The Story of my Bump

After reflecting on my wedding day it led me to thinking about my pregnancy and giving birth.

I know lots of mums blog about childbirth but I feel it can only be a good thing for other mums-to-be out there.  Had the internet and social networking sites existed when I was pregnant I might not have felt so terrified!

You see, I’m a coward.  And the things I’d heard about giving birth had made me just a little worried.  It hurt, I knew that.  And I don’t like hurty things.

So, anyway.  Hubbie and I married in the August and decided to try for a baby in the December.  First try, baby in place!  Little did I know that this was to be the only ever time for us.

At the time I fell pregnant I was nannying for two girls aged four and one.  This involved lots of walking, lifting and carrying.  When I started bleeding at six weeks, I thought it was all over.  My doctor said to take it easy over the weekend and hope for the best.

That was probably one of the longest weekends of my life but during this time we made the decision that I would give up working.

Weekend over, I set off for a scan and, thank heavens, all was OK.  First lesson learnt, it’s not unusual to bleed early on in a pregnancy.

I waited for the morning sickness to kick in and nothing happened.  Hooray!  I craved oranges and Mars Bars and would eat them in abundance at all hours.  Being pregnant suited me and the only difficulties I encountered were with my nipples.  The start of my pregnancy was in the winter and I would spend many hours walking our dog.  This was when the trouble started.  The discomfort would begin with a tingle of coldness and then go into full blown agonising pain.  The only way I could leave the house was with two huge dollops of Germolene and cotton wool balls on my hooters.  A rather peculiar shape, which my gay neighbour certainly noticed on several occasions. (He also noticed when later I was walking my dog with newborn son in arms and I’d left my top undone, including nursing bra, for all the world to see my milk bottles! - Thank the Lord for honest gays!)

When I went for my final scan the midwife asked me if I wanted to know the sex. “No” I told her.  “Do you have a preference?” she asked.  “Well, I’ve always imagined I’d have a girl” I replied.  At this point she started laughing and, when I asked why, she said “I’ve just seen his testicles!”  I’m sure she acted inappropriately, and nowadays you’d be sued for less, but hey-ho!

So pregnancy passed and baby decided it was time to arrive.  A rather funny episode of ‘The Young Ones’ must have got something moving because I went into labour straight afterwards.  At least we thought I had.  Pains started in the early hours of the Saturday and baby eventually popped out at ‘Coronation Street’ time on the Monday.  In fact they were about to send me home at lunchtime because everything had stopped.  Yippee, I thought, I don’t have to go through the pain after all, and I can go home to my lovely dog.

That was when the labour kicked in properly and it was all systems go.  Had he not been bungeeing up and down my fandango with the umbilical cord around his neck, it would have been a lot quicker but eventually (after an episiotomy) he appeared.  I’d never considered needing to be cut, but by this point they could have done anything to me.  I felt no pain when they did it, although hubbie said when he turned back from preparing a Babygro, the sight that greeted him looked like a car-crash.  Glad he was at that end and I wasn’t.

Apart from a lot of pushing, heaving and murderous looks at hubbie and my sister, it was all quite uneventful.  I didn’t utter one expletive (I’m a good girl I am!) and when I looked into my baby boy’s eyes for the first time (apart from thinking that he looked a bit like an alien) I thought “Yep, I know you!”

Another thing I wish I’d known was the first dodgy nappy full a baby does.  Good grief, it was like trying to remove tar and nothing would budge it.  I remember shuffling around my cubicle in the ward, my stitches now beginning to get sore, thinking “What on earth is this?”  Suddenly a voice in the darkness from the bed next to me said, “You’ve found the first poo, haven’t you?  Don’t worry, it’s normal!”  That voice from the shadows made everything feel better.

And so the learning curve continued and I became a human dummy.  I was lucky that I could feed for Britain and never struggled once and I feel truly grateful for that and those treasured moments.

Now I look at my ‘baby’ about to get his GCSE results and approaching sixteen and I think … we did that!  We made that character and he lived inside my belly for 40 weeks.

Mother Nature, when you work properly, what a wonderful creature you are.

The character of Libby in ‘Diary of Mummy Misfit’ is desperate for a second baby.  A forty, has she left it too late?  Check it out on Amazon.  Now also available in paperback at Lulu.

Anniversary Reflections

It’s our 17^th wedding anniversary today so I’ve gone all sentimental and started thinking over my memories of the day.

