The Old Bamboo...

I am sure I have damaged my darling son in some way. I just know that he will hate me when he grows up to be a man (sniff). On Christmas morning my husband’s parents invited all of the staff of their estate to the house for drinks (one small sherry and a Ritz cracker) as per tradition. Due to the recent addition of their own grandchildren, in a separate room they provided cheesy puffs, Asda cola and music so that the little people to dance and amuse themselves. Max became very emotional when he observed the children dancing and he fled to the nursery.

I mopped my darling boy’s eyes and sat listening to his tale of woe. Apparently one of his little school chums (Felix) has told my perfect son that big boys don’t dance as “it is too girlie.” My munchkin was clearly very confused.

“I simply don’t know what to do for the best,” he said.

I popped on the TV as I knew Chitty Chitty Bang Bang was on TV. Dick Van Dyke was skipping and jumping about without a care in the world, singing “Me Old Bamboo.” Oh how we laughed.

“Diddums” I said, “why your father was dancing just like that the night we met. Grown up men can only get themselves girlfriends if they are good at dancing,” well how was I to know that he would take me so seriously?

My perfect poppet took my words literally and spent the rest of the morning practicing dancing on the veranda with an old fishing pole. He really is acquiring quite a skill! He wants to be just like his papa (ha!).

I am terribly proud of him you know. I just pray that he tones down the dance moves before his first school disco or our future relationship shall be doomed...

Happy Christmas

Is it just my darling munchkins or are your dear poppets never happy with what they get either? Grrr...

Ana (our perfect au pair) gave birth to a bouncing baby boy (3.24 kg) on Christmas morning at 08.10am. Mother and infant "Brad" are doing very well, the cherub is the image of his Samoan daddy (the children's trampoline instructor!!!) - THANK GOD FOR THAT!

Save the penguins...

Perfect Freya blubbed into her Cheerios this morning. The munchkin overheard a news reader lamenting the destruction of the habitat for her special favourite the penguin. She so loved Happy Feet, I fear that she could become quite the Eco Warrior!

"Soon the penguins will have no-where to live," she wailed.

I tried to distract her by changing the subject;

"Have you decided exactly what you would like from Santa dear heart?"

"I would like this, this and this" she bawled. "And this, and this too ..." pointing to a page from The Great Little Trading Company Catalogue that she had been reading under the breakfast table. "And this entire page," drying here eyes.

"Oh my perfect poppet, we must leave some things for the other children. Asking too much for ourselves is not kind, there are those less fortunate than us to consider and they may receive so very little... How will it all fit on Santa's sleigh?" I sang (beginning to panic).

"I would like one of these and all of these too," she continued.

"It really is not good for the environment. We can't have Santa using up all of the earth's resources on your gifts alone now can we sweetie?" I pleaded...

Darling Max could sense my anxiety and came to my support with;

"Freya, it is not good for where the penguins live. For every gift you choose a penguin will die," - shockingly I was so panic stricken by now that I agreed with my super six year old man;

"Yes indeed," I nodded gratefully...

"I shall have just the six gifts in that case," relented perfect Freya, "and that is six each mummy. Six for me and six for Max..."

OHMYGOD!!!

I love london

Oxford Street

Busy, busy, busy...

Gift

Each December I am faced with the same dilemma; what should I purchase for my Monster-in-Law for Christmas? I try so hard to please, but I always meet with disapproval... Over the years she has had a lot to say about my love of premium skin care, so last Christmas I invested in some super Creme de la Mer which I felt sure would convert her to my point of view.

When I enquired of her a couple of weeks into the New Year, how she was enjoying the product Granzilla claimed; "I finished that pot an age ago," which shocked me I must admit. My products last for months.

"My feet soaked that right up, it lasted less than a week," she continued, OHMYGOD!!!

"But Elizabeth it was for your face," I protested...

"I make a point of never reading the claims on the labels of these pretentious pots. It was a moisturiser, and it suited the purpose I found for it," I was crushed.

This year James and I were in New York for a couple of days at the end of October and I found the most perfect gift ever for Granzilla. While shopping in Saks of Fifth Avenue, I was browsing in the dreadfully blingtastic Juicy Couture section while my darling man answered an urgent work related telephone call. Can you believe they sell doggy cashmere hoodies, suit carriers, nail polish and even Pawtection Balm - moisturiser for little doggy feet!

I bought my monster-in-law's gift right there and then. I believe it is premium quality moisturiser, and I so hope that it suits whatever purpose she finds for it!

Dolls

While the munchkins were out at a birthday party this afternoon Brenda tumbled in through my front door claiming that she had organised an end to all of my Christmas gift giving woes (I actually completed all of my shopping on-line weeks ago)! Brenda produced what she described as “the ideal Christmas gifts” for my darling boy Max.

