I’ve heard “no one enjoys ironing”, well “hello”, call me a crease obsessed domestic freak ‘cos I bloomin’ love ironing! I’d almost go as far to say that with enough time to get my (ironing) kit out, it’s actually a pleasurable luxury – after all, nothing beats regaining half my wardrobe by freeing the garments from the shackles of the ironing basket; in essence, it’s like going shopping for new clothes while ticking a job off ‘the list’ which you can martyr yourself with at the altar of relationship chore-tit-for-tat at a later date, what’s not to love?!View Post
I might be flouted as “fussy” by those nearest and dearest come present buying season, even to the point I’ve renounced presents to avoid disappointment and for the simple reason I don’t need anything else in my life. This might sound annoyingly self-righteous and oh-so on-trend for banging the anti-materialistic drum, but those aren’t the foundations of my protestations. I do believe in the whole “less is more” ethos, I don’t always live it, but believe in it I do – it comes down to the fact I just really know what I like (and, more accurately what I don’t!) and get twitchy at the thought of undesired crap being thrust my way.
I feel the same when it comes to my wardrobe – not much makes the cut, there’s a few rules about what infiltrates my Trojan-like fashion fortress…View Post
I have a confession. It may appear from my online antics that I’m partial to a G&T almost every night of the week, after all, isn’t that what us “mum bloggers” (must stop cringing at that title!) do – blabber on the internet, moan about our kids, then guzzle G&Ts while munching on a left-over fish finger amuse-bouche?! In reality, I drink 1, maybe 2, G&Ts a week; I can’t stand wine and gag at the thought of any other hard spirits; in truth, I have the taste-bud maturity of an 8 year old. Which is tres noble and at least one thing I do that might be good for my insides, but somewhat embarrassing when you ask for a squash at a friend’s house in the evening. Mr OG has long asked “what kids drink did you want with your meal this evening?!”View Post
Anyone that follows our everyday madness over on Instagram will know how proud I am of H & B for being scouted for the Chelsea Advanced Development Squad. For every inch they were thrilled their ball-kicking dreams were coming true and pride that spilled from my every pore – dread finally set in at our new, life destroying, petrol consuming schedule. With football related travelling, training and matches taking up 15.5 hours (minimum) a week, some days it leaves the boys with little more than 3 waking hours in which to eat, get dressed, relax and argue with each other – which used to take up a lot more time!View Post
We’ve got the basket, the metal “bin”, the Swedish superstore, storage mega-plex and the floor – all covered/over-spilling/spewing Casper’s toys. The kid rivals Santa on the amount of toys he has, courtesy of carboot sales/hand me downs and doting grandparents, and yet he still only plays with the same ones again and again. With every new toy purchase, there’s the element of risk – sure, it looks rather alluring to the small, eager eyes of a toddler when it’s sheathed in shiny plastic, under the fluorescent shop lights – money is duly handed over in the hope that the latest amusement fodder will keep Cas busy long enough to sort the lights from the darks; but generally, the poor lump of plastic gets discarded with the dust bunnies and odd socks under the sofa after a mere 5 minutes of attentionView Post