I decided that there were too many unique ones not to share them with you.  I know we all believe that our day was the best but I can only talk about my day.  So here goes …

I bought two wedding dresses!  I thought I’d found the perfect dress and then I saw the one I really wanted!  The first dress was a classic 1920’s chiffon and lace flapper style, the second full length bias cut 30’s lace, beaded and gorgeous.  I sold the first one.

I had to post one satin shoe only to my Scottish best friend (Maid of Honour) for her to try on her ‘bunioned’ foot.  She couldn’t be trusted with both as we knew she would have decided to wear them hiking across a field of cow dung, just for a laugh.  Trust me, I know what she’s capable of and she would have done it.  This shoe-posting became known as ‘my left foot’ and I was terrified that she’d forget  to bring it to London to join its partner for my wedding.

Our video company turned up too late to film any of our preparations at the house because they said they ‘didn’t realise that the traffic would be so bad on a Saturday’!  Hello?  What day do most weddings take place on?  Their sound system was also so bad that, during our vows, all that can be heard is ‘blah, de , blurb, obey, blah, ring.’

My brother-in-law gave me away and was more nervous than I was.  As we got into our stunning cream Roller to head off to the church, I took his hand and said, “Isn’t this the moment you’re meant to be telling me about sex?”  He felt better after that.

We were married by a gay vicar - so appropriate for a fag hag like me.  The funniest moment on our video is when I alight from the car and my lovely Maid of Honour lied to me that my dress was tucked in my knickers.  All you can see and hear is the panic on my face and the vicar cacking himself with laughter.

I walked down the aisle to the love theme from ‘Saint Elmo’s Fire’.  My tiny nephew went first with the rings, then my two nieces and then my Matron of Honour (with both shoes).  Also an ex-actress, she decided to milk her moment for all it was worth and shimmied and sashayed her way to the altar, despite the fact that we’d rehearsed the half-step / feet together routine.  She also decided to have a little boogie to one of our hymns - “Mine eyes have seen the glory”.  There she was singing to her heart’s content, bouquet in hand, bopping away.

The Japanese organist hit a particularly bum note in one of the hymns and hubbie and I got a fit of the giggles.  It was one of those moments when as soon as one stops laughing, the other one starts.

As most of my hubbie’s friends and family are in Australia, his mum was his only attendee.  He didn’t have a best man but had her as his ‘Best Girl’.  When we arrived at the hotel for the reception she slipped on the marble stairs and ended up flat on her bum.  She doesn’t even drink!

My best gay friend (also an actor) did our reading and had people close to tears.  Sadly he’s no longer with us but he did us proud on the day.

My Maid of Honour’s hubbie came in full kilt and when he got talking to some Dutch people in the bar they asked my Dutch mother-in-law to translate their questions to him.  Hubbie overheard and noticed that when they asked “What happens when you get an erection?”, she was too shy to repeat it so she changed it to “Do you get a lot of infections?”!

My ‘something old’ was my watch, ‘something new’ my dress, ‘something borrowed’ was a tiny picture of my dad which I put inside my shoe so that he could be with me on my day and my ‘blue’ was a barely visible blue bead sown into the side of my dress.

Our reception was wonderful.  We had drinks in the gardens (it was sunny) and then a sit down meal.  We then danced the night away and I even got on the floor and did ‘Oops Upside Your Head’.  I didn’t get a mark on my dress either!

I presented my hubbie with a book that I’d put together with photos and memories I’d gathered from his family and friends in Oz in the weeks leading up to the wedding.  It kind of felt like bringing a tiny piece of them there for him.

Our honeymoon consisted of one night in the Bridal Suite of the hotel.  The next night we were back to our teeny-tiny flat with my mother in law in our bed, best friend and husband in the double sofa-bed and hubbie and I on the floor practically underneath them.  All very cosy!

So there are my wedding memories.  It was the most perfect day and I married my soul-mate, so how lucky am I?

Diary of a Mummy Misfit is available at Amazon for Kindle.  Now also in paperback at Lulu.

Lady of Lists

I have to tell you, the life of a Mummy Misfit has been a bit chaotic this week.  I was even whisked off to Harrods for my Goddaughter’s birthday piercing (ears only! She’s 13!) and lunch.  No, I’m not complaining, it was lovely but I really should have been doing the thing I hate most - cleaning.

