An update update

Queen Bee Mummy doesn’t “really see” our problem. She actually said as much when about ten mummies caught her by the school gates on Monday morning. She didn’t know what we were all worried about when she left 30 children in the care of Malinka the au pair and her alcohol impaired boyfriend. So it was dark! So they’d turned all the lights off and cranked up a selection of horror DVDs and scary music. So Erica was left alone to eat all of the lemon tarts and spent the whole weekend clutching her stomach and groaning. “I really do think you’re all over exaggerating!” Queen Bee Mummy said as she bounced on her ludicrously high heels and fixed us all with her baby blues.

Harumph. I shall be monitoring Mac’s attendance at any future parties, as will Dawn who said the only plus side of the whole thing was that Jonathan is now treating her like a human being and not Evil Stepmother Who Is Evil.

Bea is in love with her new temporary au pair Flavia and is already unable to envision life without her. “As long as she’s not in love with me if you know what I mean. She’s one of them” Bea accompanied this comment with a raised eyebrow but is relieved because said sassy sexy 23 year old Italian curvy momma will not be making eyes at hubby Stephen. Stephen is, apparently, sulking. “She can make pasta. From scratch” Bea continued as we walked around Sainsburys Dulwich last night selecting nibbles for the Bonfire Night party this weekend. Stephen, fed up of standing at the foot of the garden and taking his life into his hands by setting off rockets, has hired a professional firework company to take care of everything. “It’s going to rival the Beijing Olympics closing ceremony!” beamed my lovely sister.

Mac doesn’t like school any more because he didn’t get a Well Done Card for writing his name. “Billy did but it’s not fair mummy”. Somehow I think it’s my fault for giving him a long name with the last letter of the alphabet in it. In fact, I know it’s my fault. Talking of names, the newest arrival has already had his rather majestic name (Frederick) reduced to Freddie, Fred, Freds, Fred-Fred, Freddie Cupcake and Frodo. The last name is from his devoted father who thinks it’s hilarious. The boy himself is wondering what the hell he’s got himself into, with a father who is reduced to tears of mirth every five minutes and a mother who keeps checking his breathing.

Marjorie Stewart has emptied the Christmas department of both Harrods and Selfridges. She was excitedly telling Mac this afternoon about the inflatable santa, sleigh and reindeer she’s got for her roof when he stopped her by raising a hand. “If you put it on the roof, how is Santa going to land?” he asked. She looked at me. I ignored her. “Well, he doesn’t land on my roof, but he’ll land on yours” she reassured him. “Will there be room?” he asked, peering up at our adjacent roofing area. This concern developed into teatime when he wanted me to go up and measure the roof to see if it’s big enough. “If it won’t fit she can’t do it mummy” he said as he sipped on his peppermint tea. “I mean it” he added, a touch of steel in his voice. On Monday we all received a letter from the head teacher informing us that this term would be about “letting the children find their own individual spirit and voice and allowing them to make their own decisions and put forward valid arguments for these decisions”.

Four days in and it’s working already.