Friday, 15 April 2011

Goose Attack

I had some kind of random discharge of electricity in my brain yesterday afternoon which resulted in me inviting another small child to the cinema with me and Team Indifference. This was in itself not fatal (though the talking, dear lord nathan, the talking, I found myself longing for them to fast forward to some nice adolescent grunting). At the cinema we met up with child 4 and child 5, nominally supervised by their mother, and through some appalling tactical miscalculation on my part (I blame Hop, which was atrocious, for rotting my remaining grey matter), and some savvy manoeuvring by Lashes, ended up with two extra children for the night:

L: Can X stay the night? It's nearly my birthday, and I really want him to.

E: Errrr...

L: Pleeeeasse? It's the holidays! We will be soooo good!

E: Does X even WANT to stay the night (hopeful, he's scared of dogs)?

X: Yes! Yes I do! I am not even a tiny bit scared of the dog now!

E: (sensing defeat) We need to check with his mother, they might need him to come home? (Ha, as if. We check. She is delighted to get rid, of course)

Repeat process with Child Y, except the refusing is INFINTELY HARDER, because Child Y's mother is standing there and I can see that she, like any sane parent, is highly in favour and now I've said yes to X, how can I say no to poor Y? I can't, can I? Fuck. I try one last time:

E: Y, you know I have a dog, don't you? Are you scared of dogs?

Y (contemptuously) Of COURSE not!

And thus I was defeated, due to my own stupidity. Both X and Y were, of course, royal pains in the arse with the dog, flapping round and shrieking if he came anywhere near them. The dog found them by turns thrilling and terrifying, and spent the evening whining at the precise pitch that ensures maximum irritation to all parties. This is not remotely entertaining is it? Believe me, it was a whole lot worse if you were actually here.

(Incidentally, and by way of additional context, on the way home from the cinema with four children, I got into a fight on the tram, just to add to the general mood of serene contemplation and peaceful enjoyment. A man shoved teeny tiny Fingers violently out of his way, sending him flying, and the beserker rage came upon me and I found myself squaring up to him, millimetres away from his face, possessed like a fury, asking him what the fuck he thought he was doing assaulting a child. In the end he apologised but there were a few moments when I thought I might actually get myself arrested for fist fighting in the tram. In front of 4 children, not all of whom were mine, which would have been a new low, surely. But it was one of those moments where you get that demented red mist on. It's my Glaswegian side. Touch mae wean and feel the full force of my 5'4", profoundly unfit, weedy armed rage. I did once get into a fist fight at Liverpool Street station when 6 months pregnant, which ended up with me getting slapped in the face, so I have Previous. The Quakers would be so proud. The childre were unmoved, except by the fact I used A Rude Word).

So. I am at home. I have 4 children. The children do not sleep much, and instead concentrate on shrieking and fighting and taking all their clothes off. I have no food for the children because I was not expecting them, and have to conjure 4 packed lunches (FOUR) out of some stale crusts and 2 wafter thin ham slices and a drooping, flaccid carrot and some speculoos pieces scavenged from the bottom of my handbag between 4.

This morning, in quick succession, the following happens:

1. We are running late, I shriek at the children to put their shoes on. When Fingers puts his on, the other three collapse laughing because they have filled his shoes with toothpaste. Toothpaste! Boys. You are so freaking funny. Thank goodness I am wearing my corset, my sides are splitting, though you might prefer it if I was wearing some kind of restraints because I NOW WISH TO KILL YOU ALL.

2. I round them up and cattle prod them down the street to the tram. On the way we come across a group of local residents, lurking around, plainly excited about something. I assume it is just a new hole in the road for them to stare at, and breeze past. I notice, vaguely, that there is some kind of peculiar noise, like a sort of, what? Honking? Yes, honking. Suddenly we see the object of their attention, which is, on a busy street, a brood of seven baby geese and their parents, staggering around, faintly disorientated. The baby geese keep wandering off in the wrong direction and falling over, much like the small boys, except the baby geese are not so bloody noisy. Everyone is staring, bemused, at the geese. When anyone tries to get past their cohort, mama goose ATTACKS, hissing, beak out, pecking at legs, and handbags and anything she can grab hold of. Several people fall victim to brutal goose attacks and have to run away, flapping their arms and shrieking. It is very funny. Someone says they have called the police. I really, really wish I could wait and see the Belgian police deal with geese, but sadly I cannot. I bet they have a written goose protocol.

Once I have deposited the children at holiday gulag, with their stale carrot sandwiches, I come home to find the weepette guiltily eating the last few of what was, when I left, a full bag of popping candy eggs. His facial expression, faced with the mouth sensation of popping candy, is quite something to behold. It is his own fault, he is an idiot.