Yes, I know I’ve blogged about it before and I don’t intend to again.  In fact, Juanita (my imaginary cleaner) caused such a stir on Twitter that I believe she must be capitalising on her online success by going out doing cash-in-hand jobs - she certainly hasn’t been seen in our house!

But you see, cleaning and preparing of house had to be done as we have two sets of guests arriving in the next few days.  OK, I know, they’re unlikely to be so rude as to wipe a snooty finger across my surfaces and wrinkle a nose in disdain, but I know the dust is there.

Aside from the cleaning, I have an elderly mother to visit, a teenage son to shout at, a book to promote, a new one to write, and a blog to keep up (you try getting six blogs ahead of yourself when you know you won’t be around because you’ll be doing the London touristy things you’ve done a million times before!)

So what does any self-respecting madwoman do when she knows she’s chasing her tail and getting nowhere?

She sits down with a nice chilled glass of white wine and WRITES A LIST.

Oh, it’s just heaven to look at the list and know what jobs lay ahead of me.  I might inwardly panic when I see them all there in black and white but at least I can feel that they’re not cluttering my head any more and get on and take action. Maybe it’s the writer in me but, if my head’s jam packed with jumbled thoughts, I just can’t function.

For something as simple as a dinner party, I’m afraid I can be so anal it even annoys me.  My list (always written the night before, or possibly days in advance) will include things like:

Prep veg

Make sauce

Coordinate table

Oven on 7pm

Paint nails

Clean loo

See, I told you it was anal!  But the satisfaction of crossing one more thing off my pathetic little list gives me such joy, I can’t even begin to describe it.

I’ve even been known to think of another job, get on and do it and then add it to my list just so that I can cross it off.  I have to say that makes me feel smug and daft in equal measures.

As you can probably imagine, Christmas planning warrants a whole notebook - always gorgeous to begin with and then a mass of scrawls and scribblings by Christmas Eve.  Good grief, you’ve got cards, posting dates, presents, stockings, wrapping days, decoration of house (inside, outside, downstairs, upstairs in the lady’s chamber) food/drink shopping, prep of food, table planning, drinks and present-giving with friends.  Not to mention the fact that my mum and a close friend of ours have birthdays close to the event  - I mean, how inconsiderate!

But if it’s all there on paper, anything seems possible.  Sometimes there might not be enough hours in the day but then all you need to do is delegate - hubbie is a better cleaner than me and son makes a mean cupcake!

I truly believe that the world is divided into three camps - those who can function without a list and breeze through their chores and busy lives without a hair out of place, those chaotic types who would benefit from a piece of paper and a pen to keep stuff in order and those (like me) who couldn’t function without it. I’d be the nutter curled up in a corner, rocking back and forth with my head in my hands mumbling …

Peel potatoes

Water plants

Change bed

Pay council tax

Defrost beef

Have a bath

Blah de blah de blah … cuckoo !  cuckoo! 

In my novel ‘Diary of a Mummy Misfit’ Libby is a great list writer. She even adds ‘Have sex’ but still forgets!  Check out my reviews on Amazon.  Now also available in paperback at Lulu.

Letter to my Son as he Approaches 16

Dear Bub,

These are words that you probably won’t appreciate right now (it wasn’t until I was an adult that I realised how much sense my mum and dad made!) but I just want to get them out there for you.

You’ve already made us so proud.  Sometimes life hasn’t been easy for you but you came through all that ‘stuff’ with your head held high and a smile on your face - try to remember to always do that.  Stay as happy as you are now.

Whatever your exam results are, we’ll stand by you.  We know you did your best and that’s all anyone can expect.  Remember, no one can be good at everything (unless they’re a smart ass!).  Better to have a good heart, than a string of certificates.

You have a fantastic sense of humour - nurture it, but remember there are times when it’s not appropriate!  (You know what I mean).

Sadly, you’ll probably get your heart broken - most people do.  At the time it will feel like the end of the world (trust me!) but it passes and you will get better.  It’s a cliché but you’ll look back and laugh when you eventually find the right person.  Oh, and sometimes you’ll convince yourself you’ve found the right person and it might not be - all part of the ‘big plan’ I’m afraid.

Always treat people the way you want to be treated.  Try really hard to never do things you have to say sorry for.  Treasure friendships and always make time for people when they need you.

You can be anything you want to be and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.  OK, you’re never gonna be a Prima ballerina or fly without wings (seriously, stop thinking you can!) but, other than that, the world’s your oyster.

