Walking through Chelsea this morning, we passed a young guy with a pony tail getting out of a van. Boy #1 did a classic double take, and then made the following observation - at the top of his voice.
"Look, Mama! That man's got girl hair!"
Are we living in too middle-class an area, do you think?
It's been a busy day in the Potty household. We started off with both Boy #1 and Boy 2#'s sports day.
I must admit that my hopes for this were not high. Previous experiences of school events have led me to believe that there is a special kind of hell invented solely for middle class parents, known as sports day and christmas plays for under 3 year-olds. This was Boy #2's first foray into 'show-off marketing' on behalf of the nursery (let's call it what it is, right?), and since his older brother until recently refused to show willing and join in, normally skulking at the edge of the stage on a teacher's lap, my expectations were limited.
However, overall the day went relatively well. OK, so Boy #2 didn't actually compete in any races, but frankly I wouldn't be too happy to be left with a group of screaming class-mates and told to run to the other end of a 10 metre track for no good reason that I could see. Much better to simply run back to the parents and older brother and watch proceedings in comfort with the other spectators...
Boy #1, on the other hand, loved it when his turn came, and threw himself into the races with gusto. Whilst he didn't actually win anything, he came a close second in the space hopper race, which is good enough for me. Bearing in mind my total lack of sporting ability, anytime the Boys achieve any place other than last is a bonus in my mind.
Then after we got back home, we had the builders in. They rolled up around 3.30pm, complete with reflective vests, hardhats, and toolbelts. I thought the hardhats were a touch over the top, but I guess you can't be too careful when you've come to help construct a railway around the sitting room.
Sadly the railway was never actually finished. It snaked from one end of the room to the other, taking very little account of the lie of the land and features like sofa's and tables. The builders had high hopes at one stage of reaching all the way from Sydney Harbour to London Airport, but they were distracted by an attack of killer dinosaurs on a nearby castle.
The dinosaurs were intent on removing all the occupants of the castle by the simple means of stuffing them down the back of the sofa, but the local mama police scuppered this plan and insisted instead that they be placed in the seat of a toy buggy until other suitable accomodation could be found. The only problem with this plan was that the buggy has an unfortunate tendency to fold itself up without warning, which the younger of the two Builders (I believe his name was Bob), found so frustrating that he found himself full length on the floor shouting and banging his feet.
And I suspect that tomorrow morning there will be further ructions when the builders return and find that not only have the killer dinosaurs been returned to their place in the natural order of things (a tray in the corner of the sitting room), but that the railway has unaccountably been swallowed up by an earthquake and returned to it's original home in a box in Boy #1's bedroom.