Stocking Fillers

I've decided to be fabulously retro this Christmas and give everyone a stocking for Christmas morning - big ones for the children and smaller ones for adults. Genius idea non? I used to love my stocking when I was a kid. It used to nestle alongside my brand spanking new annuals at the end of my bed and always contained a satsuma, some chocolate coins and a Terry's Chocolate Orange. Life was so much simpler then.

Christmas stockings, like party bags, have gone Grown Up regardless of your age. The last birthday party Mac went to was talked about for days purely on the basis of what the partygoers found in their party bags when they got home. Gone are the cheapo bits of plastic, friendship bracelets and mini packet of Haribos. Mac received a bar of Galaxy, a badge making set, an initial key ring (!!!) and a cuddly toy that I know retails at £10.

Anyway, I've returned to my favourite ShinyShack website for fun stuff and will be buying, amongst other things some massage socks for Bea (those killer heels are taking it out of her), one of these for Janey and a little monkey for little monkey Freddie.

For the smaller items I've got my eye on a whole host of these and one of these for David.

I'm also getting this, this and this for my own stocking - well, I can't be the only one left out can I?

Chez moi

It's all go at my house, I'm exhausted with the information churning in and out of my brain, the things I have to do, the stories I have to invent just so I don't have to have my mother in law descend upon me this weekend, scraping burnt on crumble off of my ceramic pot AND the decision about what to do with the bathroom.

I'm still waiting for my new debit card to arrive, along with the necessary pin number. Now, I know that the woman on the phone on Saturday said "seven to ten working days" and we're currently only on day three but........even so. Philosophy is on QVC this Sunday and I need to be able to purchase wildly and randomly without David finding out, which he will if I have to use the joint card.

And then there's the bathroom. My bathroom is currently pink. Not quite Barbie pink but candy floss pink which is just as bad really. The minute the first paintbrushful went on the wall I despised it but, to prove a point to David (he said I would despise it) I persevered, pretended I liked it but had to grudgingly admit defeat when Mac's new "girlfriend" came out of it yesterday and said "your bathroom is really pink".

Oh yes, Mac has a girlfriend, an older woman no less. She's six at the beginning of December, they met at the After School Club and she's a feisty young lady, what my mother would have called "difficult". Her name is Keira and she doesn't like fruit or vegetables which made the shepherds pie dinner we had yesterday almost untenable. I spent ages picking the mince out and then the ungrateful little minx asked me for some cheese to go with her potatoes. I pointed out they were in fact vegetables and received a Death Stare. I don't care much for this romance. Besides which, I now know how Amelia felt (and feels) when faced with yours truly.

The lady herself wants to visit this weekend "before the Winter really sets in". Not that that will stop her, she's already sorted out her Christmas visiting days and then the "weekend where I'll come up and we'll do some Christmas shopping". I've told her I'll be decorating this weekend and so wouldn't be able to spend time with her but she seemed quite keen on that idea and said "Oh well, I'll be able to spend time with my son and my grandson instead". I think I might wheeze a bit down the phone and mutter ominously about swine flu hitting Nunhead.

So, back to my bathroom. Any ideas? Bea suggests I go for a nice Laura Ashley print but I don't do prints, they give me the heebie jeebies and propel me back to dad's Great Aunt Bessie's house which we had to visit every Sunday when we were kids. The place was a riot of mismatched furniture, overly "busy" wallpaper which clashed hideously with the carpets. It used to scare me, that house. And I'd always leave with a headache.

I was thinking of a nice duck egg blue with brownish towels.......which will complement the ash flooring. David feels blue will be cold and suggested yellow instead. He even went so far as to bring me some yellow tester pots which, to keep him happy, I've plastered onto the walls. It doesn't look right, it looks like they're suffering with some hideous disease and I told him so. The poor man looked defeated and promised to bring me some duck egg blue testers tomorrow.

I took pity on him and made him a plum crumble. Which I then burnt. Still, it masks the smell of the paint.

Money Money Money

I was chased along Bromley High Street on Saturday by a gypsy woman who wanted to tell me my fortune. I didn't want her to tell me my fortune: I was in The Glades shopping centre at half past ten on a Saturday morning and therefore knew that my luck was going to be bad.

