Where's Dale Winton when you need him?

Today I remembered why I no longer go shopping with my kids, if I can help it.

This has been the rule for a long time. Everybody's a winner.

I do anything to avoid it. Shop when they are at school, shop online, shop of an evening or simply go without.

I happen to be a big fan of beans on toast.

In exceptional circumstances I am forced to take them.

Today, the bread and the milk levels were reduced to ration like proportions.

So I braced myself and headed for Freshco's.



My brief was to dash around the supermarket in as fast a time as possible, grabbing a handful of necessities.

A supermarket sweep if you will. But  as a woman, I've learnt that any phrase ending in the word "sweep" is guaranteed to be painful.

My shopping skills are usually second to none. I buy own brand items and calculate a rough bill in my head. It's a fine art.

I try not to deviate from the sacred list and there are no nasty surprises at the checkout.

Today I prepared for the rebellion.

Firstly, the objection that the boys would have to go the shop. They looked at me in disgust.

So I lectured them on how I used to have to go to 'Kwik Save' with my Mother and how I had loved it.

"Yes, but you're a girl," they said.

So I bribed them with sweets.

Secondly, the fact that they are now old enough to know what I am putting in the trolley and to be influenced by brands.

No longer will they fall for the old: "But Broccoli is a super food." Or "What's wrong with Rice Crusties and Cocoa Tops?" line.

One sat in the trolley and one helped to push (into everyone's ankles - I had forgotten about that).

My stock response of "No" came out at every opportunity.

Every time they spied an Ice Age 4 or Moshi Monsters branded product.

Fortunately, I simply bypassed the toy and magazine aisles by breaking convention and riding against the one way traffic.

But they got me in a pincer movement. Teamed up on me with their childish logic and I gave in.

Mainly to keep them quiet and to get out of the shop, which was full of other beleaguered mothers - in Olympic time.

"Mommy, can we have?"

I made the mistake on negotiating (a trick I normally berate my mother for caving in to).

We ended up with a few rogue items like milkshake puddings (wrong!) and chocolate Philadelphia (wrong, yet strangely right). 

We managed to escape the shop unscathed and return home without the need for a search party.

Now what's the URL for Ocado again?

Holidays in the Sun

Our ‘free’ newspaper holidays have been a mixed bag.

The grim. The early days, when we were still token virgins.

And the great. Our later adventures in Devon and Cornwall.

Schoolgirl errors can be avoided if you know what to look for and how to make the deals work for your family.

The Deal
Collect tokens, select a holiday park and choose a date. Simple.

Beware. The holiday isn’t gratis.

Extras include entertainment passes, bedding and upgrades.

And sometimes luxuries like electricity and water.

Skip Advisor
Research the locations beforehand.

Reviews are varied. It’s always advisable to avoid parks labelled: ‘Hell on earth’ and ‘Sewerage outlet’.

The Arrival
Check in isn’t normally until late afternoon/dusk, so don’t leave home too early, unless you fancy loitering in the laundrette, ‘Enders style.

If you’ve upgraded to Super Gold’ you can check in 45 minutes earlier and enjoy complimentary towels, sachets of ‘Nescafe’ and an additional foot for that clothes airer.

Making that extra £100 money well spent.

We’re more ‘Minus Bronze‘. We know how to pack our own towels.

Pitt Falls
Our pitch is not located by the ‘Beach’ sign, but on a slope by the incinerator.

Our new home: ‘The Peonies’. Only somebody has amusingly scribbled out the o and e.

The decor is interesting. Not in a Gypsy Weddings chrome and black ash way.

More of a Timmy Mallet’s ‘wacky’ shirt way.

But the TV boasts four working channels.

The previous occupants have left us a welcome gift of a carton of aromatic milk and half a ‘Calippo’ in the freezer.

Before we can explore, we have to make the beds.

Why do they choose white sheets?

It may have been ketchup, but just to be cautious I now bring my own bedding.

And a sleeping bag cocoon. And a dust mask.

