Kids TV today eh? *makes a pffff noise, rolls eyes up at sky and does a silly smile*

Today on “Everything’s Rosie”…

1) she didn’t shower when she got up from bed, or brush her teeth. Bad hygiene.

2) she drove the 100 yards from her house to the playground. No wonder kids are obese.

3) she put a bug in a jar to “look after over night”. Bet it is DEAD.

4) her voice sounds like it is constantly on the edge of orgasming (sorry mum, said that word again).

Baby Jake – Nibbles The Rabbit. This is him. Chasing Baby Jake.

Need I say more? Other than this – when they air the episode where he finally flips and beats up everyone in all the lands and the Windmill, I will be writing to Points of View. It should be post watershed. When I will watch it all behind my cushion and with my box of After Eight mints.

Ballamory. Isn’t is great to know we have our own national treasure and indeed, biological marvel in Archie the Inventor. When he made the programme he was in his EARLY TWENTIES!!!! He is a real life Benjamin Button.

In the 1990s….

to this today ………   (I know Miles Jupp. I was shocked too).

What I also love about Ballamory is how Penny Pocket and Suzie Sweet bitch at each other when the other isn’t looking (rolling of eyes, tutting, snide looks). Eadie McCreedy also manages to get a good swipe in about Suzie. It is TV genius.

Mr Tumble. Makaton is awesome and I have worked with many a child who communicates through it, as my background is in such. It is brilliant and is an amazing communicative tool. But it has a name…”Nipple Fluffing”. THAT’s what Mr Tumble does when he signs. It has a slang name. I love it. A colleague of mine still works in the field – must get her to use the word “nipple fluffing” more. “ok kids! Lets fluff our nipples…ABCDEFG… HIJKLMNOP…QRS…TUV…WX…Y and Z! Excellent. Here is the savlon”. It is a brilliant expression.

Chuggington. Anything that sneaks in the phrases “lets have a chuggathon!” or “Action Chugger” is a winner in my book.

The only problem I have with The Octonaughts is that Captain Barnacles looks just like a family friend of mine. Below is The Captain. Look at this face.

And this is my family friend…

It is UNCANNY isn’t it?! (in all honesty – family friend looks just like The Cpt but doesn’t want his photo on here. You will just have to take my word).

All in all, my favourite Cbeebies programmes are The Octonaughts (so education and fab) and Driver Dan (love everyone except Loopy who may need to be put down) and Abney And Teal (I adore this. My favourite character is Neap…especially since the episode when he passed out face down in his own birthday cake. Brings back many a memory).


January 31, 2012. Tags: , , , , , , , . Uncategorized. Leave a comment.

Mum – don’t read this one. I used the word *whispers* orgasm.

Why do buxon women called Candi keep following me on Twitter? What can I possibly be tweeting to alert their minxy online tentacles. I want them to go away. I don’t want to see their boobs. I find their offer to help me orgasm a bit forward. And I don’t know how they find me. I tweet about the price of nappies, and gin oclock. I don’t twitter on about how I really want to start an online relationship with a busty blonde who has the same name as a packet of sweets. To be honest, I have my suspicions their photos may not be what they really look like…Shawnee and Brandi have the same photo. I am just guessing, not judging or making assumptions. *taps side of head knowingly and pulls a smug face*.

Maybe I will tweet them back a picture of myself in the mornings with no make up on, in my Tesco’s pjs and ask them if they want to be my friend then. Go away, or I will keep sending these photos and will block your twitter page with photos of me looking like Fizz from Corrie.

My husband was delighted when he found out that the Crystals of this world followed me.

Me; “Oh no. Another follow from another Slutbag.”

*Dishes clatter in to the sink and he scampers in from the kitchen* “whhhaaaaat?! Click on the link!”

Me; “NO!! You never click on the links! They might be voles! I mean moles! I mean trolls!”

So ladies, or gentleman, whoever you really are, please stop following me on Twitter. Tom Herbert sometimes replies to my tweets and if he ever see’s a photo of me, looking like Fizz from Corrie on my twitter feed I will kill you.