You will lose people that you love - you’re a big boy now, it’s called dying!  It hurts like hell and never really goes away.  Remember those you truly love, and who love you, will always be in your heart.  Nothing can take that away from you.

Please don’t get into debt.  Work hard for the things you want and enjoy them without panicking about how you’re going to pay for them.

Enjoy alcohol responsibly if you ever change your mind about it!  Just be careful and don’t ever give in to peer pressure. ‘Be your own person’, as Granddad taught me, and you won’t go far wrong.

One ill-advised or foolish moment out there on the streets or in a nightclub can ruin your life forever.  If you see trouble brewing, walk away as fast as your legs will carry you.  Call the police, do whatever you can to help the situation but don’t get involved.

Never get in a car with someone you know has been drinking or taking drugs.  Walk, run, ring us at 4 o’clock in the morning if you need to, but do not get in that car!

Any problem, small, big or humungous - we’re always there for you.  Don’t bottle things up until you find you can’t talk to us.  We’ll always do whatever we can to help - even if that means listening to stuff you might not want to hear!  Sorry that’s part of being a parent! (and a son).

Try to see the world before you settle down.  If you don’t, no big deal, but never forget it’s out there.

Be a thoughtful partner.  Be kind, romantic, listen, laugh, share everything (chores included) and try to be as happy as your mum and dad.  Trust me, if you find your soul-mate and treat one another well, you can overcome anything.

I love you loads and hope you get the results you deserve and a life filled with joy and opportunity.

Your mum x

PS:  Get lots of sleep, eat your five a day, don’t smoke, clean your teeth, drink lots of water, don’t pick spots, always remember your deodorant and START PICKING YOUR BLOODY SOCKS UP OFF THE FLOOR!

Diary of a Mummy Misfit is available at Amazon for Kindle.  Now also in paperback at Lulu.

Inside Me (Part 3)

Today I’ve been tagged by the lovely Emma @dreamingofbeer and asked to reveal ‘10 Things You Don’t Know About Me’ and then to tag four more gorgeous bloggers.

As I’ve done a similar post in the past, I’ll try not to bore my regular readers with the same list and wrack my brains for a few different ones.

1. I lived in Hollywood for six months.  My boyfriend at the time was at music college there and, on the back of my Grange Hill gig, I went to try my hand at Hollywood stardom!  I nearly became a magician’s assistant but chickened out!  (Had the legs but not the nerve!).  I then spent the rest of the time working in cafes and selling cable TV.  I returned to London a non-star but their top saleswoman!  (The English accent sells anything Stateside).

2.      The tooth next to my front one (on the right) never grew (there’s a medical name for it but I can’t remember) and remained a stump until I was 17 (attractive!) when I was brave enough to have it built up.  It’s now a beautiful crown.

3.      I had a huge mole on my cheek which grew bigger and bigger until I was about 20.  It was bright red and had a tiny baby growing on the side.  When a child asked me why I had a ‘nipple’ on my face, I knew it was time to get it removed!  (Just realised these last two facts don’t paint a very pretty picture of me but I’m not Quasimodo!)

4.      I won a car at Legoland.  Yes, I know I’ve blogged about this before but, hey, how many people do you know who won a car?  Enough said!

5.       I’ve been smiled at by Brian Ferry in a restaurant and kissed by Curtis Stigers (hubbie tagged along to that meeting and told him “I’m just here to make sure no bodily fluids are exchanged!”  That’s right, spoil all my fun!

6.      My ex-boyfriend’s father’s best friend (got that?) was Jack Parnell, the band leader of ‘Sunday Night at the Palladium’ and ‘The Muppets’ fame.  We would spend every summer in France with him.  He sadly died last year.

7.      My best friend suffers from Tourette’s syndrome.  I love her dearly but it can sometimes be exhausting - not least, for her.

8.      I was in Paris airport waiting to check in and realised I was standing next to David Bowie.  At that second, security chose to detonate an unattended suitcase, without warning.  It took a bit of fun out of my swooning!

9.      I fell pregnant as soon as hubbie and I decided to try for a baby.  Due to secondary infertility I never fell pregnant again!

10.  I’ve travelled to France, Spain, the former Yugoslavia, Sweden, Australia, America and Canada.  And yet I haven’t left the UK for thirteen years.  Money’s been tight but hasn’t stopped me having a life.  In fact, it’s taught me to appreciate the little things more.