Neighbours
The active family pictured in the brochure are a wholesome bunch.

Likewise, the clan next to us are also dressed for leisure, having enjoyed a shopping spree at ‘Sports Direct’

They also love nature and have brought their puppy Pitt Bull, Dappy‘ along as he nibbles on baby Mackenzie’s earring.

Cute.
　

Facilities
We bring our own essentials, including bleach, hand sanitiser and surgical gloves.

The grocery shop is pricey.

But it does have offers on multipack ‘Frazzles‘, frozen potatoes and ‘Strawberry Pop Tarts‘, to ensure the kids get their five a day.

There’s plenty of time for healthy living in the swimming pool.

A line of scamps are urinating in the water, before jumping in for a bath.

Others are comparing tattoos and sunburn afflictions and wondering if the smoking ban applies next to water.

“Look Mommy, a chocolate starfish,” one of my sons remarks as a half eaten chocolate doughnut floats past.

At least I think it’s a doughnut.

The frothy film on top of the water conjures up the word: ‘Crappuccino’

　
Children’s Entertainment
There’s plenty for the children to do.

A bit of mother and daughter time in ‘Tan-go‘ the on site solarium, followed by bingo.

Or some father and son bonding on the slot machines. And a scratch card treasure hunt.

The ball pool is a popular choice, as little Kai pops up clutching a holiday keepsake -

A ‘Ben 10’ plaster.

Catering
The food hall offers a variety of deep fried and supersized options.

No need to dress for dinner. The males prefer to dine topless or sporting a vest and cap.

One enterprising young mother is enjoying a kebab.

And simultaneously changing baby Anastasia’s nappy on the moulded plastic table.

The Pubhouse

The clubhouse is more Chubby Brown than Mickey Mouse.

The Turquoise Coats and an unidentifiable Mascot (possibly a langoustine) are line dancing with the kids to ‘Cotton Eyed Joe‘.

The boys are not impressed by adults in costumes.

This follows the whole Sebastian the Crab debacle, when the head came off, Scooby style, to reveal a sweaty teen named Graham.

Next it’s cabaret with ‘Magic Mike’ (a magician, not a stripper, unfortunately).

The finale is ‘Steps Club 5’ - ‘Steps’ meets ‘S Club’ - headed up by an Andrew Stone impersonator.

The ‘Tragedy/Don’t Stop Movin’ medley, which showcases the talents of H and Tina, brings tears to my eyes.

It’s a good job the bar has an offer on ‘Jagerbombs‘’.

It’s a jamboree of family fun at the all night disco, which kicks off with Haddaway and Kenny Thomas.

Adults can carry on drinking until 3am, while dancing with kids to a selection of age appropriate hits:

'Poker Face', I'm Sexy and I Know it’ and ‘Smack my Bitch up‘.

Dappy, Crappy Doo.
Back to the caravan.

It's easy to find because of the massive George Cross flag and the inflatable Santa on the crib next door.

It’s a sleepless night.

The rain ricochets off the roof.

The neighbours are having a heated dispute over who will open the door to let Dappy answer the call of nature.

But there’s no need. They remember that the puppy has already crapped in the swimming pool.

Will we return?

Of course. We’ve just booked ‘Camping for £1’.

　

　

　

Public Displays of Objection

Most of the time we get along OK.

But sometimes, when we are in public, we have the most petty and immature disagreement - in full view of spectators.

The signs are hard to ignore. The smirking shop assistant, the glances of empathy from other couples.

And all because you disagreed over whether Jaffa Cakes are biscuits or cakes (incidentally I‘m still none the wiser).

It's kids stuff.
Such spats seem to be triggered by particular places or situations, where even the most amicable of couples are tested. This is the first in a series of blogettes about these ‘hot spots’.

Supermarket Sweep

Some are easy to avoid. Go solo, walk around separately and re-group after the checkout, or simply avoid at all costs.

For others, it’s a case of grin and bear it or, as we tell the children mid tantrum: “Time Out.”