January 29, 2012. Tags: , , . Uncategorized. Leave a comment.

If you are depressed…please can you fill in this form? Cheers!!! *Smiley face and thumbs up*

I was once given a questionnaire on depression…which made me laugh. Maybe this was the plan and I wouldn’t be depressed anymore! Bingo bango. It was after my first baby was born and I just spent 10 minutes telling the health visitor how truly turd I felt and how I honestly believed that everyone would be better off without me. She thrust a form in my face, told me to fill it in THEN AND THERE (in case, what? I used it later on to origami it into a paper knife to paper cut my wrists with?). I filled it in, baby screaming on my lap, unable to hold pen properly because of wriggling baby (oh and this HV refused to hold babies…true story. I imagine having her on any ward would have been interesting) and gave it back. Nope you are not depressed, you only scored “low” (again, a funny choice of words). Excellent. Gospel then is it? Turns out the questionnaire was, get this, WRONG. But that is by the by and that is for another day. But I wanted this blog entry to be about finding the humour in things, even in depression questionnaires, and I think it is in the following that I wish I had the strength to do;

drawn smiley faces and hearts everywhere

put bubbles over my “i”‘s instead of dots

drawn pictures of people stabbing little monkeys

Writen ambiguous things like “it is raining pretty hard now…”

Or even funnier, used film quotes “Is it raining? I hadn’t noticed”.

Written; “I’m depressed now you told me to fill in this form. Happy now? Cos I’m not.”.

Do feel free to add your own suggestions. And I’m not taking the diagnosis of depression lightly, because from the other side of the fence I did a degree in Psychology and learnt all about the wonder of diagnostics. However, I firmly believe paper doesn’t listen. A good friend/ husband/ wife/ parent/ HV/ Doctor, will.

January 27, 2012. Uncategorized. Leave a comment.

Cheerio pox! Hello sleeping, eating, pretty, cheerio eating baby.

Cheerios have become synonymous with the stench of sh*t in our house. I can no longer tell the difference between cheerios and poo. Husband walks into kitchen at breakfast time;

“whats that STINK?! Has Alex shat himself?!”

“no darling, thats breakfast”.

They just smell the same….going in and going out….

Anyway, todays ingredients are –  An onion, oats, bicarb of soda and some lavender. For tonights meal? No. For tonights battle against the pox. Oh and wine.

So, the pox is back in our house. Ed lulled us into a false sense of security with his bout. He suffered, but the Gruffalo pulled him through and he was ok. The Alex got it and got really aggressive and kept headbutting us. “Maybe his head is itchy?” my husband says as Alex nuts him repeatedly shouting “NOOOOOOOO!”.

He really struggled and was all itchy and gross looking with this moustache of snot and spots and didn’t sleep. For days. For DAYS. I don’t just mean naps. I mean, he didn’t sleep. We took it in shifts and I came downstairs at 1am to find Alex bouncing on the open door of the dishwasher (he was at least happy) and my husband cooking; ” We are having a cheese and toast party!” he said. I went back to bed.

Tips we found helped *strokes pretend beard. No wait, strokes actual beard (its my age)*

