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Life has been beyond busy and I can’t believe it is the school holidays – again! The builders are still with us and our living space has been reduced still further as the money pit we have bought has now given up the ghost at the top end as well as the bottom and we are sandwiched in the middle getting on one another’s nerves.

Did manage to rediscover my exuberant show-off erstwhile self on the slopes in Switzerland. The high remained for a goodly time on reentry to the world despite returning to find my own mini Matterhorn of laundry threatening to avalanche and kill all in its path. Getting away was fabulous. I departed with a hop, skip and a jump having left, in addition to the daily timetables , detailed instructions and equipment for 2 white rabbits (with waistcoats and pocket watches) and a stoned caterpillar – World Book Day!! Having got swept away with the creative urge it didn’t occur to me until I was on the plane to consider the possible moral angle of sending the children to school in bunny ears and tails etc acquired at Ann Summers or with a small, brass and evidently used Hookah/bong as a prop.

Have also had to navigate the through the basically horrendous task of accompanying Ben to a funeral, his best friend’s mother. This was at the request of his chum and so I took my least manageable child to the most difficult social occasion possible. This is the same child that has been asked to leave Sunday School, told a bishop that he was a ‘poo poo head’ and threatened to scalp the baby Jesus – on his birthday – and those are just the church related faux pas. Actually he was amazing – held his friend’s hand throughout and tried to comfort him at the burial with the thought that it was ‘alright cos you’ve got an angel for a mummy now’.

Following Parent Teacher Evening I had to head out in search of star charts – so you can tell that went well!  Sam is now on special report which seems to involve him ‘surviving’ various lessons. As I can see him, and therefore know he has survived, I can only hope the same is true for the French Master. Ben apparently harbours career ambitions to grow up to be either a Chinese Person or a Seal – he is not fussed which. Imogen has finally found the stick with which to beat me until she is at least 55. She has been whingeing on about wobbly ankles for ages and so at last I took her to A&E. It turns out the ankle that she twisted last year was in fact broken – not very, but a bit – Whoops. It all comes of having racehorse ankles rather than nice straight sturdy legs.

Oh and the easter bunny is threatening a strike.