Sunday traditions. A roast dinner, afternoon snooze (males only) a Channel 5 cartoon divided by a news bulletin, and a good old fashioned bust up in a DIY store.

It’s good to be British. Even in Sweden. The number 1 spot has to be reserved (for up to 28 days as the item is out of stock) for IKEA.

This is definitely not the Garden of Sweden.

More of a flat pack, one way system, to hell.

After queueing to get in (once, soup was ladled out to frozen pundits like loaves and fishes)…

The kids are tagged and dispatched in the crèche.

Aisle 4, row 1.
Then It happens. Right by the Lycknobb and Fakbum.

You want white plastic. He prefers bright orange.

He feels you have enough storage solutions, while you are compelled to invest in some more space dividers.

The minor disagreement escalates along the travelator, as you saunter past the BILLY bookcases, lime green snakes and the mock Pop Art canvases. Oblivious to onlookers.

By Bargain Corner the relationship has reached breaking point.

The duration? At least three hours.

But we are not alone.

Some couples are having big rows.

Contemplating strangling each other with the paper measuring tape. Only it would break too easily.

A few red faced marrieds are playing it down, with some “sshhs“ in the mix.

Muttering something about Daim Bars and back aisles…

Some are walking around in stoney silence, asking little Katy to tell Daddy that the 12ft mahogany DVD storage is not necessary.

Scrawling expletives with the brown pencil on the handy shopping list

They came to a truce over meatballs and a free cup of coffee.

By the mass exodus to the checkout you are on grunting terms again.

The complimentary catalogue and giant blue bag you pilfered make the expedition worth while.

Car loaded. Traffic jam out. Peace is restored.

Then you realise the kids are still in the crèche….

Not Going Out

Back in the day, I was something of a party animal.

Drinking and dancing and crawling home to the sound of the dawn chorus, before greeting a hangover with more hair of the dog.

These days I'm more dog hair.

Comatose after two glasses and rudely awoken by the dawn chorus of: "We'd rather have a bowl of Coco Pops," as my kids construct an entire 'Lego City' outside my bedroom.

A hangover spans two days. And: "dirty stopout" simply means that a child has been to a sleepover.

Going out used to be spontaneous - and fun.

When getting trolley-ed on a school night did not involve a midnight dash around 'Tesco', hunting out a camel outfit for the next day's Nativity. 

Pre-kids. NB: This was not our sofa

:
A night on the tiles getting plastered......

Two words which now get hubby racing to 'Wickes' for quick seal adhesive.  

Risky Business

Organising a night out together is like a game of 'Risk'.

Firstly, there's the date. Is there an event the next morning, like a school fair or a party? Or worse, a Church parade? 

Then there's the babysitter. I want to know where this mythical 'circle' of sitters is. With just us so far, it's more of a segment of 'Terry's Chocolate Orange'.

The local teenager favours a modern day shell suit - a giraffe print onesie. Last spotted
outside 'Cash Converters' admiring a Jeremy Kyle box set: 'The Lie Detector Years'.

We declined her offer to babysit in exchange for a fiver and 20 Mayfair.

Now that the boys are older they can go for sleepovers at grandparents, which means we can indulge in all sorts of marital mischief in bed on a Sunday Morning - like watching 'May the Best House Win'.

Let the Cock see the Hens

But I can't possibly leave the house without first checking the recordings. 'BGT', 'The X Factor', 'Take me Out', 'An Audience with Piers Morgan talks to Jill Gascoine'.

How can I contemplate going out with such a bounty of TV Gold?

Next there's the transport. We used to stumble onto the night bus. Now a taxi is required to go to the end of the road.

Mild Child

So we have a date in the diary, where are we going?

Post kids. NB: This is not our sofa

Cinema - The benefits are you don't have to:

A) Talk to each other
B) Watch the latest 'Disney/Pixar' outing 
C) Miss the cliffhanger because a child's bladder is about to blow.