  • Calpol and ibuproufen, of course. Some of our friends recommended Medicet…but we decided not to go for this. I know it has been banned for under 6’s or something and you have to lie to the chemist to get it. Some of our friends assured us this was because some people got silly and overdosed their children on it. But we just decided not to go for it and try alternatives.
  • Bi-carb of soda in the bath. Couple of spoons.
  • Virasoothe. Apparently calamine lotion isn’t recommended anymore because it is too drying on the skin. My mother laughed when I told her this.
  • Oats in the bath. Good old porridge oats, a handful in a muslin cloth, in the bath. Bish bash bosh.
  • Antihistimines. Chemist warned me they could make baby drowsy. Her ripped off bloody arm is still attached to the box.
  • Aqueous and calamine lotion. And a bonus is it pink. I don’t get a lot of pink things in my house of willies. It was pleasing. And cheap as chips. Cheaper even. About £1.30 a pot.
  • An onion. Honest. A sliced onion in the room helps to keep the head clear during the night. Not specifically to help pox, but it helps the symptoms of pox. (also, by the by, did you know that onions are a big source of food poisoning? If the onion is a bit green, don’t eat it – it is bacteria)
  • Eurax. Not laxative for the europeans but anti-itch cream for everyone.
  • Kleenex menthol tissues. Super soft and good for the following…runny snot, sticky snot, dried morning snot, green snot, yellow snot, caked on snot and constant snot. Perfect for nose wiping, blowing, gentle chiselling and the delicate dab. All is good in this snotty hood.
  • Aloe vera gel. Soothing. Smells nice. And irristiably cheery – can’t help but say “allo Vera!” in cheery Northern voice.
  • Lavender oil – couple of dabs on a hanky in the bedroom is super soothing, relaxing and lovely.
  • Wine for mummies and daddies
  • Radox for mummies and daddies baths.
  • Catch mit to catch the creamy, gelled, dopey and drugged slippery little bugger after all of the above has been applied.

January 23, 2012. Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , . Chicken pox. Leave a comment.

Mary Poppins is about to put the children in the never-ending carpet bag

The recovery period has started. I’m not sure I like it. I have a little feeling I may be having my chain yanked here…just a guess, you know? Ed’s prior ability to communicate in sentences has been replaced with single words, strung out in wingey voices.  “Tiiiieeeereeed”. He put down his spoon in his cereal bowl this morning (never not been ill enough to eat of course) and casted his eyes down to his bowl…then they flickered up to make sure I was watching him…”chwerioooo’s”. Single words+Baby voice+no please or thankyou = irritated mother whose knuckles turn white as she grips the milk carton.

It was a miracle we survived breakfast. Or rather, a miracle that Ed did. Alex had climbed out of his highchair and across the breakfast bar and was sucking on the antibacterial spray before I realised. It was time to get out of the house and see other people. I tried to put Eds shoes on and he wailed about how I was putting them on “No one UNDERSTANDS me, mummy!”. And despite myself I smiled at this – I always wondered how I would handle a teenage girl. And now I knew.

Before he was a floppy mess lying under a blanket on the sofa, the stench of the mornings cheerios and disease being breathed out of his constantly open mouth, looking pathetic, like a little kitten you see on one of those adverts (please help find Moggy a home, she stinks and has mange etc). Now I hear his feet scampering round the lounge as I approach down the hallway to check on him, a quick body launch on to the sofa and a shuffle under the blanket. “JUICE!” he barks at me. I smile through gritted teeth as I silently shut the door. “He is still ill” i tell myself…

But it is a struggle. I dont know how my own mother did it. The whinging alone is awful. *throws hands in the air and clasps them in a praying position…think Madonna in Like a Prayer….with a pinny…and a few christmas pounds in need of shifting…*. I need the whinging to stop. Or to be so frequent I become deaf to that particular wave length. I need to be deaf.

During the peak of open sores I picked him up under his arms and the poor little love screamed his head off (you can tell I was genuinely concerned because of my choice of words…poor little love).  Maybe this caused him to get flash backs, a sort of PTSD (Pox Traumatised Spot Disaster) or, realistically maybe he is just getting clever at working his poorliness, but this is what he said to me as three days later;  I carefully lifted him gently and with the care required by a carer being examined for their NVQ3 in CARE, under his bottom, and into the car in the car park as Tesco….”Why are you HURTING ME?!!! You and daddy HURT ME!”. Imagine Homer Simpson throttled Bart round the neck and saying “why you little!”.

But I did learn something I want to pass on to others…

Apparently balloons really help a spotty willy. I wouldn’t recommend using this for advertising stuff but, Ed assures me buying him some will help him recover. It perked him up anyways.

January 20, 2012. Tags: , , , , , . Chicken pox. Leave a comment.

