Life in the fast lane...

Question: What's the difference between a mother with 'help', and a mother without?

Answer: The mummies with 'help' can sit and make phone calls or send texts during the witching hour of 5.00 - 7.30pm. The mummies without - ignore them.

Or: The mothers with help get to go to the loo with the door shut (an old theme of mine, I know, but it looms large...). The mothers without have panic attacks that their son's earliest memories will involve their mum and the toilet...

Or: The mothers with help get to go out in the evenings looking cool, calm, sophisticated and 'finished'. The mothers without throw on a change of clothes 5 minutes before the dinner reservation starts, arriving flustered, late, with no make-up and probably with their clean pants on inside out.


It was my birthday yesterday. Can you tell?

No. Neither could I...


I'm exaggerating, of course. I did have a lovely day - but lovely in a 'rather like any other Friday' fashion than in a lovely 'whisked away to a child-free pampering day in spa followed by leisurely drinks on the terrace and a relaxed saunter to the restaurant' fashion...

But I did get to eat chocolate smartie-covered cake with my boys (somewhat earlier than planned due to incessant questioning as to whether it was tea time yet - that's what you get when you use cake-decorating as a filler activity in the morning and they know what's coming in the afternoon), and to go out for dinner with my Husband somewhere completely unknown to either of us in the centre of town.

Not our usual type of destination as we are now officially both old farts (well, I am, anyway), but it was fun to step out of the comfort zone of South Ken for a change. Now I'm not working, it was particularly interesting to see the post-work clientele out intent on a 'crazy' Friday night; walking through the bar to the restaurant behind it I lost count of the number of times we were checked out by black-clad wannabe-media types, all drinking caiparinha's and talking to each other with an eye permanently fixed on the door for someone more interesting. (Suffice it to say - we weren't those someones...)

After gorging ourselves on yummy Malaysia food on too-cold plates (god, I am SO spoiled), turning down pudding despite the appearance of chocolate fondant on the menu, and heading back through the freezing night into a drink-sozzled tube, we even managed to get home in time to watch Jonathon Ross.

Rock and Roll (as I said to our babysitter).

Who needs spa-breaks?