It’s been an eventful weekend.
On Saturday I got dressed up in my full-length vintage dress,
slapped on some red lipstick, a necklace, hoop earrings and felt good. I had a date with a very important man:
We turned up at the theatre and were told “Oh, you’ve got some of the best seats in the house!”
I couldn’t have felt more pleased with myself.
It was my son’s first trip to the theatre and he sat absolutely stunned as the show began.
On came Ted Glenn watering some plants and before I had time to think, I realised that he was spraying the audience with water. My first instinct was to use my son as a human shield. I could only think about the damage that could be done to my make up. My son, on the other hand has flawless skin and no need for make up, so I figured this was a fair sacrifice.
Well, he took it like a man, albeit a stunned man. Somehow I still managed to get soaked. I was actually quite pissed off. It wasn’t often that I made such an effort and it is a real fucking effort to look pregnant and hot when you have an 18 month old to deal with too. Up until this point I was feeling like I was having an Alpha Mummy day and now Ted Glenn had ejaculated all over my face and I had been forced to put my vanity before my child’s welfare. I felt pretty shit, from all perspectives.
The journey home was spent with a sweaty 70’s stag group, decked out in afros and permanently occupying the toilet in our carriage to relieve themselves of the gallons of Foster’s they were consuming on the train.
I perked myself up however; with the thought that after a quick freshen up at home I would make my way to my friend’s birthday celebration at a canal side pub, still looking hot with my gorgeous child in tow, quaff a white wine spritzer and cab it home stylishly, delaying his bed time by all of half an hour. It was a perfect plan, a beautiful compromise between my old life and my new one. Me, still fabulous - just plus one and a half children.
Sadly it was not to be. As I dashed around the house pulling all the loose strings together I heard screaming and gasping outside my flat. I peered out of the window and although the incident was just out of sight I could tell that a serious road accident had taken place. Within minutes my street looked like this.
Road closed. Not. Going. Anywhere.
This morning it was raining. I noticed that my son was vigorously scratching his arse when I took off his nappy. I felt sorry for him and allowed him to breeze around the place sans pants.
Ten minutes later, he returned my kindness by pissing on the floor and driving a tractor through it.
Ten minutes after this he took a shit on the floor while I was arguing with the man from Virgin Atlantic about a refund for Bushman’s ticket to Jamaica.
Shortly afterwards, this happened.
A protest against gun and knife crime.
The march had a one minute silence right outside my house for somebody who had been killed there. (I had no idea somebody had been killed there!!) They had just come from down the road where somebody else had been shot (I knew about that one) and were on their way to the place where a young guy was stabbed a couple of weeks ago. (sadly I knew about that one too).
Suddenly I realised that far from living in a safe area highly populated with law-abiding Orthodox Jews and with trendy Stoke Newington Church Street so close that I can smell the free-range sausage rolls from the Farmers Market on a Saturday morning, I actually live on the edge of ‘Murder Mile’ in the midst of some kind of gangland.
As I said, its been an eventful weekend.........
The moral of this story is: remember Saddam Hussein. Using children as human shields can never come to any good.