Tell me why
I don’t like Mondays, or Wednesdays or Fridays? I’ve had a bit of a crappy week
and like Adele and Taylor Swift who write great songs when they have been
dumped, I like nothing better that to put pen to paper for a moody rant.
My ginger
princess did not get her 1st choice of school or 2nd
choice or even 3rd choice, but at least I got a local school in
Epsom. Two of my Mummy pals got offered schools on a different planet! So what
is wrong with the school Charlotte has been allocated? Not a lot. It had a bad reputation some years ago, which
has clearly stuck and subject to a little bit of surrey snobbery (of which I am
the world’s worst). If I lived in one of the inner London suburbs, this school could be five
star plus! I saw it for myself. There is
a new super head, a high ratio of staff , happy and polite children and a very
cute PE teacher. The lighting was a bit
on the dodgy side (all the better to hide my wrinkles which I well talk about a
bit later). The pupils are from a
diverse background. If Charlotte
comes home dancing like the girls from big Fat Gypsy Wedding, I will be
instantly relocating or camping outside of the Surrey County Council Offices in
protest. I’ve got to stop being a middle-aged middle-class Thatcherite and just
bloody well get on with it. As for
parental choice – that is just a joke. I am a little bit gutted that Charlotte did not get the
church school that we longed for. We go to Church every week and love it but
apparently it’s okay to give the school places to the atheists that live close
by. To hell with them! Its tax payers
money I guess so all parents have the right to attend the school, but abolish
church schools I say and the hypocrisy that goes with it.
I am more
pissed off about losing my handbag (well Ben’s man bag with my stuff in it) at
the end of a lovely trip to Peppa Pig World.
Why aren’t there more honest people in the world? Take the cash and the M&S vouchers and
run and even help yourself to the variety of panty liners, tampax and ad-hoc
bits of make up but please give me back my Raybans, Touch Eclat (for goodness
sake I am over 40) and Charlotte’s lovely little coat and new shoes oh and my
H&M tee-shirt that was rolled up in there. Last year I handed cash in that
was sticking out of the hole-in-the wall at Sainsburys. What happened to
Karma? 99.9% of people that I know would
hand in a lost bag although I do know of somebody that found a Blackberry in
the street and sold it on E-Bay!
What has
angered me most of all this week is that I looked in the mirror and noticed
that my neck looks like a chicken’s neck. It has gone all pink, wrinkly and
wobbly. The one tell tale sign of age that a woman cannot hide is her neck. I
have enjoyed wearing a variety of scarves and I need to treat myself to more. I
feel like a teenager covering love bites, but without the youth and some geeky
guy ravishing me like a vampire. Where’s my Benny Boy?
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