Anyway, she caught up with me at TKMaxx and informed me that I'd never be rich but I'd never be poor. Gee thanks, just what I wanted to hear after I'd spent my weekly three pounds on the lottery. She also gazed into the middle distance (I thought she'd caught sight of the marauding teenagers that I'd encountered in Boots who were plastering each other with the makeup samples and giggling like simpletons) before fixing me with heavily kohl-ed eyes. "You'll be sorely tested today" she hissed, furtively glancing up and down the road. "Tell me something I don't know!" I said in an overly jovial voice before catching sight of some stocking fillers and darting into the warmth of the shop.

I reasoned that she hadn't asked me to cross her palm with silver or even demanded that I purchase any lucky heather - perhaps she thought I was past that - and so managed to shrug her words off with a brave "Pah!"

The TKMaxx sales lady didn't seem to mind me talking to myself and rung up my purchases. I couldn't find my debit card in my purse. I shuffled through them all (don't get excited, the cards in my purse include my Matalan membership, my IKEA family card and my Nectar card) but couldn't find it. A small trickle of sweat started prickling my brow. The tutting behind me was reaching a crescendo. I searched through my bag but no joy. By now my prickles had turned into puddles.

Abandoning my stocking fillers I rushed out of the shop, muttering to myself "Ohmigod, omigod, omigod" with a vast range of potential past, present and future scenarios running through my mind. I'll give you an example of just one : the thieves who stole my debit card had bought g large amounts of electrical equipment whilst laughing evilly. Then they handed it over to their accomplice who spent the rest of my money in Marks and Spencers Food Hall. And because I couldn't remember when I last had my card, Alliance and Leicester would tell me to "naff off" and expect me to pay the bills when they came in because I didn't report my card missing (stolen?) in time and I would be destitute, no money. With Christmas coming up. David would be monumentally angry with me (hadn't he always warned me to be careful with my card?) and would call this the final straw and divorce me on the spot for being reckless with money. And even if he didn't then I'd have to use the joint account card to buy things which would make me feel like a kept woman and I'd HATE that but I suppose I could get used to it. And I'd have to re-register my card with everything else and David would know exactly what I spend and where and THEN we'd end up in the divorce courts because he hates QVC even though he really appreciated the nasal hair clippers I'd bought him from there".

This charming little scenario flashed through my mind quicker than you have just read it. It was therefore no surprise that when I finally screeched to a halt in the doorway of TKMaxx that my head was reeling, spinning and generally running amok. My card has been stolen. Or did I lose it? Did I leave it in a random chip and pin machine?

"Think, think!" I muttered, grappling for my mobile, punching in the phone number of my bank and pacing. Once I'd entered my "customer number and pin" and they verified it was me calling, a machine asked me what account I'd like to check on. By now, I was hysterically pacing and attracting quite a crowd.

Now, here is where, in hindsight, I should have listened carefully. It would have saved me clapping my hand over my mouth, stifling a sob and buckling in the knee area.

Always, always, always when I've rung my lovely banking people, the option to check on my current account balance has always been first. My Flexiplan account balance option was second, so number two on my keypad. Always.

A Flexiplan account, for the financially sorted amongst you, is an account where they give you say a £500 overdraw limit. You pay a minimum of £30 into it a month and it adds up to a nice little wedge over time. Unless you're me of course and dip into said Flexiplan until it's £160 overdrawn and the £30 a month goes towards taking you back up to a "nil" balance instead of a "minus" one.

Anyway, back to my drama. I hit "1", thinking that I was being put through to check my current account balance. A few second later a computer told me that "this account is over drawn by one-hundredand-sixty pounds". It was at this point that I did the whole mouth clapping, sob stifling, knee buckling thing. I was turning into a unique piece of street theatre. A scruffy student type looked on the verge of applauding.

I made a funny sort of noise and stifled another sob. The callous bast*rds, stealing my card, SPENDING MY MONEY! and, and, and.......oh God. The computer was still talking in my ear. "If you'd like to enquire about a loan, press 2. If you'd like to order a new cheque book, please press 3. If you'd like to enquire about our savings plan, please press 4.......". On and on until she got to the "if you'd like to speak to a human being, please press 9" option.

"Omigod, omigod, I can't find my debit card and I've just checked on my balance and I'm a 160 quid overdrawn and I know that there was at least £300 in my account and they've stolen it and....and.....I don't know what to do!" I wailed when "Janet from Liverpool" asked if she could help me.