Meal - I dislike wasting money on food when it can be used for practical purposes, like a visit to 'Clarkes'.

But when we do eat out I sometimes forget I am in a grown up environment, as I dab hubby's mouth with a napkin of spittle. When I ask for the 'Piccolo' menu and crayons, he walks off.

Gigs - I used to mosh and chant for an encore. Now, reassured by the fire exits and St John's Ambulance crew, I head for the seats, hoping the band will cut short their greatest hits so I can catch 'Jonathan Ross'.

Pub - After tutting at the youngsters and asking if the bouncers are CRB checked, I realise I may have to interact with my husband and actually have a conversation. In the end we make small talk about the kids.

Once a Month

Going out can keep the romance alive. But it seems like a lot of effort for somebody who has perused all my internal organs, mopped my weeping C-scar and wiped baby vomit out of my hair (actually, I think it was my vomit).

Tiredness is a major factor, after a week of being woken by screaming (kids, not husband).

Can I be bothered to peel myself away from Strictly, last the distance of a mediocre night, with the inevitability that I will be awoken by a child playing the kazoo at 6am?

Blobby Slobby

Staying in is the new going out.

Sometimes it's just easier to slob out like Wayne and Waynetta on separate sofas devouring king sized bags of junk, watching inane prime time TV.

I blame Mr Blobby.....

On week nights my husband resides in the wire infested games room while I catch up on vital FB relations. Of a weekend we try to frequent the same room.

But before we can even reach this Nirvana there is a never ending list of chores:

Getting the kids to bed, tidying toys, washing up, retrieving masticated food from the ridges of the dining table seats.

By this time it's about 9pm so if we start a film will I actually be awake to see the end?

He likes anything with weapons and aliens. I prefer a bodice ripper or period drama. The ideal would be Jason Statham in 'Pride and Prejudice - The Revenge'.

However, when the denouement arrives (spoiler alert) e.g. Anne Hathaway's character dies in 'One Day'  the moment is lost when we pause the film to:

A) Go to the toilet 
B) Grab a Rennie  
C) Remind hubby that he needs to apply a son's bum cream before bed. 

The focal point is our takeaway. Will we opt for an Indian or a Chinese, or mix it up with a pizza, which requires no utensils or washing up whatsoever?

Friends with Benefits.

Another way to kid yourself you're having fun is to have friends over.

My parents' legendary 'Trivial Pursuit' parties saw couples smoking, drinking and blasting out 'Fleetwood Mac' with the occasional call out for a wedge of cheese.

Today it's more minging than swinging.

Car keys in a bowl simply means that there is a designated driver in the building and that you need to purchase more 'Shloer'.  

You visit your friends' house and find their rampant pyjama-ed offspring charging around while you try to have a serious conversation about Jane's ovulation chart.

Or they come round to yours and everybody is yawning by 9pm and reminiscing about the good old days.

Growing Old Disgracefully

But nodding off to Match of the Day every week, inertia sets in.

Mind you, it is November, slightly chilly and 'Miss Congeniality' is on 'ITV2' again.

"Do not go gentle into that good night."

I must rebel and swap my cocoa and slippers for vodka and heels.

"Taxi please!" Oh, and make that a triple.

Facebrag

Seems like every child under the sun has had a glowing school report.

Like many proud parents I shared my joy on Facebook, without a second thought.

So why do I feel like a bit of a show off? Especially when other friends did not opt to go viral with their success.

I try to limit 'kiddy talk' on Facebook to show that I am interesting, have my own identity and am independent of the children.

Hmm, my recent posts have been about cats, meatballs and Alan Partridge....

Guilty as charged

But I've noticed more kiddy posts creeping in. Updates involving the Tooth Fairy, Thomas Land and the Mekon style Easter Egg hats (which I will shamelessly plug again, because I usually have all the crafting prowess of Anthea Turner circumnavigating Tracy Island).

I do my fair share of Facebragging. Uploading endless albums - originally named 'Randoms' or 'Parties' - featuring a selection of the same shot. 

