Our lives usually progress with little volatility, you know, hardly a ripple to ruffle the placidity of our existence. And then, like the credit crunch, we are beset with a mind numbing array of simultaneous requests for socialising and culture-vulture-dom, which does all it can to wear us out spiritually and morally.
And so it happened this weekend. The boy was invited to two separate birthday parties before which he managed to ruin a perfectly decent pair of shoes by using them to brake whilst riding his bike. Recently provided new clothes by grandparents and used scarcely once were found to have enormous stains of mysterious provenance after a roll in the park. We had to take him to the shops, therefore, to get a new pair of shoes and a fresh set of trousers. Meanwhile, the wife had arranged babysitting so that we could inspect some interesting examples of modern British architecture (part of the London Open House weekend). And then it turned out that the venue of one of the parties was dependent on the vagaries of the weather – and the boy’s friend’s mum was not responding to our increasingly frantic calls to determine exactly where we were to show up.
I’m glad to say that we managed to make it to the shops, the Open House, the parties, and we didn’t get soaked either. It was all touch-and-go, though, for a while. We needed to hail taxis, jump aboard strange buses, share a train with eager Chelsea football fans. Sweaty business, it was, too.
I’m glad the weekend is over.
And so it happened this weekend. The boy was invited to two separate birthday parties before which he managed to ruin a perfectly decent pair of shoes by using them to brake whilst riding his bike. Recently provided new clothes by grandparents and used scarcely once were found to have enormous stains of mysterious provenance after a roll in the park. We had to take him to the shops, therefore, to get a new pair of shoes and a fresh set of trousers. Meanwhile, the wife had arranged babysitting so that we could inspect some interesting examples of modern British architecture (part of the London Open House weekend). And then it turned out that the venue of one of the parties was dependent on the vagaries of the weather – and the boy’s friend’s mum was not responding to our increasingly frantic calls to determine exactly where we were to show up.
I’m glad to say that we managed to make it to the shops, the Open House, the parties, and we didn’t get soaked either. It was all touch-and-go, though, for a while. We needed to hail taxis, jump aboard strange buses, share a train with eager Chelsea football fans. Sweaty business, it was, too.
I’m glad the weekend is over.
2 comments:
At least they weren't Millwall fans. Small mercies and all that.
True. Chelsea fans can be very beery and sweaty though.
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