"Right Mrs Mitchell, and when did you last have your card?" she asked calmly. I was beyond calm, I wanted her to agree with me and start a good old bitching session (whilst doing something constructive like promising me that my money was safe and they'd make all thieves pay eventually) but I managed to rally myself. "Tuesday! No, Wednesday, no Friday in Pets at Home and.......and now I'm 160 quid overdrawn and I had 300 quid in there so they've spent nearly five hundred quid of MY MONEY!........" Janet from Liverpool cut me off by clearing her throat and informing me that my current balance on my current account was "three hundred and seven pounds, 59 pence".

"But, but.....what?" I screeched. The pools of sweat under my arms were beginning to affect the rest of my body and my knees were away with the fairies. I was slumped, sweating and bright red in the face on the wall outside TKMaxx. My crowd had attracted the attention of a security guard who was gaping at me warily.

"Your balance is three hundred and seven pounds, 59 pence Mrs Mitchell. The balance you checked was your Flexiplan account which is £160 overdrawn."

"OOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHFFFFFFFFMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPP"

That was the noise I made at this piece of information. I could have kissed Janet from Liverpool who was now calmly telling me that she was going to cancel my card and send me out a new one. No-one had spent any of my money. "Ooooooooohhhhhhfffffmmmmpppppp" I repeated at a lower volume, and started taking off my coat as I was boiling up with a mixture of mortification, relief and embarrassment. "I must have.....I mean, it was always option 1 and......so, it's fine then?" I went on, sliding halfway down the wall. "Yes Mrs Mitchell, there has been no worrying activity on your account" I was half expecting her to say "Unless you count the amounts you pay to QVC each month" but she didn't.

"Is there anything else I can help you with today Mrs Mitchell?" Janet from Liverpool was oblivious to the drama and obviously had to go to and answer a call from another hysterical customer. "No, that's great, thank you, no, look, you've done enough! Thank you, thanks so much......tha......" she'd hung up and I was left with a dead phone, a crowd of mesmerised shoppers and an urge to have a wee.

I think I handled my departure from that doorway with aplomb but I'd lost the inclination to shop, the ability to walk without shaking and had developed a huge thirst. I got back to the car, had to sit in it for five minutes before feeling calm enough to drive and then drove slowly home, feeling relieved but mightily stupid. "That'll teach you not to have been nicer to that gypsy" I said to myself as I pulled into The Avenue.

David greeted me at the door with a winning smile. "You're back early! Forget something did you?" he said, waving my debit card at me. "You can't go shopping without this my darling, remember? You used it last night to verify your account when you rang QVC to check the warranty on my nose hair clippers and left it on the mantlepiece!"

Sorely tested indeed.

Now the party's over

"Mummy, can we have fireworks?" This was the question I was greeted with this morning. Clearly Mac was so over the triumphant Halloween party. He had a wonderful time, as did our various guests. Pumpkins were carved, soup attempted (and failed miserably), ghoulies were ghoulish, monsters were monsterish, the dogs were driven to a frenzy by trick-or-treaters and I was extremely disappointed (once the kids were in bed in various beds, sleeping bags and put me ups) in Most Haunted Live's grand finale.

A good night was had by all.....Marjorie dropped by in all manner of leather items as a Wicked Witch, Matthew shared a touching moment with his little brother when they both wore the same costumes and everyone complimented me on my carving. Bea has refused to host the Fireworks Party again this year so Lydia has agreed to combine it with Freddie's first birthday party. "Or we could just go up to Blackheath?" she went on. Bea looked horrified at this. "A public firework display?" she gasped, clutching her chest and agreeing then and there to fund the entire selection of bangers, rockets and catherine wheels. "I'll even throw in a birthday cake" she went on, tapping it all into her Blackberry. "There are right and wrong ways of doing things you know" she said primly, adjusting her devils horns and shrieking as Mac dropped a werewolf head on her lap.

All Hallows Eve

I am a fantastic mother, wife, friend, relation and neighbour. An all round general good egg. I must be for the house looks as if the Halloween aisle at Asda has vomited its contents into every room. Vast cobwebs (bigger than usual, according to Bea) adorn walls, plastic spiders and bats are dotted everywhere and Junior Dog has his eye on the huge fluffy spider that is sitting on the kitchen table.

