Josh’s, he doesn’t need it during the week.  Now shut your miserable mouth and stop gawping.  I need to get home and tidy up before the cleaner comes.”

I really am living in a different world but, hey, what do
I
care?  I’ve got a brand spanking new VW to zip about in for the next few days.

Oh, and a very thoughtful and kind (wealthy) friend!

Friday 21
^st
November

Mrs S now considering selling her pickles on the internet.  She made a huge profit at the fair and thinks it’s a very viable business.  She’s even made an appointment to see her bank manager with a business plan she put together with Skunk.  Think it’s about time I met this dude to see if his intentions are honourable.

Max home from school, very excited with a letter about his nativity next month.  He’s been chosen to play a shepherd and needs a tunic and standard checked tea-towel as sported by all herders worth their salt at primary schools the length and breadth of the country.

Grateful that it can all be put together for a song and won’t see me having to delve into our rapidly dwindling bank account.  Think even
this
house can run to a tea-towel.  Might even buy a new one for the occasion.

Was amused to see that Max’s teacher had added a hand written note at the bottom of the standard letter.

Mrs Marchant,

Please thank Max for his kind offer of Dog to play the part of a sheep but I’m sure you will understand that we are unable to have domestic animals on the school premises.

Hoping that Max and, indeed, Dog, won’t be too disappointed!

Thank goodness. Dog isn’t the most obedient of creatures and will only perform for vast quantities of food.  Can’t imagine what Max was thinking volunteering his services.  He doesn’t even look remotely like a sheep anyway.

Mum arrived to babysit and had a chuckle over the letter while I completed a hurried job on my make up before we headed off to Jenny and Colin’s for dinner.

“Oh, Libby.  I wouldn’t give it a second thought. 
You
weren’t the brightest button in the box at that age and … look at you now.”

Couldn’t help noticing how her voice trailed off at the end of her sentence and she lost a little of her conviction, but that’s Mum for you - always ready to stick her court shoe in when you’re down.

Left the house to her saying to Max, “Of
course
he looks a bit like a sheep, Poppet.  Just a bit longer and less woolly.  And with a very loud bark of course but, apart from that, very much like a sheep,
I’d
say.”

Saturday 22
^nd
November  AM