Wooohoooooooooooooo! BATH TIME!

January 18, 2012. What the toys do when the people go to bed.... 1 comment.

Happy Land – The Counselling Group

January 18, 2012. What the toys do when the people go to bed.... Leave a comment.

*puts hands in front of her, fingers extended* Hormones, you need to CALM. DOWN,

If you are old, bald, big bearded, Greek, a geek and a bit chubby then here is a bit of hope for you. Someone out there will fancy you. It’s me.

On the way to the doctors I told Smudge I fancied our GP. Now, looking at Dr Papadakis I can understand why Smudge discribes him as small, head on upside down (bald and big beard) and Greek. But in my eyes he is Omar Shariff (who isn’t Greek but looks just like my Doctor). “You know I fancy Dr Papadakis , don’t you?”. Husband sighs. “Hannah, you only fancy him because he is nice to you. You are so bloody vulnerable”.

I fancy him because he has a prescription pad and gives me prozac. No, I fancy him because he is heaven in a GP practice. I joke with him “we are here so much, I may as well move in!” and he looks panicked. He tells me a lot about his wife…weird.

I must have made a pact with God when I was depserately trying to get pregnant…I have a vague memory. But I though it was “God, if you let me get pregnant I will be an amazing mum, make all meals from scratch and everything and, and, and…donate money to charity every month”. I suppose I might have said “Oh, and anyone you need fancied, I will do it”.

The new series of the Fabulous Baker Boys started the other week and as a first time viewer, I was glued and giddy and constantly texting my friend Janice sniggering about the inuendo’s. I spent a lot of time on line that following week, erm, “reasearching” them. How long the business had been going for…where they studied…the specific ingredients they used…*coughs*…The second episode aired last week and the convo in my house went something like this…

Husband; “Why arn’t you watching them, Hannah?”

Me; “Oh i dont know. I just don’t find them as good this week”.

Husband; “that’s only because you found out he is married with four kids so can’t be your boyfriend”.


It is true. Well, that must be why I am married to my husband – he know’s me so chuffing well.

January 17, 2012. Tags: , . Uncategorized. Leave a comment.

Oh help! Oh yes! It’s The Gruffalo Live

The pox hit our village. Just put a big cross on the door, pop on the telly and crack open the biscuits and virasoothe.

With the 3 year old slouched on the sofa, riddled with spots and only speaking in grunts, I had flash fowards to when he would be 15 and doing much the same. The only things keeping him happy him happy were; 1) the fact i told him that the spots on his chest had formed a dot to dot of a digger. This was of course a lie. 2) The Gruffalo on DVD. He was watching it cuddling his Gruffalo toy, his silky blanket and two of the hoover attatchments…maybe I need to slow down on the calpol. We were on our 5th showing of The Gruffalo, in a ROW, and my mind started to wander…

Imagine if the mouse in the Gruffalo was voiced by Brad Pitt. It wouldn’t work. As brilliant as Brad is, he couldn’t do “mouse”. Only James Corden can pull it off. His cheeky chappy voice (I smile whimsically and with appreciation even as I write this). He is also the only one who can get away with all that time-filling sighing without making it sound like porn. Although, having said that, perhaps the following people could pull off the voices for some of the characters in The Gruffalo;

The mouse; Morgan Freeman; shut your eyes and imagine. It would be dreamy. Imagine his deep soothing voice saying “Waaahh thaynkyou Fawx, but…nooo. Iawm off to have tea (Morgan’s characteristic pause), with (and again) a Grauwfalow”.

The owl; Arnold Schwartzeneger. “Leedle brawwwwn mawwwse. Cawm fowwr deeenar, or I weeel bazooooka yoooo”.

Still on the owl…Or Antony Hopkins. Oh yes, that would work. He’d be a good owl. Come and have some chianti in my tree top house. All sinister and classy. (and not encouraging the kids to drink, of course. They wont know what a chianti is. And if they do that is really sad and it’s a whole other issue to address, probably more important than thinking up new voices for The Gruffalo.)