Because we are always out doing exciting activities. Never lolling about with Fleabag Monkeyface on loop and wiping chocolate handprints off the walls.

Einstein a go-go  

The occasional bit of boasting is forgivable. But repeat offenders seem to compose tedious status updates every time little Chloe doodles a stickman, receives a book token or finishes a Petit Filous.

Of course I love to share in loved ones' pride and joy - and hopefully vice versa. Just not  with a running commentary for every Crayolamazing moment.

It's a kiddy centric society and I can't imagine my Mom switching off Beadle's About to announce: 'OMG, little Anna has just started menstruating. LOL.' With a 'Like' on Dr White's Heavy Flow and Lil-Lets FB pages. Period.

At times there is an underlying rivalry.

Serial bragging about league tables, exam results, parents evening, reports.

Clearly, every culprit has produced child prodigies who attend elite schools. Like Hogwarts.

I'm aware such enthusiasm can be perceived as boasting and I try to refrain. Even if I think it's worthy of a phone call to Mensa (see, at it again).

After all, it's only interesting to me. Modesty is a humble trait. So I'm told.

Competitive Mom syndrome

This One-upwomanship is far from new.

It starts with pregnancy: Who has the biggest bump? The worst sickness? Who worked right up until their waters broke in Meeting Room 1?


I bet I had the worst piles, if that counts.....

Birth: Who had the most gruesome? The longest ? Stitches anyone?

We checked in at our leisure on a set date. The boys popped out the sunroof and I took every drug going.

Babies: Who uses real nappies? Who sleeps through? Who has the worst case of mastitis?
Surely you don't use dummies (sorry, pacifiers)?

Toddlers: Who can eat a four course meal of pureed beige stuff? Who crawls/walks/completes a decathlon? Who can go "wee wee" on the big toilet while reciting Chaucer?  

School: How many clubs are you in? What do you mean you don't play the piccolo? Surely you're on Kipper book stage 999 where Biff (a girl) gets divorced from Wilf (yes, Wilf) because he had a 'great idea' to let Aneena stroke Floppy (a dog...) and his magic key began to glow.

Recently a solicitor claimed her son had the brain of Steven Hawking, the creativity of da Vinci and the athleticism of Bolt (the athlete, not the CGI dog).

When another mother casually mentioned her child was on a particular colour of reading book, Competitive Mom manically ransacked her boy's 'library'. Aghast that he was only on a minor colour, she marched into school to have it out with the head. 

Glazed and confused

Sometimes we are so caught up in our world that we fail to see the glaze. 

On Facebook you can just 'Like' something without really digesting it.

Pre FB I had to endure a 'real time' recording of a child's first birthday, from the dawn breast feed to the "Oohs and Ahs" at the mounds of Iggle Piggle presents, to falling asleep in their dribble (the baby, not the parents. Although...).

Another couple produced a calendar  entitled: 'A Child for All Seasons'. Sweet thought for grandparents. Only they sent it to work colleagues. And teachers. And the builder.

Sorry, but this is boring unless you are a direct blood relative. One generation removed.

Curb your enthusiasm

I must remember, when they are running around with a pair of pants on their head, that they are 6-year-old boys and not geniuses, sorry, genii.

I know how much I love them. It's just that social networking makes it easy to declare our feelings publicly. Just step away from the laptop.

Besides, I can navel gaze on this blog. Mind you, not gazed at my navel since that sunroof popped up.

I will try to punctuate my outpouring of pride with amusing pictures and animal photos. Rather like 'That's Life'.  

Nobody likes a show off.

Did I mention parents' evening took place this week btw?

Confessions of a Voucher-holic

I'm a sucker for a bargain. My wardrobe is full of one sleeved canary yellow dresses, harem pants and size 2 clogs.

In these lean times, I value a good deal. I am the Coupon Queen.

