Mummy Willow Blog
I’m one of those people who is a little impatient I suppose. I hate being held up on the school run by mums having a conversation across the street. I hate being behind someone with fifty-twelve tokens and a cheque book at the supermarket. I hate walking behind a human weeble along the narrowest pavement ever, watching them lurch from left to right as I desperately attempt to dodge, having to time it to the last microsecond or risk getting flattened. Chatting can be bothersome too, if you’re not the chatter or the chattee that is. I witnessed my mum become 70..
This might at first seem like a strange question to ask! But we are in the bed business after all, so please accept this as serious market research. Somewhat less seriously, the reason we ask is that no-one here can actually remember their bed, or much of their bedroom furniture as a young child. Which led us to question whether children ever appreciate what beautiful furniture they have these days? Clearly our childhood bedroom furniture was so uninspiring it has been quickly erased from memory. But then everything was probably less inspiring all those (twen..
Arriving at my local supermarket recently I was surrounded by signs of summer. There were barbeque kits stacked high in the foyer next to an eye-watering collection of garden toys, ranging from huge bubble wands and multi-coloured windmills, to the centrepiece, the mother-toy, a bouncy castle/water slide/tunnel combo complete with pump. Blimey what I would give to be a child today! All we had was a tennis ball in a sock. Anyway, this huge summer spectacle sparked panic within as my mind “helpfully” flashed up images of one corner of our cobweb infested shed and its sorry contents. A pre-hi..
Weddings are a joy, especially when held on a Sunday and are so far away that it is inconceivable for the whole family to attend. Children miss school? Husband miss work? No we can’t have that. Despite almost no protests, I still found myself in front of the aforesaid bunch, eyes closed with hands apart, gently patting the air, adopting the universal ‘calm down’ pose saying “Ok ok I’ll go and save all our skins, then at least one of us has shown our face.” It worked and within two hours I was all but packed and on my way. It also helped that I could tie it in with a visit to our facto..
Well it’s now May and once again, as is becoming my spring ritual, I am guilty of all charges laid before me. -Failure to adhere to a straightforward (impossible) diet. -Failure to assist slimming leaders with their enquiries (not turning up for weigh-ins). -Failure to comply with ANY rules concerning diets (out and out scoffing). -Wrongly believing that just saying the words “I’m on a diet” will make me slim. -Failure to remove any labels from my new gym kit (let alone wear it). Despite this, I have been known to go to the gym. In fact I have been twice. Once to join and..
So, there I was at the checkout, my shopping piled high after a fraught five minutes bundling it onto the conveyor, semi-satisfied with my sketchy sort of packing order – potatoes at the front, loaf at the back kind of thing, when lo and behold a weary, monotone voice half-shouts “this one’s goin’ off love”. I immediately glanced at my avocado, irked that I would now have to forego its glorious green flesh and do without. However, turns out it wasn’t just my favourite fruit that I would be sacrificing but the whole flaming caboodle as Jean was canteen-bound for a cuppa. With about three..
With the jubilee weekend afoot I tied up all outstanding paperwork, gave instruction to our staff for the busy weekend ahead and locked the office door. I was really looking forward to a weekend of relaxation and valuable family time down on Gloucestershire Farm where my inlaws reside. Packing for the farm has always been a bit of a task for me. As much as I would love to slip into the country-chic attire that suits so many young fillies, my outfits always seem to cry out “look out there’s a townie about!!” – It’s not that I don’t own the obligatory Barbour or the tweed jacket. It’s just t..
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