The snake; It has to be Clint Eastwood. Come into my log pile house, punk. *curls upper lip*.

The Fox. Bill Nighy. All swagger and tight jeans, swilling around a glass of wine with a load of back up groupie Adders behind him. ( searched high and low for a useable quote from Love Actually. There is none appropriate to link with The Gruffalo)

Or Michael Cain. “Arrwright little brown mouse. show some bladdy respect”.

The Gruffalo Live is touring again – Thank God. We got to the 7th viewing in the end, in one day, and I had to cut Ed off. Yes he had the pox. Yes he was riddled with pus and scabs and itchy and yes I had slammed his head (accidently) in the car door earlier on in the day, but I couldn’t cope anymore. It became a case of “Oh help. Oh No. It’s The (bloody) Gruffalo (again)”. As much as I love James and Robbie and Rob and Helena. It is always nice to get a different interpretation on things and a different set of voices. Therefore, the live show is always a must and is positively charming and endearing. Please follow them on twitter (and say i sent you). @theGruffaloLive

January 11, 2012. Tags: , , . Chicken pox. 2 comments.


*softly spoken celeb voice* Please donate whatever space you can. Anything to help free up some room… *even quieter whisper*… Thank you.

Ok. The playroom. In a way similar to how I need to get rid of several pounds/ stone/ whatev’s of holiday weight, the playroom needs to get rid of several Argos stores worth of toys. I need to crack some serious duck eggs to make a serious omelette here. It is ridiculous and actually, pretty obscene with the amount of toys the boys have. Don’t think me ungrateful – we are very lucky to have such generous people wanting to give to the boys, but…it is a lot. And we live in a modest semi.

And I know by even saying the word “playroom” I look like a twat.


It was frankly, terrifying with what I was faced with. The entire weekend had been blacked out on the callender – PLAYROOM STORAGE. I was ripping off the mother of all plasters sorting that playroom. I needed Nick Knowles. But that is beside the point. (ho ho ho). We had already had a sucky start to the weekend as we did not wake up on Saturday morning to find out we had won the euromillions lotto (throws hands to the sky and shouts WHY GOD WHY!). So, we thought we would just deal with what we had which meant, reading in between the lines… finding out what hell was. If you want to know what hell is then travel along the m40 until it becomes the a40. Turn on to the a406 and keep going until you reach Ikea. It is there. I felt physically drained and achey when we left the store. I was laughing hysterically (true story) at Alex dancing in the trolley and it didn’t deserve that kind of reaction. He is no Russell Grant shooting out of a canon.

I woke early the following Sunday morning, energised and joyous with the music of the birds. No, wait, I was awoken early by Alex and suffered the birds. I knew what we had to do. I went downstairs and tried to drag up some enthusiasm and threw myself at the playroom. I announced; Morning Peppa. Morning Thomas. Morning Duplo bricks. I am your worst nightmare. Let battle commence. I took a big gulp of my tea and entered the playroom…inside I was shaking with fear.

Large objects were placed in themed boxes. I dusted off my hands…I made a lot of noise…Hmmm. I was hoping by making excessive clatter I would wake other Smiths and therefore provide reinforcement. I put my still dusty hands on my hips. There was no back up coming. It was just me and Alex. And I didn’t really need his “help”. His emptying the hoover really was a real low light. His eating the dust from the hoover made me realize I needed to get off facebook and stop updating people on what was going on and focus on actually stopping him from eating the dust.

Eventually back up did turn up. But he got distracted by finding old toys and wearing them. And putting children on top of bookshelves to photo and horrify our mothers with.


By the middle of the day I must have been tired as I read channel fives evening film as “TWAT”. (it was SWAT) in the TV guide. After being at it for 5 hours (snigger) Smudge and I cracked open the beers. Midday. Still in our pjs and with the kids running round in their pj’s and bribery  twiglet stains on their faces. We are a social services dream.

