The most hideous football boots ever made...

School returns and it’s all about the football boots…

OK – here’s the thing. My mother was a post war “waste not want not” type. When I was a kid, I had one pair of shoes. She didn’t believe in my having a separate pair of shoes for home.  Kind of embarrassing when you’re 14 and your school shoes are the black lace-up variety, similar to the ones nurses wore in the 1970’s!  What’s more, she believed in either making clothes, or buying “something sensible” that “would last”. 

So for years, I was subjected to: trousers with four inch turn ups, belted round the waist to stop them falling down; a school jumper that looked like a dress, until my final year, when I’d almost grown into it… almost; and home made, rust colour knickerbockers, which I wore whilst my friends were shoe-horning themselves into the tightest drainpipes from Top Shop. 

And so yesterday, I found myself sitting next to my grinning child in the shoe shop.  His expression worried me.  Like some demented, brainwashed, cult follower… he sat down next to me carrying an offensive pair of football boots!  The boots he was holding were so dreadful, I was actually, for once, lost for words.  Had they been designed by a blind person?  Or maybe just a colour blind person?  Or perhaps, they were designed as a joke, but the footballers were too dumb to get it…

I just don’t know how they came to be - for goodness sake, they're purple and yellow.... But that kid wanted those shoes.  I mean he really wanted them.  I could tell that he would find any reason to reject every other shoe in the shop.

So what was I to do?  I couldn’t help blurting out that they were, without a doubt, the most hideous football boots I had ever seen…  Strangely, my dislike of them seemed to make them even more desirable!!

I sat there looking at my converse trainers.  The same style of converse trainers I had so desperately wanted as a child – but had not been allowed.  I bought them a while ago, because I had always hankered after them as a child and now, as an adult, it was my choice whether I got them or not.  So I bloody well bought them.  And I don’t care if no one else likes them – because I like them.

And so, with a sigh, I decided that he should have them.  We had a little chat and made a deal.  The deal was that he can have the ones I hate – on the condition that I don’t have to pretend to like them…  he’s cool with that… In fact, more than that…. I think it actually adds to the pleasure!

Finally, we got home.  He proudly took the shoe box out of the car and ran to our neighbours house to show off his new boots.  A few of the other kids in the road appeared and all of them stared into the box. 

When I saw the look of pride in his face and the appreciative looks from his peers, I knew I had made the right decision.   And when he grows up, I hope he will remember them fondly.  They’re not practical and they won’t last… but by god, he’s going to enjoy wearing them.

Isn’t that what growing up is all about…?

The Unbearable Lightness of Being and things that make me "Ping"

Many years ago, in my late teens, before kids, when I had time to read books and did so avidly, I read a powerful novel:  The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera. 

That was a long time ago.  I can no longer remember the detail or even the names of the characters.  But what I do remember, is the meaning I took from the book:

How unbearable it is to live life, when it amounts to nothing. 

It struck a chord with me, because I have always had a deep rooted desire to find and achieve a ‘thing’ that makes my life amount to something.  

As a parent, I could claim that being a good mother is a ‘thing’ that amounts to something.  And in itself, it is.  But it’s just not ‘the thing’ I’m after.  It’s not the ‘thing’ that makes me ‘ping’ – so to speak!!!

I have no desire for fame.  I like my anonymity.  A fortune is always handy, but it’s not the end in itself. 

Being single again has focused my mind on the need to achieve this goal in life.  And I realise that focusing on this ‘goal’ is what is driving me forward. 

My writing is a large part of this and I am beginning to feel that I’m on the right track.  When I get feedback from my blog, when people are kind enough to contact me, because the thoughts I have put down in words have struck a chord with them, then I feel that I am beginning to amount to something. 

I think we all have this need.  What achieves it for us may vary hugely, but we all need it.

My blog needs to get bigger and I need to keep finding more readers and followers… but as I sit here today, knowing that this will be read in Arizona, Texas, Australia and Newcastle (and hopefully quite a few other places along the way) I feel that I may have found the thing that will ultimately make my life bearable.

Please keep reading….

Oh - just a quick one...  I discovered this woman on a friends' blog.  I'm really getting into her...  so I thought I'd share this with you...