Ok that’s my 10 done!  I now tag:

Michelle Betham

Laurel Mayer

Betty Bee at The Pamper Box

Evie’s Gran

Good luck, ladies.  What ten things do you want to share with us?

  Diary of a Mummy Misfit is available at Amazon for Kindle and now also in paperback at Lulu.

Bedtime Buddies

We were at a family gathering on Saturday night and there was a five year old boy there with his favourite bear.  ‘Bear’ (this was his name) was a pale blue velvet head, about the size of a Satsuma (no remaining facial features) with a floppy unstuffed body, one arm, one full leg and a half amputated one (the result of an accident on a Halogen cooker top!).  And yet, to this child, Bear was the best thing since sliced bread - his friend.  His mum told me he couldn’t sleep without him and, if it was time for Bear’s wash in the machine, her son would sit and watch the cycle until his buddy emerged free from chocolate, ice-cream and snot.

We got talking about kids and their comforters.  Her sister (at 30) still has a silk cuff from a blouse she wore as a child.  An old friend (at 36) still has manky bits of an old satin dressing gown that her grandparents bought her when she was five.  Everyone in the family knows it as ‘Silky.’  My son (15) still checks shirts for ‘nice labels’ and he’ll often offer me a feel of a ‘particularly good one!’

His best ‘friend’ was picked up at a car boot for 50p.  At about 18 months he was obsessed with ‘Pingu’ so, when he spied a felt penguin with enormous white teeth sitting on a trestle table amongst the junk, he knew he had to have him.  ‘Teeth’ (the obvious name) came home with us, had a quick wash and brush up in the washing machine and from then on went everywhere  with our son.

On a trip to Australia, son was not happy to see Teeth disappear through the scanner at the airport.  He was too young to realise that the stuffing provided the ideal storage space for drug trafficking.  Thankfully Teeth came out of it with a clean record and no internal search was necessary.

The most obvious place for Teeth to tag-along was on son’s twice yearly dental checks.  Son and Teeth would always be met with a smile and a giggle from the dentist and the nurse and then settle in the chair for investigations.  However, when I bumped into the dental nurse at a place we wouldn’t usually expect to meet, she looked at me, brain whirring to try to come up with a name, and simply said “Teeth!” as she burst out laughing!

So concerned were we that we might lose Teeth and have a distraught child on our hands that, when hubbie spotted a tramp with an exact replica of the stuffed toy tied to a lamp-post for decoration, he asked his price.  For the cost of a few cups of coffee we had a twin.  One resewn floppy arm (flipper?) and a boil wash later, ‘Gums’ joined Teeth!

Our son also had a friend whose parents were so concerned that he might lose his bear (let’s call him Arthur) that they stocked up on a ‘box-full of Arthurs’ in case of emergencies.  Clever thinking!

My best friend’s son has two favourites.  A fur collar from granny’s old coat called Puss-Puss and a manky bear in insipid beige, pink and white (as gutless and flattened as you can imagine) called Neapolitan (after the ice cream).  If Puss-Puss or Neapolitan aren’t around, no one sleeps!

Now I have to come clean about my ‘comforter’.  I was a thumb sucker.  My sister did second and fourth fingers, but for me the thumb was the digit of choice.  Along with this habit, I had a … wait for it … gollywog.  I know people have an issue with these but, believe me; no gollywog has ever been loved more.  He’s had to have his jolly little face replaced about five times - too much ‘good lovin'’ - and he has very little afro left now he’s approaching 50, but he still looks gorgeous to me.

Go on, shoot me down but I love that golly and I don’t see how that can be a bad thing.  I understand that the name may not be so appropriate in this day and age but this was obviously something I never considered when I was a youngster.  All I knew was that he was always there for me and he listened to all my troubles.

Might have a bit of a chat with him tonight, in fact.

So what was your comforter?  Or what do you dread your kids losing?  Have you ever driven miles to get Binky or Bobo, (or a stinking piece of fabric) just for a peaceful night’s sleep?

My debut novel ‘Diary of a Mummy Misfit’ is available to buy on Amazon for Kindle or PC.  Check out my reviews.  Now also in paperback at Lulu.

With Two Cats in the Yard ...

Names have been changed to protect cats’ identities.  They aren’t really called Black Puss and Ginger One but have asked that they stay out of the limelight and I must respect their wishes.

In 2005 we were a happy little family of Mum, Dad, son, one black puss and two stinking fish (read older post).