I was slacking behind by now. I just didn’t care anymore. I kept telling myself  “A job worth doing is worth doing well, Hannah!”. But my friend Janice emailed me telling me  “a job worth doing is worth doing well doesn’t apply when you have a 3 yr old and a 1 yr old under your feet. A job done adequately, providing the cupboard doors are shut, is a job well done”. She should get T shirts made.

But we did it.

And after…

But of course no one is allowed in this room now. The boxes are empty and these children are actors. You should see the state of the lounge.

January 9, 2012. Uncategorized. Leave a comment.


What with Poundworld having a sale, “Megabank” stating “NO MORE STUPID BANK RULES”, and Asda offering items for 50p or £1, I feel that this recession isn’t affecting me a single jot! Who needs safe toys, financial investment security or nutritional food? Not me!

Some little gems Asda are offering, on offer;

For 50p;

11 mini pork cocktail sausages (11 unappetising midget-fallic tubes of fat and no pork whatsoever)/ friji milk thick (mmmm, full fat milk for the poor)/ jammie dodgers/ meatballs in a tin (always screams nutrition in a can to me!) and a gristle and cow finger nails pie. Sorry, a” steak and kidney puff pie”.

For £1;

A weight watchers chicken curry (as I type I laugh out loud at this. How is that even possible? Guessing they are taking the weight watchers bit to extreme and just serving an empty box worth a quid? Us fatties wont be happy about that! Oh well, we can buy 22 pork cocktail sausages with our quid instead). Oust Spray. This is probably the best deal of all as will be needed after all the pure fat listed above.

Good old Asda. “Saving you from a healthy lifestyle every day”.

Do feel free to post your own findings and ridiculous sales offers in the comment section. Always up for a laugh!

January 5, 2012. Tags: , , , , . Uncategorized. 2 comments.

Not a fan of attention-seeking Grans

I had the most bizarre Christmas card delivered this year. Seemingly normal when I opened it “With best wishes, from T and G” (code) on the right hand inside page. But then I read the opposite page, and got this;

“Being a grandparent is even more hard work than being a parent!!!  No time for me!!!!”

I popped it in my handbag to show people at a christmas party I was going to that night. A christmas party full of parents with children under the age of 4. I was going to be a hoot this year. I would be armed with hilarious genuine material.

Now, I am not saying Grandparents don’t have it tough. They do. They do a brilliant job, most of them. But, honestly, why write the above to a parent with 2 children under the age of four. Scrap that, why write that at ALL unless it was to another grandparent?

Today, desperately rushing round M and S with the kids before their bribery plain bread rolls ran out (who am I kidding. it was croissants. I disgust even myself), another example of attention-seeking-Gran occured. Looking as I do (frowny and harrassed) I often get looks from grannies as Alex is shoplifting umbrellas and scarves and anything within pram height, and Ed is blowing continuously on his ill tuned Peppa Pig whistle (cheers father christmas). They love it. They smile and roll their eyes knowingly. Sometimes I manage to avoid them. Sometimes I cant. M and S is a risky environment because only certain types of women shop there – the ones who like to talk – and today was no different. This woman is pretty much bending her Inspector Gadget neck around the corners of the clothes rails to make eye contact with me. And I am pretty much doing everything I can to avoid it. She gets me at the dead end of Per Una. Trapped…

Are they twins?” she shrills.

I sigh. I do a fake chuckle “No, no these two!”

“Of course not, whoopsie me! That one is a girl!”.


When people stop you in shops to “ask” you questions, what they really want is to talk about themselves. And right on cue…

We just had twins in the family! I have two sets of grandchildren who are twins…to the same parents! First set are 8 and second set are 5 weeks old”.

My mouth drops. “how are they coping?!” I ask.

Well“, she says. “WE have to help of course. WE are helping ALL THE TIME (bug sigh and roll of eyes). My son in law is away this week, so guess what, it is all down to us. My daughter is very unorganised”.

Er, ok, do they live far away?”. “

“well, not really. 5 miles”.