I am one of four sisters. My mother was not blessed with boys. She constantly makes the mistake of referring to Max’s action figures as “his dolls” – any mother with any sense boys will immediately see that she is not endearing herself to big boy Max for this regular faux pas…

Anyhow, Brenda has been to her local Christian shop, and purchased Christian Action Figures for my little man. She has bought him quite a selection. “I actually ordered them months ago” she thrilled. “Sr Kevin had to order them in specially as she didn’t have them in white” – she gushed. “Indeed mother, it would never do for Max to believe that Jesus or The Blessed Virgin were not white Caucasian Europeans – would it?” – Brenda doesn't 'get' irony.

Somehow, looking at these figures this evening, I have an idea that my perfect testosterone fueled boy will indeed enjoy playing with them. I must admit, I imagine my darling will not stick to the biblical version of events. Eve is dressed like Raquel Welch in One Million Years BC and looks altogether much more like a heroine than The Virgin Mary. She looks no fun at all.

Goliath is every inch the obvious hero, and is sure to pound his wimpey opponent David to a pulp before driving off in Max's Tonka Truck. This idea of Brenda's is destined to end in disappointment...

Confidence

I am really rather emotional this evening. I want to share something. No, really I must be honest. I am genuinely being sincere this evening. This is me.

Other bloggers out there, please tell me, is this the norm?

I received an email last night on the train home (via my Blackberry) from a professional representing a West End department store. She invited me to a prestigious cocktail bar today at lunch time and she then proceeded to ply me with alcohol of the bubbly variety...(OHMYGOD, I wish I had an agent... this is like Babes in the wood!).

I was so flattered that she clearly read my blog, she even knew which tipple I can't resist! I was showered with gifts of prestigious beauty products (each costing in excess of £150 per pot, over a thousand pounds worth of products in total!!!) - and I was offered cash to blog in return!.

Does she not know who my husband is? If I profess to a love of Decleor - it is because it is genuine. I don't need cash you see. Well I do actually, but I have a supply right under my nose... If I enjoy using a particular product and I happen to mention it - it is incidental, IT IS NOT PRODUCT PLACEMENT.

I would like the world to know, I have the skin of a sixteen year old, and I owe it all to a terrific gene pool, a good diet, Eve Lom and Decleor!

They can try to turn my head, to mention another product lines if they like, but they had better be extremely confident about their efficacy before they hand them over to me to sample...

You see, if I consider the product they provide me with to be rubbish - I will most certainly say so.

I am sure that this is happening to lots of bloggers right now, please girls, lets compare experiences?

Bonus Time

It is bonus time in the City again, and I don't mean at the Clinique counter in Peter Jones! I wonder if I shall have something nice in my stocking this Christmas - if James is generous he might even get something nice in stockings too!

Yesterday I received a lovely sincere email from a dear man requiring gift ideas and suggestions for his "good lady." What a lovely husband! I must admit that it brought a tear to my eye.

"I want something special," he wrote, "I want her to feel pampered and loved. Our life is so busy, our boys are so exuberant."

I immediately thought...buy her something tasteful from Bootles, an Ultimate Spa Therapy Gift Voucher for the Elemis Day spa in Mayfair and send the boys to Winchester (but you must be quick, I believe that the assessments are taking place right now), and then I remembered a gift I once received that made me feel so very special indeed...

I tumbled in the door after an overnight flight from New York to find my pyjamas warming on a radiator, a breakfast tray of muesli and fresh orange juice prepared in the fridge, luxurious oils and fresh towels by the bath, and rose petals and a love note on the bed... my darling man had left the house for work (sigh). It wasn't even my birthday.

The most thoughtful gifts don't cost any money at all. I felt pampered, special, secure... noticed.

This morning I received a further eleven emails from men asking for gift ideas for their wives;

"What should I give her Dulwichmum? She has everything already!"

I don't pretend to know their wives' taste in perfume, or size in underwear. Is there even a branch of Tiffany in North Korea? Why ask me? Oh boys! Why don't you ask your secretary for help? I told James' secretary what I wanted at the end of November - she never lets me down!

Would you like a slice of lemon in that?

Vanity

James spent at least thirty minutes clowning around in the depths of his dressing room this morning, he rummaged for an age, hopped about on one leg for a time and then lay on the floor with a shoe lace threaded through the eye of the zip before eventually emerging vacuum packed into an old pair of jeans.

"They have shrunk!" he surmised.

"While they were hanging in your closet?" I laughed (he would rather eat his own head than exercise).

Later at my perfect jewel's carol service James stood woodenly down at the back of the church with the other daddies. They all wore big over coats. Situations like these make much more sense since I have gotten a little older.

Men are simply the vainest of creatures...

Over the limit

I find my own sense of humour terribly entertaining when I have had too much to drink. I know my limit, just one glass of Krug and I must stop - no I really must. I can drink half a bottle of Chablis on a daily basis, but only ever one glass of Champagne.

