Tuesday, June 14, 2011


Because my parents are SELFISHLY away on holiday, I find myself looking after two small children for the whole of Tuesday. On closer inspection, both chidren turn out to be mine, which rules out putting them on ebay, small wicker basket down the river Fal river etc.

Instead, I drive to Kimberley park, which is a good park, and park the car right next to the park (Editor's not: too many 'parks' please amend before publishing).

Heaving both children into double pram, I put my keys into my fleece pocket temporarily, which turns out to be more temporary than I anticipated when they slither out and straight down a drain.

'Ooooooh! says the Girl One interestedly.

I DO NOT PANIC, because on closer examination, the keys are just within arms' length. Although sadly, the grille is too narrow for me to get my big calloused writer's hand through, and the Girl One's head is too big for me lower her down, then meet me where the drain meets the sea. I actually did consider this.

I STILL DO NOT PANIC. Instead, I walk calmly to the garage round the corner, procure from them a piece of wire, return to the drain, fashion end of wire into hook, retrieve keys, return wire to garage, give them a sum of money equivalent to a working class 'pint, and continue calmly on my way.

Conclusion: I AM BATMAN.

Monday, June 06, 2011

You can use the first class lounge though, which is nice.

On Tuesday night, I will be getting the sleeper train to the capital for a bumload of meetings Wednesday, for which I have assured my agent I will be 'the charmingest motherflipper in London'. Note that I have been rewatching The Wire recently, and also that I didn't actually say that.

It's been a soiled dove's age since I was last in London (I don't know why all the swears, sorry), mainly because the Boy One has only recently started nursery all day Weds like his sister, making that the day I can go away and not leave Patroclus trying to run a copywriting agency whilst simultaneously looking after two small children who are constantly doing poos wees and sicks. I mean, she does have employees, but they are perfectly capable of sorting out their own poos wees and sicks, it's in their contract.

Anyway, I like getting the sleeper up, although you have to bear in mind the whole thing when the conductor person politely asks if you want a wake-up call at 7am is completely pointless, as the train gets in at about 5,15am, to the following station tannoy announcement:


... which works as a perfectly serviceable wakeup call all on its own, I find, in the sense that I scream 'ARGHWHATWAS THAT?!' and roll off the narrow bed onto the narrow floor, by which point I am almost completely awake. Then: meetings.

(I would be arranging to meet lots of lovely London people for coffees, but sadly it's looking my schedule leaves me about ten minutes in the middle of the day, then I have to get straight on the return train home again, booooooo)

I was going to write some stuff about pitching ideas, but my son has just done a big poo and REFUSES to sort it out himself.