GIVE ME A BREAK....

And so, this afternoon the boys were with their father.   Mid afternoon, the phone rings.

“We’re not far away.  Are you going to be in?” He asks. 

Well, yes actually, I was.  I was enjoying my afternoon break before the kids returned.

“Well, I thought I’d bring them back so we could play with the dog in the park.”  He continued.

OK.  Play in the park with MY dog.  Bring them back mid-afternoon, when I’m having what little time I have to myself.  Marvelous. 

But as I know the kids will be within earshot of him, I decide it’s not a great idea to say “No, I don’t want them back.”

And so they return.

We all go to the park together, because I know the dog will run home if I’m not there.

The ex-husband then proceeds to tell me how I should train my dog to drop her ball.

Well actually, she does drop the ball for me, because I’ve already trained her to do so.

Then a local dog walker appears with his dog and we get chatting.  And before you know it, my ex-husband is talking to them about MY dog as if it’s HIS.

Then, when my ex-husband moves away, the local man starts talking to me and refers to the ex-husband as “your husband”.

OK.  By this stage I want to scream.  This is MY afternoon.  I don’t get much of a break from the kids when it’s holiday time.  And my ex is being referred to as my husband, talking about my dog as if he owns it.  And then finally.  It’s time for him to go.

There’s mayhem in the house. The neighbours kids have joined us.  And before I know it, the eldest is in the garden with our neighbour’s son, spray-painting the scooter.  The house stinks of aerosol spray paint. 

I go to investigate.  I tell them to do it in the park.  He doesn’t listen, freaks out because a wasp has landed on the scooter and is about to try and kill the wasp with the spray paint.  I forcefully say “Don’t do that.  You’ll get the spray paint on the garden table.  Go to the park and do it there.  And ignore the wasp.”

Again, he doesn’t listen.  Instead, he freaks out because he thinks he’s going to get stung and drops the scooter.  I try and grab it before it falls and smears the BLACK spray paint on the table.  It hits the table anyway, but in the process I get the black paint on my NEW TOP.

Then I notice that someone has trodden in a pile of dog poo, which I haven’t had time to clear up out of the garden.  Haven’t had time, because the kids have been returned 2 hours early.

My afternoon of peace has turned into chaos.  And I start to scream…

“G E T   O U T!   G E T   O U T   O F   T H E   H O U S E   A N D   G O   T O   T H E  

P A R K!”

I have put my top in the washing machine.  I’m not too hopeful that the black spray paint is actually going to wash out of my NEW TOP.  Sorry, not sure if you got that it’s a BRAND NEW TOP.

What a lovely end to my afternoon…  And this is DAY ONE of my giving up smoking.  I really, really want a cigarette. 

But I have resisted.

Yours, VERY VERY VERY grumpily..

Lara Lakin

Celebrity and Heroism

And so it would appear that Celebrity Big Brother is upon us again…

Twitter is all a-Twitter about it, the tabloids will no doubt be full of endless commentary about who should or shouldn’t have been kicked out.  And then there will be the endless Jedward outfits.  (Apparently they’re making an appearance for a £1M fee – the boys I mean, not their outfits!).

But really.  No, really, seriously, why do people care? 

Now, I’m not going to go down the path of annihilating the characters of those who find it entertaining.  I will confess that there are occasions when I like to wind down watching drivel on the TV!  But, I accept that it is drivel.  I don’t try and pretend it’s anything more.  It is, quite simply ‘escapism’.

But I don’t think that’s how everyone watching CBB regards it. 

I find it alarming when young girls are impressed by the ‘celebrities’ they see on these programmes, and set out to emulate the plastic, fake tanned ‘stars’.  And I find the constant use of the world ‘celebrity’ rather nauseating.  According to the dictionary, celebrity is:  the state or quality of being widely honored and acclaimed.   But I’m at a loss to understand what these people have done to deserve such an accolade. 

Meanwhile, back in the real world, I have recently encountered someone who does not dress up in ridiculous outfits and may actually be able to sing… (that’s a pop at Jedward, keep up!). 

What he does on a daily basis, quietly, without the hubbub of TV cameras, makeup artists and an assortment of other ‘flunkies’, is probably more valuable than anything these people have done in a lifetime. 

