Polly, put the kettle on...

It's been a busy day at the Potty homestead. I hadn't expected it to be, since Husband is still away and it was meant to be just me and the Boys, but we seem to have had one visitor after another today.

First off? Steve Irwin and a lion dropped by at around 8.00am. The Crocodile Hunter was in fine form, hunting down the big cat and cornering it in the sitting room. This was perhaps a little easier than usual, since the lion in question was clomping around with a pair of my boots on it's front paws, so was not able to pad around the flat with it's usual stealth and cunning. It still put up a fight though, growling and roaring like the king of the Savannah it is. This necessitated the intrepid Aussie to counter with his own shouts of 'crikey' and 'Irwin, Steve Irwin!' before the wrestling pair had to be separated for breakfast.

Steve left, but as he departed he entrusted a model Tasmanian Devil to Boy #1's care - the relevance of which will become clear shortly.

Breakfast over, I took my life in my hands and decided to fly solo for the first time. Yes, I took the Boys to mass on my own. Somewhere between the car and the church however, a miracle took place and instead of being accompanied by two squirming complainy Boys, I found that I had acquired a couple of angels who, for the first part of the service, seemed to deem it their mission to show up every other child in the building with their model behaviour.

During the opening hymn Boy #2, standing on the bench between his brother and I, reached out and took both of our hands, resembling nothing so much as a child at an evangelical church about to speak in tongues. It was quite exceptionally cute. However, the moment passed rapidly come the sermon, when Boy #1 started to demand juice which I refused to hand over, forseeing treks back and forth to the loo shepherding not just him but his brother and all our coats and bags as well (it's a central London church holding around 400 people on a Sunday morning. I am not so naive as to leave my bag lying around unaccompanied, un-Christian though that might be...). This resulted in much fierce whispering until his attention was distracted by the winsome 4 year old girl in the bench in front.

Unfortunately (and this is where the relevance of the toy animal becomes clear), in a bid to impress, Boy #1 decided to show off the charge left with him by Steve-o. His command of the word 'Tasmanian' is not good at the best of times. This resulted in his replying, when she asked him what the animal was; "A Tis..m..n DEVIL" during the period of quiet contemplation before communion.

Well, he didn't actually say it like that - that's just how it sounded to me. And everyone else around us. Her mother, not seeing the toy, and no doubt only hearing the word 'devil', shot me a reproachful look before gathering her daughter closer to her...

So, that was mass. Afterwards, we went home and were joined by the celebrity chef from Friday again, this time in full whites regalia, who insisted on accompanying Boy #2 and I to the garden where we met a friend and her daughter before going for lunch. I wouldn't have minded, but his overalls could really have done with a wash, and looked a little odd hanging out beneath his coat whilst the whole ensemble was topped off with his cycling helmet. Still, I guess that's the rich and famous for you...

When we reached the garden? Well, the chef rapidly metamorphosed into a 'pirate chef' with his sidekick the pirate captain, who commandeered the lookout post and refused to come down until tempted to do so with biscuits.

The Boys joined me briefly again for lunch in Carluccio's, but when we got back and Boy #2 went for a nap, Boy #1 went missing and was replaced by Diego, the Sabre-Toothed Tiger from Ice Age, who was hunting his prey all over the living room and doing his best to destroy what remains of the springs in the sofa (where I was trying - unsuccessfully - to take a post-prandial nap. As if. Have you ever tried to get some shut-eye with a fearsome tiger breathing in your face?)

It wasn't until dinner that calm was restored and it was just me and the Boys again.

I'm bushed.