Black Puss was about six and convinced she was a princess (She still is!  She struts like a catwalk model and has retained her looks so well that even at twelve she looks like a kitten).

Son then decided that one cat in the house wasn’t enough so he started ‘Operation Cat’.  I must admit I was more than happy to add to our little household, so I became a supporter of his mission.

Hubbie wasn’t over keen on the idea, stating “Think of the food and vet bills!”  So he decided to take a ‘safe’ punt to buy some time …

The Ashes were in full swing and, being a full blooded and patriotic Aussie, he told us “If England win the Ashes, we’ll get another cat.”

Ooops!

£125 later we had the new addition to our house.  Now I know you might be saying why didn’t you just get a rescue cat?  (Indeed Black Puss was).  But you see, son and I had sneakily been looking and fallen in love with a pathetic ginger fur ball in the local pet shop - he was the one for us.

So the Ginger One came home with us and hubbie’s first words were “He’s a bit odd-looking isn’t he?”  I think he was still smarting from the fact that he’d had to put his hand in his pocket after losing the bet but money wasn’t a problem at the time and he’d been the one to lay down the terms for the deal.  Son and I had won, fair and square.  We even gave him a cricket-related name to totally rub hubbie’s nose in it but I can’t reveal it for the reasons stated above.

Ginger One could sit in the palm of your hands. He was so tiny and timid.  He piddled on our bed on the first night but that was his only ever mishap.  I always marvel at how clever mummy cats are to teach their young so much in such a short time.  The washing and grooming never ceases to amaze me and I can watch a bathing cat for hours.  That’s all been taught to them by their mums before they’re ready to leave the nest … cardboard box … basket or whatever.  My son still struggles with picking up a plate or putting the bath towels back on the rail!

As the months went on Ginger One began to grow.  He soon outgrew Black Puss (who hates him, to this day - how dare he think he can share her space!) and his personality grew with him.  The thing which grew the most though was his tail.  It now resembles a fox’s brush and quite literally drags along the floor behind him.  Most mornings we’ll wake up to leaves, sticks and half branches he’s managed to drag through the cat flap attached to his back end.  He’s known in the neighbourhood for this magnificent appendage and also for the way he fearlessly patrols the streets; no sign of the timid kitten remains.

Before we had his ‘Ginger Nuts’ removed, he had a bit of an obsession with a fluffy snake toy belonging to our son.  Said snake was the object of Ginger One’s desire and he’d often ‘make happy time’ with it.  We remember with fondness the Christmas morning when Ginger One decided to ‘have knowledge’ of Mrs Snakey (as the toy had now been named) on the black plastic sack we were using for the discarded wrapping.  Our son became less and less interested in his presents and more entertained by the live sex education lesson that was playing out before his very eyes.  Hubbie and I were just slightly concerned about the use of black plastic for gratification, especially on the day of our Lord’s birth!

Ginger One is most definitely a Cat of Little Brain and I worry constantly about his whereabouts.  Black Puss is a clever girl and rarely ventures further than the ‘ladies powder room’ - I told you she was posh!  Ginger One will quite happily lie in the middle of our road defying cars to move - thankfully we’re in a cul de sac and everyone knows him and his odd ways.

Thankfully we’ve only ever had one real scare with him.  A couple of summers ago he was missing for breakfast in the morning - very odd, we’re talking Garfield proportions here.  When he still failed to show at lunchtime, we were distraught. Many trips around the neighbourhood, phone calls to the vet and yet more walking around the area revealed nothing.  Then, at about 5pm, the local mini bus filled with elderly folk from the sheltered housing close to us, returned from a trip to the seaside.  And into our kitchen sauntered a dehydrated Ginger One, covered in brake oil and burnt on his paws and down one side.

To this day, we have no idea if he had a day trip to Brighton curled up in the engine well of the OAP’s mini bus, but we don’t think he’ll be making the same mistake any time soon.

So that’s how our family became the way it is now.  And, in case you’re wondering if hubbie still thinks that Ginger One is a ‘bit odd-looking,’ he can often be heard saying, “You coming up for a cuddle?  Oh yes, he’s my big boy …  yes he is, yes he is!”

In my novel ‘Diary of a Mummy Misfit” there are no cats but a dog of dubious sexuality and a budgie named after Barry Manilow.  Go on, give it a go!  On Amazon for Kindle or PC.  Now also available in paperback at Lulu.