A load of old balls...

Football that is. Yes England are out of the World Cup, loosing the only way we know how, on penalties. How very predictable. Still at least everyone can now remove the damn flags from their cars. Miserable, me? No way, I am very patriotic but there is something about following a clapped out Citroen Saxo with two flags fixed to the roof that makes me twitch.

In other news, I spent a pleasant week on the South Coast *whispers* in a caravan. A caravan I tell you. Not one of those posh static jobbies, one of those you have to tow down the M40 at 50mph. I am suitably ashamed of myself and it is not an experience that I care to relive any time in the near future but still a good week was had by all. The bad mother that I am, I put the little miss to bed in the loo! In my defence it was a very nice loo, but all the same it was a toilet cubicle. She didn't seem to mind though so I am not loosing any sleep over it.

What I am loosing sleep over however is this damn heat! It is like 30,000 degrees or something (okay, probably more like 30 degrees) and I am melting, I am melting. Poor little miss spends the days romping around in her nappy with the mullet stuck to her forehead whilst I am sweating my bottom off pureeing a whole array of unappetising vegetables . Typical English, we moan when it is cold, we moan when it is hot. There is no pleasing some people, really there isn't.

Talking of no pleasing people. After sweating like the proverbial pig yesterday whilst providing for our daughter (with a stinking cold I might add), Mr M decided to nag me about the state of our spare room, all before 8am this morning. Now he really should know me well enough to a) not nag me and b) not talk to me when I am trying to sleep but he insisted on telling me that I need to clear up the mess and that he hates living in a tip. Hmmmm. Now my house is nowhere near what you could call a tip. What Kim and Aggie have to deal with, now that is a tip. My house is tidy, the spare room however is used as a dumping ground, but since neither of us venture in there that often, it can hardly cause offence. Part of me, a teeny tiny part inside, thought that perhaps I might clean out the room this morning as I had an hour spare and I know it would make him happy but inside I am so fecked off with his nagging and his presumption that I am a lazy cow (alright, maybe I read a little bit into his tone...) that I am not going to bother. In fact, knowing me so well, I am amazed he even wanted to go down that road - foolish man. Instead I am going to go to the park with my friends and eat icecream in the sunshine, whilst he sits baking in an office feeling all grumpy. Ah cripes, men, you've got to love them haven't you.

And finally, spotted on Sandbanks, I thought I would share for sheer amusement.......

Yes, you are seeing right, your eyes are not deceiving you, it is a dog in a Bugaboo. A DOG IN A £600 PUSHCHAIR??? Are people that crazy, that rich, to want to push a dog round in a designer pushchair? What is the world coming to.

love & kisses
Mrs M x