This gentle, humble, kind man is a full time carer for his wife.  He doesn’t go around shouting and drawing attention to himself.   He just gets on with a life which is, frankly, quite a challenge.

Without his consent I would not wish to divulge too much, but he is a full time carer to his wife.  She was diagnosed with a degenerative illness within a year of their marriage.  It developed rapidly, and as a result, she is confined to a wheel chair and needs 24 hour care. 

He had to give up his career and move to an area where they did not have an established group of friends, in order to be near a specialist hospital.

From the details he's told me about his daily life, I am reminded that I am very lucky.  It reminds me not to moan about the trivial things I don’t have, and frankly don’t need.

What worries me about the ‘celebrity’ culture is that it does quite the opposite.  It creates ‘envy’ and a desire to have a ton of fakery (fake boobs, fake tan etc).  And a desire for “stuff”: bling jewellery; handbags; waxed perma-tanned boyfriend; etc.  None of which is in anyway likely to lead to real ‘happiness’. 

So, if a celebrity is the state or quality of being widely honored and acclaimed I cannot claim that this friend is a celebrity… 

However, the literary definition of “hero” is: to possess extraordinary qualities or to perform an outstanding act that helps others.  And he does that.  Every single day…  And for that he should be a celebrity!

Humanity, humility and friendship

Its strange where friendships can come from and the support that it gives in times of need.

Many years ago, when my mother was dying of cancer, I shared an office with a small group of young people.  Although we didn’t socialise outside work, we worked long hours and spent a lot of time together.  There was a lot of banter, laughter and hard work and it was a welcome respite from the trauma of my mothers’ illness.

Anyone who has been through the experience of having a close relative die of such a nasty illness, will know that it’s a roller-coaster of emotions.  This group of colleagues, despite their youth and lack of life experience, gave me a level of support I could never have imagined.  They let me know they were concerned for me, asked how things were going and somehow did all that without asking too much or upsetting me. 

Looking back on it now, I don’t know how I’d have got through it without them.  I don’t know whether they ever knew how much it meant to me, but I hope that they did.

And strangely, I think that it was because they were outside of my group of friends that I was more comfortable talking to them. 

Having come out the other side of a painful divorce, I see that a similar pattern occurred during that process.

I am sure that over the last few years there have been a few friends who have felt hurt that I did not always respond to their calls, didn’t see them as much as I did before, and maybe regarded this as a rejection of their friendship. 

It wasn’t.

It’s just that sometimes there are things we don’t want to discuss with those closest to us.  These close friends invariably know all the other characters in our life drama.  Inevitably, their views and feelings will be influenced by this and there is always the worry at the back of our mind, that something we tell them will be repeated.  In addition, if these friends have not had a similar experience, they cannot always understand our perspective.

And sometimes we need a friendship that is just about us.  “Me” as an individual.  Not as a mother, wife, daughter, sister or friend.  Just “Me” as a stand alone item. 

Recently, I have made a few new friends.  Some of these people live locally.  Others are followers of my blog or Tweeters.  And some of the more private conversations I have had with them has made me acutely aware, that I am not alone in my need for a friendship that is just about “Me”. 

Friends who don’t judge, who accept us at face value, who have either been through a similar experience, or have other issues which impact dramatically on their life and happiness.  These people all demonstrate a level of humanity, humility and kindness that, in the wake of my divorce, has restored my faith in the human race.

These friendships in no way belittle the established friendships we already have.  They are complimentary to them.

I hope that these people know just how much importance I place on their friendship and support.  And I hope that I am as good a friend to them, as they are to me.

Acts of Revenge. Do they really make you feel better?

I’ve never been into revenge myself…   

No really…!!!

But sometimes it can be just a teeny weeny bit cathartic. 

I admit to doing one of the following.  Only one - and I’m not telling you which one it is!  But it did then, and still does, make me smile to think of it…

So, herewith, my top ten favourite “terrible acts of revenge”!

Clean the toilet with their toothbrush – ensuring you get right under the rim.

Cook their food separately, ensuring they get lots of extra chilies.

Take their extra special wine and sell it on eBay.

Use your kids itching powder in their underwear.

