Saturday began bright and early (well actually it was not especially bright and far too early!) Robbie took 5 of our 6 children out for the day and I was required to deliver them to the station. I intended to make the most of the peace and quiet and make a big impact on the washing and ironing. I had a vague hope that I may even have time to rediscover the carpet in Sam's room but I think it is probably a job for Time Team as some extensive digging is required! I ran out of time, so in the absence of Time Team Sam has to do it himself on Sunday afternoon - I can't believe that I watched him hoover his carpet only a week ago, it is quite an achievement to create so much chaos in a week!
I put the first load of washing on and after all the usual running water noises I noticed that there was a vital ingredient missing - the drum was making all the usual noises but it was not going round. Great! I had the 'European Washing Mountain' sorted into loads in the kitchen floor and there was no way that the machine was going to oblige. It is a few years old and not worth repairing so it is just a case of seeing how soon my chosen company can deliver a replacement. I absolutely refuse to buy from Comet and the like, I don't want to be served by someone who is still at primary school and I certainly don't want any further encounter with what they dare to call 'customer services'. I am too old to waste my life battling to enforce my consumer rights - been there got the T shirt! Anyway my mum came to the rescue and I bagged up four loads of washing and carted them off to her house.
My mum and stepfather live in a village between Northampton and Bedford and it isn't possible to park in their lane so I had to park at the top and carry the washing down to the house. Mum was worrying about peacocks. They have had problems with peacocks in the village for a number of years, they may be pretty to look at, but the noise they make is very loud and unimaginably ugly, and when they walk around on the roof they sound like a troop of wandering clog dancers. David my stepfather said that there are about 7 peacocks living wild in the village now and they have had a leafletthrough the door asking how residents feel about culling the peacocks. They would be very glad to be free of the peacocks, but mum cant bring herself to agree to harming them.
As I was heading home I saw whole group of starlings in the lane - feathered pests on a smaller scale. What is the collective noun for a flock of starlings? I have just checked, apparently it is a murmuration of starlings, but I think a riot of starlings would be more appropriate. Anyway seeing them all in the lane behaving exuberantly reminded me of Emily. When she was learning to talk I was very firm with my mum about using the correct name for birds and animals, etc., I wasn't impressed when I caught mum pointing out the 'dicky-birds'. Ok, my only excuse is that first time mum's are noted for being a bit up tight about silly stuff, I was considerably more chilled by the time the other children came along! As a result of my obsessive parenting Emily made her own rules and for many years she called pigeons 'dickigeons' and starlings became 'darlings'. I must admit that once I got used to thinking of them as 'darlings' I didn't feel quite so hostile towards them.
I collected the gang from the station in the evening, all were tired and all had sore feet from doing lots of walking. Sam was walking like John Wayne because his feet hurt so much, I had predicted that his shoes (skater type slip on's) would hurt his feet and I insisted that he had to take his comfortable sandals too. I may as well have saved my breath, he had taken the sandals but he refused to wear them when his feet started hurting because they didn't match his shorts!!
After a long and frustrating day I needed a laugh and I got it. The children told me that on the way home the train crew were a bit short staffed and Robbie was asked to do a stint as a 'trolley dolly' giving out refreshments and he seemed to thoroughly enjoy the experience. I innocently asked if he had managed to get the wiggle right - many of the regular 'galley slaves' seem to model themselves on Graham Norton! To my surprise (and stifled amusement) Robbie launched into a long and complicated description of the difference in height and design between the first class trolley and the standard class trolley. I will spare you the detail, but Robbie believes that the first class trolley is too low and causes staff to stoop, thus preventing the wiggle. He was completely unaware that he delivered the whole explanation with his hand on his hip in the most camp pose you could imagine!
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