Crumpled pieces of paper and newspaper cuttings appear at every event or meal. Like a badge of poverty, this embarrasses my family even more than me camping overnight at the Primark sale.

I'm so obsessed with collecting points, that I tried to check out my library book with my Tesco Clubcard.

I even enforced a 'voucher per day' rule on holiday, much to the dismay of my husband, who had to check us in at a leisure centre with a wad of Coco Pops packets (Free Swim deal). 

Therefore, it's no surprise that I am the perfect demographic for the deal of the day websites which give daily discounts on a range of offers. I'm subscribed to them all.  

This offer will self destruct by the end of DIY SOS

My mobile has apps which alert me as new deals come in. Don't be shocked if mid conversation I'm checking to see what 'once in a lifetime' offer I could miss.

"I'm sorry your husband's leaving, but did you know you could get colonic hydrotherapy for just £9?"

I'm a fan of all kinds of redemptions. An addict. A voucher vulture, a deal junkie.

I've kidded myself I'm thrifty (tight) so why do I keep buying useless deals that I don't need, with short shelf lives and endless restrictions? How can this be cost effective?

How desperate am I to camel trek, white water raft, abseil or attempt anything that might feature in a Bodyform commercial?

Is my knee jerk reaction down to the Countdown style clock, alerting me that I have a mere 12 hours - sorry, 11 hours and 59 secs - to purchase the deal before it disappears forever? 

And what if the offer sells out, as it did when I was remiss enough to purchase of an evening? Such pressure has led to to some bizarre and regrettable impulse buys.

Deal or no Deal?

Like the tattoo removal. A chance to erase the permanent reminder of one Hooch filled night in the 90s. 

But I grew suspicious. The tattoo removal 'technician' was a part-time cage fighter named Dangerous Dave (dynamite with his mobile laser beam).

So I demanded a full refund faster than you could say: "Third degree burns."

Or my husband's foot massage. The chiropodist would barely touch his tootsies due to a very minor and undetected case of athlete's foot.

He had barely removed his socks before she packed him off with a tube of fungal foot cream and a Ped Egg.


Can you repeat that in English?

Then there's the smug and never ending descriptions.  

A former colleague of mine once used the term: 'Egg laying stock' to describe a chicken. No doubt he's writing inappropriate descriptions, along the lines of.......

"When Marie Antoinette declared 'Let them eat cake,' she was dreaming of a revolution in delectable pastry delights. With today's sweet deal you can have your cake and eat it."

Ooh, what exclusive deal is this? A Parisian patisserie perhaps? Or cup cake baking? Oh, a jam donut from Wimbush.

Likewise, I've had some great offers. But you may catch a few curve balls if you don't check those ts and cs properly.

Redemption Wrong: An interpretation of the small print

Be prepared that daily deal punters are not always given the same courtesies as proper customers .Here are a few redemption rules to consider:

1) Expiry/validity dates: Vouchers may need to be redeemed swiftly. This can be tricky if you are unable to use them on any day of the week featuring a Y. Book a year in advance.

Translation: Restaurants: "Voucher valid on Monday evenings between 5-6pm. Deal applies to the mini spam fritter option only and does not include any obscenely priced drinks or service charges. PS, your seat will be by the toilet."

2) Timing: Some coupons are valid out of season, so prepare for a picnic in the snow. We bucked the trend this year when our winter visit to Hatton Country Park turned out to be the hottest day of the year, thanks to good old British freak weather.  

3) Entry is not guaranteed/subject to change and or cancellation: Should a coach load of legitimate customers arrive, or if a special event is being staged, be prepared to drive back home immediately. 

A swanky hair salon once cancelled one hour before my appointment, a day before my holidays. I threatened to stage a sit in with my Mother. The manager eventually relented.

4) Welcome to the cheap seats: As long as you don't mind seats by the dustbins for a matinee performance with understudies from Popstars the Rivals,  you may get some cracking deals.

5) Cutting corners: Smaller portions, junior staff and alternative products may be used. 

