my kids are not a pain in the arse, honest

Played lot of black jack at the casino royale night. Drank a lot of daiquiris too. It was okay. I got to wear Aunty Jill's spangly sequined top, at least. It has been dragged around from the UK to Northern Ireland, Germany and now Nepal and I have never yet had the opportunity to wear it. My mum's friend gave it to her to give to me about ten years ago, and I just haven't been able to bring myself to sling it out. When it was first given to me it was way to big, but now fits like a glove - that's ten year and three kids for you: cheerio Size Eight, and welcome, sit down and have a cuppa Size Twelve. Anyway, thank you Aunty Jill for the seventies style sequinned top, which made me feel almost exactly like Pussy Galore (except with a tad more cellulite and incipient 'bingo wings').

Kids seemed to enjoy their sleepover. The lovely mum who had them said they were fine, and it was fine. She said 'fine' just a few too many times, which makes me suspect she's telling porkie pies. (What she actually thought was something more along the lines of 'I have them in my class all blooming week, wiping their snotty noses, whatever possessed me to invite them round for half the weekend as well?'). What I have come to realise, since being a mum, is that mums lie all the time. They always tell the other mums that their children have been fine, behaved well, etc. I know this, because I do it myself. It's like some unspoken pact not ever ever ever to criticise other people's kids. Even if they have been a right pain in the arse.

Of course my kids are never a right pain in the arse. They are practically perfect in every way. As I'm sure you'll agree if you ever have them to stay!