Weekend Wobblers

I had to take the kids into Hammersmith with me on Saturday for Larry's Mandarin lesson as LSS was busy doing setup for the school fair. Unfortunately, this coincided with a time of month when I transmogrify into the Mom from Hell, instead of being the Supermom and All-round Sweetness and Light Fairy that I usually am (and not a controlling sarcastic maths-cum-Latin teacher troll, whatever LSS says). I think around the time of the unscheduled pee-pee stop at Victoria Station when the turnstile had stolen my 30p for the 2nd time and all the money was stuck in the slot and the kids were poking their heads in the way and some fat curly-haired bloke was trying to queuebarge me, I may even have called my dear offspring "morons". In the end I had to advise them that I was obviously in a foul mood and, for their own safety, it would be wisest if they did not direct any questions to me until further notice. We completed our journey down to Wandsworth on the number 44 bus in a majestic silence.

The fair went off well, but LSS also had to stay behind to strike the set, so I had to drive the kids home. I have driven this car precisely twice, the second occasion being on Saturday. I was most of the way back to Balham before I realised, using my superhuman powers of deduction, that that red circle with an exclamation mark in it on the dashboard might be subtle hint that the handbrake was on. Although I was driving like a little old lady on Mogadon, no-one amongst the notoriously impatient drivers of South London parped me - possibly because they were too busy avoiding the clouds of black smoke emitting from my brakepads.

I have adopted a slash-and-burn policy with my hair. It now looks like Anna Wintour's only not so obviously dyed (I'm sorry, Anna, please don't kill me with one of your well-aimed killer death rays from Conde Nast Towers!). Curly inspected it and announced: "You look like a Chinese girl." I rather thought that this is what I have always looked like.

Went to a "gig" last night at the Hop Cellars in Borough because the husband of Whingeing Accountant is the drummer in the band. Talked to a retired C of E vicar about their recent camping trip in the Gower. This was obviously not one of those legendary rock-and-roll gigs that go down in history, but I still enjoyed it. It's nice to be let out of my underground Mummy Accountant's steel-reinforced dungeon once in a while.