Translation: Hairdressers: 'Highlights. Fringe only. YTS girl. Week mornings only. No free coffee. No small talk about holidays. No browsing of complimentary Take a Break circa 2000. Expect to wait 2 hours for your appointment, then remain in your seat  with a head full of hardened bleach, while we perm the regulars." 

A couple of visits to salons were reminiscent of childbirth, due to the return of the dreaded highlighting cap, alive and living in coupon deals.  On another visit the highlights were painted on direct, without foils. Like my six-year-olds let loose on a Girls' World.

6) Forget your voucher at your peril: Otherwise you will be ejected faster than you can say: "Sun Holidays." A full body frisk may also be required. Do not attempt to check in with your son's homework, as my friend Lisa did on a hotel break.

7) Hidden extras: Don't get stung for add-ons. My Mother was once charged an extra tenner at a salon for a deep conditioning treatment, which smelt suspiciously like Timotei.

8)The Shame Factor: You will feel like a Chav. But if you are used to brandishing vouchers, this will be the norm.

I have vowed to only purchase deals I need. So please excuse me while I peruse the latest offers for a chocolate teaspoon....

2-4-1: Our family enjoyed a lovely day out, courtesy of coupons.

Hair Today

So I did it. I made the final cut and liberated my lank locks.

Trouble is, it seems that anybody within a stone's throw of Paul's Boutique has the same style.

We went into Primark for Pat Butcher earrings, scarves and collars to show off the new look.

All of the sales assistants (including the males) had the same cut, like a row of  fashion clones, stuffing playsuits into brown paper bags.

On the school run a few other Moms were modelling the same asymmetric hair

I visited my Mother and even her smoking circle friends had the same cut

It's even made its way on to Sky News team

Who next? Will we see Her Majesty sporting a Phil Oakey style crop?

What part of: "I am a middle aged mother of two, I can't carry off a Frankie from the Saturdays cut," did the stylist not understand?

Not for the first time in my life, I am a fashion victim. Is there a helpline I can call perhaps?

I needed the number in the 70s when my Mom permed my hair and I looked like Leo Sayer.
I needed it in the 80s when I thought a Keegan style back perm was also a good idea... and when I had a Roland Rat 'tail'.
I also needed it in the 90s when I went through my Robert Smith back combing phase....

Maybe I will snip off the front piece, quiff it up, crimp it, pin it back or tie it in a plait just to retain some individuality. I am a big fan of 80s hair, after all.

Either way. I don't regret going short. Just needs some tweaking.

Despite my OCD at stroking the back of my head in search of some weave, and the fact that even my husband has longer hair than me, the short back and sides is here to stay.

Just don't call me Sue Perkins.......

Things to do before I'm 40

Happy birthday to me. I'm 'celebrating' the last year of my 30s (woo hoo). Here's my list of the crazy, hedonistic things I want to do before I'm 40.

1) Go to bed after 10pm
2) Wake up after 6am
3) Drink more than 2 glasses of wine and not get a hangover
4) Watch a non CGI film at the cinema
5) Have a bath without at least one of my children barging into the bathroom for a poo
6) Go out without asking everybody, including my husband, if they have had a big wee
7) Wear cream, without the risk of sitting on a Fredo and looking like I've done a whoopsie
8) Carry a compact handbag, instead of a suitcase or shopper, without wet wipes, dry wipes, Fruit Shoots and half of WH Smith in my bag
9) Not tread on a piece of Lego every morning
10) Reclaim my laptop. Use Youtube to search for music and not Moshi Monsters codes. Use my mobile for texts and not Angry Birds
11) Lounge around with a hangover without being subjected to musical instruments, kids TV and: "Mommy, we accidentally..........."
12) Walk across a road without the need for David Prowse, the Green Cross Code Man
13) Play ACDC in the car rather than 'Tumbling around with Justin Fletcher'
14) Go on a holiday that does not involve Sun vouchers

A caravan site where the boys witnessed The Jeremy Kyle Show - live!