Best laid plans

The plan was a civilised wander round Kew Gardens. I have never been there, and everyone was up for it. We sat round R&J's convivial dinner table on Saturday night and decided we would go unless it was 'absolutely pissing down'. On Sunday morning, it was of course absolutely pissing down.

So what to do with six small children (three of theirs, one of E's, visiting with her from Paris, and two belonging to their friends C&M)?

And so it was that we squidged into the back of a people carrier and then squidged into borrowed swimming gear (R&J are considerably svelter than we are -- let's just say that if it hadn't been for a maternity two-piece then I'd have been sitting it out) and then found ourselves flailing around with large numbers of shrieking children in a shallow pool of warm multicultural middle class wee at the local leisure centre. And all this before we'd normally have been out of bed. Hang on a minute, said M at one point, how did we get here?

When we got back we had an enormous Syrian lunch, then I rather impressed myself by managing to take a nap in a room full of under fives watching Winnie the Pooh on DVD. I was feeling a bit tired with all the excitement, and my bed of sofa cushions was still on the floor from the night before, so...

On awakening, I was cross-examined by J, who is three and a half and likes making rules.

'Are you a mummy?' she said. No, I said.

'Are you a nanny?' No, not one of those either, I said.

(pause)

'Are you a *boy*?' No, definitely not, I said.

'What *are* you then?'

A good question. I thought on it for a while, and then said 'I'm a Jo'.

There are days when that's not much fun, but this was definitely not one of them.

joella