Shoe story

I’m on my way to a friend’s house to be ‘chief in charge of make up’ for her daughter’s 11th birthday party. There are two problems with this: 1) I don’t know shit about make up 2) I get the feeling that 11 year old girls can be quite blunt in their criticism. I have 6yo twins so I understand how to interact with 6yo twins. I can no longer remember how to interact with anyone younger and anyone older is baffling. The other problem comes in the area of footwear. It seems that every time I see this 11 year old I turn out to be wearing the shoes that she’s just been told she can’t have because they’re too expensive. This causes a certain amount of embarrassment and a feeling that I’ve put my well-adorned foot in my mouth. Today I ummed and ahhed over wearing my new pair of DMs but I was worried that the same would occur. So I’ve gone for these: an actually fairly pricey pair of treat-myself trainers that I bought when I once looked at #dresslikeamum feed but which I reckon I can get away with saying cost only £20 from new look if questioned. I really should have just worn my slippers and been done with it but vanity got the better of me. So wish me luck. I may just ditch the shoes in the front garden and go in barefoot. 



Horse-riding peril

Today’s adrenaline sport was pony riding. I wasn’t actually riding a pony, just leading one. I. Was. Petrified. It kept trying to eat my toes! The beast I led was small but it still scared me. I am of the opinion that any animal who’s teeth are twenty times the size of mine (and who seems intents on biting off digits) needs to be treated with caution. And one covered in fleas(?) needs total avoidance. Am now covered in hundred of little bites from whatever was swarming around the scary beasts. #hoveringclosetoafleariddenscarybeast #hoveringclosetoinsanity

River legs

Not drunk enough to be funny so bear with me. Today we went canoeing. High on the success of climbing along the wall of death yesterday, we thought we’d try out our sea legs today. Well river legs. I. Was. Petrified. But not as petrified as yesterday. Not don’t-you-dare-take-a-photo-of-me petrified. More a bit anxious at every slight rock in the boat petrified. This left me sitting rigid throughout and therefore giving me a stupendous back ache by the end. But then I swam! So I’m doubly chuffed with myself in actual terms. I had had a glass of rosé by then mind you. The French do picnics so well don’t they – un peu de saucisson, some fromage au chèvre et un petit verre de vin rosé. In England it would have been (possibly) a beer and a bag of wotsits. So here I am enjoying my swim with ma petite fille. Next to the Pont d’Arc, no less. Which is a rock bridge over the Ardéche river. All quite pleasant. And significantly fewer shades of shit to scrape from the underpants this evening. #hoveringclosetounvinrosé #hoveringawayfromshittingmyself #hoveringclosetoinsanity