Tomorrow (today!) my house will play host to a random passing group of children, friends and family for an all day Halloween Extravaganza. I have no less than six pumpkins to hollow out and carve. Mac will wake up, get dressed in his outfit (he's not sure if he's going to be a demon this year or a ghoulie) and will breakfast on Devil's Food. He will then welcome everyone into the House of Horror before stepping out, in the evening, with me (David is already rehearsing a bad ankle so that he doesn't have to go) and a selected few to go Trick or Treating.

The one thing I am most happy about (I'm happy now that the work is done) is the fact that Amelia will not be gracing us with her presence. She refuses to "set foot in a house that is encouraging reckless spiritual behaviour". This is a woman who won't even eat a Black Magic chocolate.

Still, it suits me. I've got enough horrors to deal with - as has David who keeps "scaring himself shitless with all the stuff in this house". This evening he asked me where on earth I got the skeleton from......"what skeleton?" said I, all innocence, kicking the receipt for said skeleton under the fridge.

He looked extremely worried and took himself off to bed and "just hopes" that he manages to sleep.

Happy Halloween everyone!

Food for thought

Queen Bee Mummy got a shock this morning when Mac and I turned up on her doorstep with Dawn and Jonathan. You see, Dawn, baby Alice and Jonathan had been invited for a play date – we had just been added on at the last minute. Ballast if you will. Dawn rang me at ten past ten, panic in her voice, and instructed me to meet her outside Ayres at half past “We’re going to Queen Bee Mummy’s for coffee” she said.

At half past ten, as instructed Mac and I were outside Ayres, eyeing up the goodies like a couple of waifs when Dawn screeched to a halt, chucked me a £20 note and told me to “buy cake”. This I can do with the best of them and came out, five minutes later with a gleaming, glossy, gorgeous strawberry gateau. “Thank God you were free, I couldn’t face this on my own and, after not letting the boys go to her Halloween party I felt I should turn up for this, you know, just to show willing” Dawn said as we slid towards the leafy park-side properties. Miffed that I was a) a last minute thought and b) available for this lunacy I kept quiet until we were on the doorstep.

For a change, Queen Bee Mummy opened her door herself. The look on her face said it all. I clearly was less than a last minute thought, I wasn’t even being thought about. “Oh, hello. Joanna.” She said, holding out her hand and shaking mine limply. The shame. Shunned by Queen Bee Mummy. Not that I want to be one of her harpies but…..even so. No-one likes being snubbed do they? It got worse.

Apart from Dawn there were five other mummies present: Career Mummy (who can now pick and choose her hours because “such is the success of my company since I floated it”), Actress Mummy (who claims to being on speaking terms with the entire cast of everything from Eastenders to Doc Martin), Vegetarian Mummy (who is constantly haranguing the school to provide a meat free school lunch every day), Nurse Mummy (who is great friends – nudge nudge - with Queen Bee Mummy’s consultant husband – if Gossip Mummy is to be believed anyway) and American Mommy (who arrived from the States in the summer with her banker husband). The Elite Squad. The A Team.

And me.

Dawn, married to a barrister “struggling, but a barrister all the same” was clearly part of the In Crowd. Baby Alice was being handed round the group whilst the older children ran amok in the (landscaped) gardens with Malinka the au pair screeching at them in her mother tongue. I perched uncomfortably on the edge of a WHITE sofa as the interrogation began.

Career Mummy: “What does your husband do?”
Actress Mummy: “Do you work?”
Vegetarian Mummy: “Where do you live?”
Nurse Mummy: “Is it you that has the black Focus?”
American Mommy: “Do you use the entire Philosophy range or just the lipglosses?”
Queen Bee Mummy: “How is Mac getting on with his Maths? Any improvement?”

I answered them all as best as I could and turned to Dawn who had yet to ask a question. She was looking mortified.

Coffee was served by a white aproned staff member which took the heat off me a bit. “Naughty but nice!” Queen Bee Mummy twinkled as Dawn’s gateau, a platter of cheese straws and a huge bowl of fruit was added to the ginormous coffee table. There was then a huge fuss because American Mommy could only drink decaff – “two months to go, Samuel is convinced I’ll have a Christmas birth!” – and there was none in the house. She sat stroking her bump and agreed that a plum and pomegranate herbal tea would be “just peachy”. Queen Bee Mummy looked furious and promised she’d hang “Ocado out to dry for this”.

