I’ve been out three times this week in the evening. THREE TIMES. It’s been like the old days, when I’d leave work and venture to the pub with friends and chat and drink. I had a social life and everything. Now, we throw ourselves through dinner, clean up, washing up, baths, stories, teeth-cleaning tantrums, poo explosions, bedtime refusals, bedtime before Mr MF and I tend to bicker over who will hoover the carpet for the 50th time that week or take on the mammoth task of clearing up more toys off the floor than Hamleys have at Christmas.
Saturday night I went out with my sister to see a slam poet. My secret desire is to be a slam poet, but really should start writing poetry. The poet – Mark Grist – was absolutely brilliant. It was at the nearby university. To continue the night, we decided to go to the student bar. We were feeling the buzz, it was the uni my sister went to, and also freshers’ week. In the bar it was insanely busy. Four deep at the bar with students ordering enough pints of snakebike black to cause liver damage over the night. I remember the days. My sister and I ordered Diet Cokes. Crazy bitches. Although ONE POUND A PINT!
At the bar, I had a good old listen into the student conversations. Love an overheard:
Student 1 (dressed as a nun obv!): “My share prices went up this week. Was really pleased as a few weeks ago I did wonder about selling.”
Student 2 (dressed as a woman): “I really should’ve sorted shares. Dad and I were discussing this a few weeks ago.”
WHAT? Share? Students? I am seriously out of touch. I argued with people over the disgusting state of affairs when student fees were introduced. I have to think this pair were in the minority. They are, aren’t they?
Had the shopping delivered by Waitrose this week. Had a voucher. Love a Waitrose shop, but usually slum it at Asda. Last week the grumpy Asda driver was 20 minutes late and didn’t even apologise. It was a breath of fresh air and the Waitrose driver wore a tie. And the bags are marked for your unpacking convenience. This appealed.
Monday night had a meet up with my yoga friends. I say yoga friends, we met through antenatal/postnatal/baby yoga. Although as one said “I was never really bothered about the yoga, it was more about the gossip and the nice lunch we had after”.
All are sending their toddlers to preschool. The one before school. Playgroup, whatever it’s called. It totally confuses me. My little girl already goes to nursery once a week but this isn’t the same apparently. I’ve even called the head teacher of the school and I still don’t get it. Europe send their children to school later than 5, yet I’m already feeling peer pressure for my daughter to go even from now. They’re more like school with registers and stuff. Part of me thinks this is great, get them used to school, their friends and life. But part of it makes me think Steiner is a good idea. Let them learn in nature. Screw these pressures for such young little babies.
So I don’t know. Back to square 1. Oh and that doesn’t even include the complete practical impossibility that working for a living adds to the mix. On that note, even though I’m not going back until March, I’m off to meet my boss. Think she’s going to pull me out of my denial bubble that actually I have to go back.
Must go check on the boy child. He’s having a nap and I’m catching up on Strictly. Yesterday we had a four-hour nap together. When Mr MF left for work at 6.45am his parting words were “I am so tired I may just go straight to bed when I get home”. Funny how it slipped my mind to tell him of our long nap. Instead I listed the vast array of domestic chores I had managed to achieve within the two hours left of my day. However, he couldn’t go straight to bed as I had my third evening date again. Fabulous.