Praise the Lord!
I awoke the other morning to find my bedroom flooded with light. Like the Ice Queen I surveyed the scene from my bedroom window, smiling to myself as the profusion of enormous fluffy snowflakes that wafted past and settled into little drifts on the terrace steps and against the perfect Farrow and Ball painted bird table below. I realised that the sweet Robin would probably be forced to endure hunger in this beautiful scene. There are indeed those who suffer great hardship because of the snow...
I was suddenly aware that I was in the presence of God!
Overcome with emotion, struck dumb in awe at the power of the Lord, tears ran down my perfect cheeks and I felt my heart leap in my bosom with joy at the realisation that I live in glorious Dulwich!
Some are certainly less fortunate than I...(have you ever been to Lambeth? OHMYGOD!!!)
Aware that my poppets would imminently demand a trip into the garden to make a snow man, I dashed downstairs, summoned the au pair and instructed her to don her thermals in order to escort my progeny outside for some fun and games (high jinks in the snow would play havoc with my hair).
I love to catch up on my beauty sleep on a Sunday morning (sigh), I really could sleep like a bear in hibernation.
Wake me up when the meek inherit the earth.
15 comments:
I am SO glad that I am not the only one that snow plays havoc with her hair - I have the same problem with rain too - especially drizzle.
I do hope that your poppets were wearing thermal undies too - I prefer to let mine out in the cold; it's good for their stamina.
I'm confused DM. Does your au pair look like that picture - or does she just need to wear men's thermals? And if it's the former, have you managed to pull off the greatest coup since Delia convinced the BBC to fund a programme extolling the virtues of packet sauces, and persuaded your husband that this thermal-wearing Carl is in fact Carla? Of course James wouldn't bother to look at any other woman with you as a wife I suppose, so perhaps you have managed it...
Darling Celebrity Zoe,
Obviously I afford my poppets every luxury, I am completely loaded afterall.
Sweet Potty Mummy,
Naturally my au pair is androgynous, drags her knuckles on the floor when she walks, speaks in husky tones and has more hair on her chin than on the floor of Nicky Clarke when Bonney Tyler needs a trim, but promise me (my wealthy and influential chum) that you will never try to steal her?
Interesting description of the snow flakes DM, sounds like you were hallucinating! You haven't been popping the wrong pills have you?
Gosh - I wouldn't mind an au pair that looks like that either! Even if I don't have children - surely one in those thermals could do the dishes and feed the cat while I eat bonbons and buff my nails?
Worry not DM, I would never do such a thing... and in any case, I live in a shoe box in Kensington, we don't have space for an au pair! (I am clearly neither as wealthy or influential as you imagine...)
Gosh my au pairs always had to have Sunday off. What on earth was I thinking?
Darling Rosie,
Well I must admit, I was rather hung over...
Sweet Aims,
She is mine, all mine. I am such a lucky girl! I may return her passport after a year (no promises though) and if you are very nice to me I may pass on her details!
Lovely Potty Mummy,
But I thought that you had a house in Cadogan Square, a house keeper, driver, dog walker, etc, etc, etc. In my head you are a young Ivana Trump but with substantially shinier hoisery!
Perfect Expatmum,
That is just what we tell them until they arrive at Gatwick Airport and we steal their passports - surely? They are lucky to be here, after all, at home her father is a coffin maker and owns his own toaster and two goats!
Cadogan Square? Much too British for Eurotrash such as ourselves...
Perfect Potty Mummy,
OHMYGOD! I had no idea... Please assure me that you shave your under-arm hair (gasp)?
DM, I don't know what type of Eurotrash you have been hobnobbing with but I assure you we are all as clean shaven as babies bottoms in our corner of South Kensington. (Under our arms, that is. Not... well, you know... down there. No, for that sort of thing you need to go to Belgravia...)
Potty Mummy dear friend,
We must organise a play date for our poppets. I am dying to hear how you know about the depilation situation in Belgravia!
Well, pardon me, but that was a conversation stopper!
Darling Frog,
Can I offer you a hot whiskey?
The corkscrew is over here, DM.
You should have said, you could have joined our dinner party.
I cooked a fab chicken curry with fresh lemon juice and coriander (no garlic, of course).
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