Despite my fine words about treasuring the slow, mouldy, under-occupied holidays, I am currently hiding from my children in bed. F has decided, stubbornly, to be as bored and obstreperous as he can. L has a friend round and they are marauding like pre-teen hyenas. The jigsaw is stalled, perhaps terminally so. The children have eaten all the foods, so in desperation I made "Mexican spaghetti" for lunch, which was, I think we are all agreed, a new low. This is the only thing we've agreed on all day.
Ambient aural landscape:
- babyfoot (violent banging, like an enthusiastic unskilled demolition crew at work, punctuated with pre-teen shrieking).
- noodling plinky plonky jazz from arsehole neighbour.
- CBBC song about, I think, jam (telly).
- "En Apésanteur", dire French pop song (radio someone has left on and no one can be arsed to turn off).
- Incessant clacking of F's newest purchase, one of those awful Newton's Cradle executive toys.
- Oh, someone has just found the toy accordion. That's nice.
You can see why the bag of earplugs next to my bed is my most prized possession.
I just took a moment to remember my absolute worst Easter, to cheer myself up (not that I really need it, I have finished half of my outstanding work and soon it will legitimately be time for a gin). It was 2004, a few months after mum died, and we went to Tetanus Towers, just me, CFO, my sister and the boys. We had to take seventeen cubic metres of plastic crap and baby paraphernalia, because F was about 6 weeks old and L was just shy of two: that dreadful time when there is always some absolutely vital thing you must not forget, without which all is lost, and which you forget.
It pissed with rain the whole time, often accompanied by glacial winds, which insinuated themselves into the gaps in the ancient windows. We spent all our time in the kitchen in borrowed fleeces, barring one trip to the Spar to buy nappies, because the Aga gave off some faint semblance of warmth, but the kitchen was a toddler deathtrap of uneven flagstones, fire, loaded mousetraps and other pointy and terrifying things. F was wholly nocturnal so I got approximately 12 minutes of sleep the whole weekend and my baseline mood for the weekend was delirium. L rampaged around breaking stuff and being a danger to himself, no one was really old enough for an Easter egg hunt, though we did make a disastrous, muddy, cold attempt. The only good thing I can remember is that we didn't fight because we were all too unhappy and exhausted to bother. I practically wept with gratitude when we got back to London. It's quite strange to think how much they love going there now and clamour for it, how little thought I need to give to packing and how totally I can disregard their safety on arrival. Yet again, I think how very much I like having big children (even when they have hounded me to my bedroom). Also, my father has made huge improvements to the insulation and heating, for which, much gratitude.
30% disinclined to get out of bed
15% outstanding legal work dread
10% experiencing unhelpful, narrow-eyed stubbornness.
10% trialling some very crap make up (of which 5% M&S gel liner disappointment and 5% creepy No theatre foundation)
5% Miller Harris Vetiver Bourbon
5% hideous fingerclaws
5% Obsessive repeat purchase of St Honoré eclair plotting
20% Looking at pictures of Herdwick lambs.
(*this is the French version of 'Everything Is Awesome'. At some point this week we finally went to see the Lego Movie, but I cannot give you much of my considered opinion on it, since I rapidly fell asleep. As, indeed, did the man next to me, but his snoring was way louder)
You? Memorably awful Easter? Percentages? Recommendations for low rent chocolate products I should try and acquire on sale after the event?