After that I worked all day on the sanity shattering assignment that will ultimately net me 43 pence, only for it, at the last minute, to be held back a month, so that's another month for me to lose my mind with European folklore. Hurrah! After that I went to the bank and my bank balance made me cry, so I went to get an ice cream. It's ok, nothing bad happens with the ice cream, it was great. I wish for the next 24 hours to be all violet and almond milk ice cream. I would bathe in violet ice cream if I could, but instead, I am doing my VAT return and trying to make the house look less like a bombed out slum. Don't you wish you were here?

I think we all need to look at a picture of a very small pony now:

Maybe one more?

(Yes, I have just googled "very tiny pony". Next I will google "very tiny goat". This is where we're at tonight. )


Ann Eve said...

Do you have any photos of Weepette eating said chocolates? Sounds brilliant (as was feeding toffee pennies to a greyhound. Amazing).

Thanks for good laughs and chuckles after miserable day at home with two mental under 5 girls who are lovely but I am mother from hell with rage today. Love it when you post.

irretrievablybroken said...

I can't believe someone slapped a pregnant woman in the face. Damn, girl. You are the real gangster.

Anonymous said...

Reading about Weepette's facial expression after snaffling the popping candy actually made me GUFFAW out loud.

Normally, not such a big deal, but at the moment (while I'm currently in hiding and nervously trying to assuage my inside anxiety ogre), it's HUGE. So, thanks for this post. It was much needed!

Also, kudos for your train passenger handling skills. As a Glaswegian, I can relate to random travel rage and inappropriate protective clan tendencies.

p.s. Tell Weepette to go easy on the chocolate - it's actually poisonous to dogs! eek

Mya said...

I would pay good money to see you grappling on a tram floor, displaying the ultimate in 'weedy armed rage'. V funny. You are always describing yourself as shy and a little reticent...but you're obviously a bit tasty with your fists. I'm impressed. The next time I'm in a bar brawl,will you be in my corner?

Mya x

Pat (in Belgium) said...

Very small pony...or ginormously large cat?
The "advantage" of being a woman and going berserk is that, more often than not, the object of your rage is convinced you must be insane and, therefore, could do ANYthing (like pull a meat cleaver out of your hand bag or some such). At least that's what I told myself the few times I let fly at men who were all much bigger and beefier than I.
Mercifully, they backed down, disappeared into the crowd. Daughter was both shocked and chuffed.
Missed photos of the Weepette with a chocolate "smile".

Dara said...

God woman...I needed that laugh after the day I had.
And thanks for the teeny horse pictures!

Tired Dad said...

Just brilliant. For the next few days my swank (it isn't) bachelor pad is a family home once again with son and daughter staying and I'm empathising. Oddly, whilst in the Cotswolds before I took them to the much more sensible north of England, we spend a solid quarter of an hour observing a traffic jam caused by a large number of ducks intent upon crossing the road from the park to get to the pub opposite. They could not be dissuaded.

frau antje said...

Good for you (and Mother Goose) and your berserker rage. Remember, it's up to you to govern. Glad your puny, indignant arms were not harmed in the process.

Provincial Lady said...

I am drowning under too many essays, and have realised that my mental picture, on reading any judgement from Lord Scarman, is of Scar crushing mice under his paw. Does that make the other Law Lords a pride of snarky lions, or giggling hyenas? I think I need a miniature pony.

Alison Cross said...

Waffle - hilarious! I too do the shaking of the head thing 'You don't want to come and spend the night, do you?' And of course, the little bastards do....

But it cuts both way - I can now expect my son to go off for a jolly overnight at some other house while I lie on the sofa and watch Waking The Dead from behind my fingers and munching my way through a tube of Pringles. I know how to partay on a Saturday night.

Geese - about as dangerous as swans.

Are you writing for elance, the freelance writing place. I gave up. I was spending hours writing finely crafted copy for a website selling artwork (posters) and getting paid about 50c per 100 words.

I believe that if you're good at what you do, the financial rewards can really mount up.

Ali x

design elements said...


SUEB0B said...

You have more adventures in a day than I have in a month. Biting geese! Subway fights! 5-child cinema!

asta said...

HOP. Dear God no.
I was stupid enough to attend a free preview of this abomination.
I kept waiting for a plot, or even a reason for the scenes that made it into the film.

As for the rest. Respect. Deep deep respect. Of course, I am wishing you'd decked the twat on the tram.

zmkc said...

'Incidentally, and by way of additional context, on the way home from the cinema with four children, I got into a fight on the tram' - that is a particularly wonderful sentence.

awhirlinlondon said...

PLEASE tell the story of the fist fight! Please!

Sewmouse said...

I have been late to work three times in the last two months due to slowly migrating geese. Migrating from one side of the road to the other on foot.

We do not have pretty EuroGeese here, however. We have amazingly ugly Canadian geese with black necks, mud-brown backs, grey chests and angry looking beaks.

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