“Help yourselves ladies” she went on as she did what I assumed were some yoga breathing exercises to calm herself down. The ladies dug in, Career Mummy took two cheese straws and made a huge noise about “not eating anything more until dinner!”. I grabbed a sprig of grapes because they were the closest thing to me and actually looked rather yummy.

“Very healthy Joanna!” Vegetarian Mummy boomed approvingly. Queen Bee Mummy edged the cheese straws closer to me. “Go on, have one of these!” she urged. Actress Mummy looked stressed “There’s no knife to cut the cake, that’s why she’s not having any!”. Queen Bee Mummy shot to her feet and screamed “Angela, the knife! You haven’t given me a knife!”. “Don’t worry honey, we’ll get you a knife” American Mommy said soothingly, stroking my arm and looking a little bit wild about the eyes.

“But….I don’t want any cake” I said, bewildered and catching Dawn’s eye. She now looked more than mortified. Of course. Looking round at the Elite Squad I realised why.

Queen Bee Mummy actually disappeared when she turned sideways, Career Mummy was five foot nothing and just as skinny, Actress Mummy looked as if she’d snap if she moved too quickly, Vegetarian Mummy was being held together by beanshoots, Nurse Mummy looked anorexic and the biggest thing about American Mommy was her bump and even that didn’t look seven months old. Dawn, bless her, can eat like several horses yet still wears size 12 jeans.

Now. I wouldn’t (couldn’t) call myself Kate Moss but (and here I’ve checked with several people before writing this post) I couldn’t be classed as a dead ringer for Dawn French either. Yes, I’m carrying a little, ahem, extra weight and yes, my jeans do tend to restrict my blood supply when I first put them on but and leave their imprint on my body when I take them off but……my practice nurse is happy and, before 11.15am today, so was I.

Angela, in the mean time had bought out the knife, sliced into the gateau and was waving a plateful under my nose as if it were a bottle of smelling salts and I’d fainted. I was still clutching my grapes and feeling a bit hot around the eyes. “Stupid girl!” Queen Bee Mummy hissed at her domestic help and urged me to dig in, grabbing the plate and shoving it at me. Half of me wanted to ram the entire slice of cake into my mush and give them all what they wanted – the other half of me wanted to storm out, vowing never to darken these doors again and hissing “a curse upon ye skinny wenches!” as I went.

I did part of the latter – Dawn, the children and I made a hasty exit, Dawn nearly in tears and apologising over and over again. As we sped away, I caught sight of the Elite Squad gathered on the doorstep, Queen Bee Mummy still holding the plate of gateau.

Shame. I could do with a slice of it right about now!

Horrors

He's too clever by half you know. My son, my pride and joy. Cunning, is another word. Manipulative is another one. I'm not complaining. Much. I'm quite proud of his wileyness (another good word there) but I just wish he......wasn't. Quite so much.

It was 3.40pm on Friday, at the school gate. Queen Bee Mummy had issued her Halloween party invitations but Dawn and I had already agreed that our children would not be attending, not after what happened last year. This led both boys to call us "mean" and mutter "s'not fair". Dawn and I stood firm. "Unless....." said Mac looking at Jonathan and then me "Unless Jonathan comes to our house and you make us a Halloween and all scary things" he went on. I said no, Dawn said no ("I'm not schlepping up and down the road wearing a witches hat, even if you are") and I said no again when I caught sight of welling tears in his eyes, even though I felt like the worlds worst mother. "We can go trick or treating on our own" Jonathan said helpfully, as if this was the issue.

What is the issue, David enquired when he got home and was canvassed on the doorstep by his son. "It's two small boys, quite brave now but petrified at the least little noise on the night itself!" I hissed. "They'll be fine!" David boomed and agreed there and then to turn our house into the House of Horrors. I was still hissing on Saturday morning when I piled Halloween rubbish into my trolley and debated over how many pumpkins to get. And did I get them now or risk leaving it to next week and finding them all sold out?

I muttered "hissing hell!" when I got home and found Mac had called and invited, not only Jonathan and Dawn but "Matt and Lydia and Freddie and grandad and Marjorie and Frank and Janey and Scatty and Blue and Granny".

Who needs to turn our house into the House of Horrors?