The other night at James' Christmas party for example, I had two glasses of Champagne and I became terribly giddy. James always says that I get a twinkle in my eye, and he can sense when I am going to cause trouble...

I was introduced to the new, substantially younger, Japanese second wife (grrr) of James' much older German work colleague Martin. She appeared frightfully self assured with her svelte doll sized proportions and raven hair, but James' Christmas party was my show...

"How do you do," I purred.

"How do you find household staff in the UK?," she barked abruptly (what a very strange way to open a conversation!).

"Why? are you looking for work?" I replied innocently.

OHMYGOD. I am so lucky that she didn't scratch my eyes out! Oh how I laughed, as her husband wrestled her out of the marquee. I really shouldn't drink at all...ever.

Cut Backs...

My darling man is feeling dreadfully flat. There he sits in his study, his head in his hands - the world of private equity is clearly in an awful state... Or could it simply be that he partied a little too hard at the firm's Christmas party last night?

The evening began on a somber note, the top man's (prrr) speech warned of leaner times, of cut backs, disappointing bonusettes and caution in all regards. The world's financial markets are bracing themselves... (apparently), he then proceeded to launch an orgy of excess the like of which is seldom seen in a democratic country.

I can handle this brand of frugal!

A selection of enormous marquees had been erected in the grounds of The Imperial War Museum which were liberally dusted with real snow for the evening, ice sculptures, a ski slope, ice skating rink, rodeo reindeer, Christmas tree Hoopla,snow boarding simulator, Toyland with Giant Skalextric and casino. All night the Champagne flowed, Kylie Minogue is as thin as a tooth pick and her face is taught and mask like!!! OHMYGOD - could that possibly be Botox?

My feet are killing me today, but you know - I never take things to extremes, not really... Poor James!

Economy Drive

I have caused all kinds of trouble for myself - I was simply trying to be the best wife I could for darling James... OHMYGOD!

I spied the most perfect cardigan you ever laid eyes on in the window of a local boutique on Park Hall Road, and I tried to walk past but I was rooted to the spot, and then - Elaine reached out one long slender arm and virtually dragged me in! Well, I was powerless to resist, I had just been reading about the slowing economy, dreadful drop in high street sales, imminent job losses... and I so love to play my part in keeping the economy moving. In my own small way, I was actually trying to assist my darling man...

James continues to be obsessed with his frightful economy drive (he is not expecting a very generous bonus), and I sooo hate to lie to him, I could not purchase an item of clothing and hide it in the au pair's wardrobe (again). I have been paying for so many things with cash lately due to the embarrassing new credit card he has issued to me. I decided to cunningly withdraw £250 (the daily maximum allowed) from the bank machine just across the road, and pay a cash deposit off the cardigan.

I enlisted the help of sweet shop keeper Elaine to mark the ticket on the garment down by £250, and this evening I insisted that darling James take a look at the mantle for me when out buying himself a bottle of Claret - as I am being so careful with his pennies. "No more impulse buying for me," I assured him... I need a second opinion (I lied - convinced that he would consider the cardigan a complete bargain and purchase it for me as part of my Christmas gift).

Can you believe that when the loathsome man returned from his shopping expedition he claimed that the cardigan was horrid, and was not worth the ticket price!!! He said it would make me look like Bet Lynch!

I am beside myself with horror. This from a man who buys his underwear in multi-packs from a chain store... What do men know about anything?

The garment is now nestling in the boot of my car as I type...naturally.

Christmas count down

My darling daughter took part in her divine nativity play last week - yes last week, in November... Christmas is indeed arriving earlier and earlier each year. The tiny munchkin gave an outstanding performance, indeed I have been weeping ever since...

Brenda (my mother) attended Freya's production as James was in South Africa. My devout Roman Catholic mother likes to analyze the plot lines of the nativity plays at the munchkins' Church of England schools in order to ensure that my perfect poppets are not poisoned by "damned protestant lies." She really is an outrageous bigot terribly protective you know.

Freya's role was;

"The very most important part in the whole play," she claimed.

"Are you the baby Jesus my tiny angel?" I enthused...No response. "The blessed Virgin Mary?" I sang inquisitively...No answer. "An Angel?" Freya eventually replied; "No silly mummy, I am a Page of course, the one who carries the gifts for the wise men. What would Christmas be without presents?"

My darling tiny flower is every piece of her mother...

Freya came directly to us in the audience from the stage when the curtain went down and announced "Santa must be coming tonight then"!

OHMYGOD!!!

"But there are four full weeks until Christmas my angel," I replied (frozen to the spot with shock).

"I want my Butterscotch pony now" she howled. Brenda was horrified.

I blame the schools, my mother agrees. How dare they hold their wretched productions so early. I shall be tortured from now until the big day.