Chipping Norton

Thought I'd just write a couple of lines as Hubby is busy watching telly. Amazingly it's not Top Gear. It's Dad's Army (which I think comes a close second in his favourite TV programmes, along with the Secret Passions of Girls Aloud).
Anyway, so I have a couple of free minutes to tell you about my escape from camp this week to the exotic delights of Chipping Norton. Met up with a couple of old friends from uni, who live all over the place, so we tried to find somewhere central to meet up, which turned out to be Chipping Norton (which is where Jeremy Clarkson lives - although we didn't actually see him as he was probably zooming about in some million pound motor and doing gravelly pieces to camera, whilst we were just sitting in a pub and giggling about the time we drew a moustache in permanent pen on the picture of the Queen hanging in the Halls of residence dining room, for example. Of course, that's just an example, as an officer's wife would never have an incident as heinous as that lurking in her republican past...).
Chipping Norton was lovely. Straight out of a Richard Curtis movie: full of middle-class people buying books and saying 'fuck' in an endearingly bewildered way. It was of course fab to see my lovely friends, who haven't changed a jot - well, one of them has gained silicone boobs, but other than that they are the same (I was desperate to poke them and see what they felt like - the boobs, not the friends - but it would have been somewhat unseemly to do that in a bookshop in Chipping Norton).
They made me feel a little bit of an under-acheiver though (the friends, not the boobs - although come to think of it the boobs did as well), as they both have good jobs and earn real money, where as I languish under the title 'homemaker' (although as you all know I am about to receive an award for these!). I would like to think that one day my children will thank me for being a stay at home mum, and always being there for them, but sadly I think they will just remember me as the evil shouty one who made all the stupid rules.
Anyway, must go as have as usual a very large basket of ironing calling me from the other room.