Not in Sussex any more, Dorothy

I’ve been home an hour and the bubble has well and truly burst.

Maybe it was something to do with charging home to South London from our Sussex campsite idyll (you need slightly longer than ninety minutes to adjust from villages with cricket and pubs on the green to people pooing in phone boxes, which is what we were met with when husband popped into Tesco Metro on the way home. Normally, I’m at least home and dealing with the laundry before Bronte-esque depression sinks in. Not even getting home was a new low.)

Maybe it was the misguided belief that feeding Monkey-face and charging out again, an hour and a half later, to catch In the Night Garden Live at Brent Cross would actually work.

Monkey-face seemed somewhat dazed during the ITNG Live event (we note that she was mainly taken with the lighting and projection) but had a supercharged emotional experience during her 3 minute meetandgreet with an Equity member in a blue fluffy suit.

Thereafter, she, dear reader, just went mental. Unlike the tendencies of her mother, she left quietly when asked, but went bananas in the hangar-like bubble that housed these Brent Cross pre-school shenanigans. We were stared at a bit when row upon row of supernaturally patient toddlers queued obediently for the next showing whilst mine decided this would be the perfect place to show me up. I did want to shout: “look, I’ve been camping all week. I only had 10 minutes to get ready after feeding everyone and sorting out replacement tickets for the etickets I couldn’t find” but I knew this would just make me seem even more chavlike than obesity, roots and a jack-knifing toddler already accomplish

I have to confess to being a bit pissed off that I’d forked out sixty quid for IgglePiggle to essentially give her 3 minutes and steal her heart. Unlike Iggle Piggle, I got publicly bitten for diverting her from her break for freedom (or her attempt to belt back into the auditorium and see it again.)

Anyway, what about the reading? Aren’t you supposed to be reading, in between frogmarching Monkey-face to television spin-offs that you should be avoiding for the under twos, you unfit mother, in every sense?

When we finally got home at 730pm, I realised Big Blue Train was in the car, 41 steps down. I was exhausted (see above), so I experimented with Big Red Bath (same author) and thought that there’d be a new experience to write about.

I got halfway through before wobbly; the book was grabbed and Monkey-face ran off and made it known there would not be progress this evening beyond lion getting into the aforementioned Big Red Bath.
Normal service is resumed in South London, where people poo in phone booths, my daughter only gets 10 pages into books her parents wish to read with her and mothers – sometimes – put the telly on.

I just hope she’s teething

For Sue E, who had bigger things to deal with today xxx

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