How jolly sad. I have a mother in law and a mother who would give their right arm to live just 5 miles from us. My parting shop to this woman, with a smile on my face and a sympathetic nod “Goodness! Well, all the best and good luck to you and your daughter. She will need it”. She thought I was referring to the children. I wasn’t.

January 4, 2012. Uncategorized. 3 comments.

January. You b*tch.

What I needed to see on the front of the paper today was a photo of a really fat ugly woman who was really fat and gross and fat. The word is FAT.

What I didn’t need to see on the 3rd of January is a photo of Jessica Alba, on holiday, in a bikini, FOUR months after giving birth and with an amazingly flat and toned stomach. It does not inspire me to loose the weight. It inspires me to waddle to the biscuit tin and to not carry on with the healthy eating plan I had adopted since this morning. 8 hours in and seeing that picture of Jessica has really crapped on my high. And the physical withdrawals from smarties hasn’t even kicked in yet. I still have the sugar rush pumping through my body and giving me an artificial good mood. Although I can feel it starting to slow down and flag as it isn’t joined by any new sugar bunnies, as I am starting to snap at the kids a bit more…

…A lot more.

I was guzzling, literally guzzling from the smarties tube like it was a bottle of water (*cough* wine) last night. Must eat them. Only 12 hours left. Must eat as much as I can. You know that scene in 28 Weeks Later when that little boy is taken into the house and given pasta to eat and he is scooping it up like a wild animal and shoveling it in? That was me last night with pasta bake. I NEVER suggest pasta bake because it is just a bigger size of knickers on a plate but there I was, all over Christmas, suggesting foods that have as many carbs in them as possible. Pasta bake. Roast potatoes. Pigs in blankets. Oh no wait, pig in a blanket. That was me on the sofa under my mums patchwork quilt, with a bag of twiglets in my hand.

My husband asked me on Christmas day “Han, those new Christmas pajamas are really nice, but are you SURE you don’t want a bigger size?” How bloody brave. Or how bloody stupid. At my inlaws people kept suggesting “why don’t you just put your slacks on Han” as I kept wiggling my way around the house, legs too tightly bound in unforgiving denim to move properly. Like two bulging sausages, tied at each end, one end with socks and one end with a belt. At one point, I got off the sofa and thought I was going to pass out as I got this ripping pain in my stomach. Everyone was very concerned and I lied and said “I think I pulled a muscle out walking the other day”. What really happened was my jeans belt had been digging into my stomach and as I got up and it was suddenly released it went in to shock.

The kids are loving January. Because I have become a “feeder”. They are eating so many shortbread biscuits all they need is a sprinkle of icing sugar over the top and jelly tots for eyes and they could be little shortbread men. They are my little human bins who are bouncing with delight at my misery. If I so much as start to turn my smile upside down they attack and take advantage, whinging and fighting each other because they have quickly learnt, in just 8 hours that I will shout “DONT BE MEAN TO YOUR BROTHER! UGH! OK! JUST HAVE A BISCUIT!”. I may end up as a feature on a channel four documentary as mother of fat obese children who refuse to eat anything unless it comes out of a shiny purple wrapper…but I will be a skinny mother on that documentary. Result.

There are rumours that some celebs (not mentioning any names…) pretend to be pregnant and use a surrogate so they don’t lose their figures and ergo their movie deals or reality shows. Weird? Or genius? I expect the scientologists are the ones that do it the most. If they want a baby I expect they email Tom Cruise who comes round with a pillow and contract. I mean, come on, don’t you think Suri Cruise looks just a little bit Chinese?

But I am going to end on a positive. There is an upside of seeing family and friends when you are at your tubbiest. Because when you see them next time, you will be a little less tubby and will get loads of compliments. A bit like Cinderella, old tatty robes discarded and all polished and lovely in her new frock. Or Sandy from Grease when she emerges stitched into her tight leather outfit. Callender note for February 1st; order skin tight leather outfit. Note for February 2nd. Return skin tight leather outfit.

January 3, 2012. Tags: , , , , . Uncategorized. Leave a comment.