Cut off one single arm from every favourite item of clothing.

Make them steak pie.  Use a tin of dog food and a bit of puff pastry.  Tell them you already ate!

Reset their computer back to factory settings.

Post their mobile number in local phone boxes, offering escort services.

“Accidentally” boil wash their favourite item of clothing – or just stick a red sock in their ‘whites’ wash.

Make them chocolate mousse – with a generous helping of laxative chocolate grated on top!

And remember... Revenge is a dish best served cold.  (A bit like chocolate mousse!)

How do you explain the riots to kids…?

Like most people in the UK, over the last couple of days I have been glued to the news, Twitter and the radio.  And as some of the violence has been almost on our doorstep, I have been very anxious about the security of my family.

Needless to say, nothing much gets past my two young, bright and impressionable kids.  In fact, it’s got to the point where the eldest is beginning to fry my brain with endless questions.  If I knew half the answers he expects of me, I could be the Met. Police’s chief strategist!

But I am, alas, just a regular punter… although I could teach David Cameron a thing or two about Public Relations!

So here I am, struggling to know how to explain it all to my kids. 

I’ve always been clear in my own mind that, wherever possible, you should be honest with kids and explain things clearly.  But what is happening in London now is so dreadful and the reasons behind it so complex, that frankly, it’s just not that easy.

My eldest is the most curious.  This morning I could see a slight glint of excitement in his eyes.  He knew something ‘big’ was going down.  Something big, taboo, slightly exciting and a bit scary – all at the same time.  Woah! 

He sat with me watching BBC News.  I wondered whether this was a good idea.  But heck. He’s old enough to sneak upstairs and watch it by himself if we don’t watch it together.  Needless to say, I missed half the reports because he was cross-questioning me throughout.

And I guess it’s just as well that we did watch together and discuss it, because by 2.00pm, I discovered there were plans to wreck our local shopping centre.  And I needed to buy food.

So, we piled into the car and raced down the road, only to be turned away, because the whole complex was being closed.  That would have been a hard one to explain if we hadn’t watched the news.  But it also made it more real.

More questions…

We returned home and I decided a distraction was needed.  I took my friend’s two kids and we all drove off to an indoor play centre, where they could burn off some steam in a safe environment. 

In the interim, my friend dashed off to the local health centre for an emergency appointment.

In the waiting room, she sat down next to two mothers with toddlers in tow.  She couldn’t help but overhear their conversation about the riots, it went something like this:

“Well, I dunno ‘bout you, but if it woz my kids out there, I’d tell ‘em to get a telly or a Blu-ray.”

“Yeah!  No point gettin’ clothes…”

Oh yes!  They were actually discussing what they would tell their kids to loot from shops, if only they were old enough.

Despite her considerable back pain – or maybe because of it, my friend got up and left.  She was too angry to even confront them.

As I drove home with four kids in the car, the conversation returned to the riots.  All four kids were worried about what route I would take and whether they would “see anything”.

Fortunately, we didn’t.  In fact, the roads were so quiet that we got home in record time and went straight up to my friend’s house for supper.

As planned, we ate quickly and got back home in good time.  We were effectively imposing a curfew on ourselves.  As I heard a siren racing by and the distant “thud thud” of helicopter blades, I double locked the front door and put the kids to bed - in the same room.  They asked to sleep together because, frankly, they’re scared.

I put them to bed two hours ago and they’re still awake.  They’re wondering whether someone is going to break into their house. 

And what can I say? 

When your kids have seen the front page of a daily newspaper and the image of a woman jumping from a burning building, it makes it hard to convince them that “everything’s going to be OK.”

Lets just hope that the police do a good job and get things under control.  I’d like my kids to have faith in the police and to live in a society where I can tell them:

“Don’t worry, if you’re ever scared or get lost – just ask a policeman [or woman!].”

But the sad thing is, as I sit here now, I would hesitate to say that to them.  I’m a law abiding, middle class mother, who fears that society has gone so badly wrong, that I really don’t know how this country is going to find a way out.

So, how do you explain the riots to children?  Don’t ask me.  I’m flummoxed.   

Watch out for women in their 40's

Many years ago, whilst chatting to a group of friends about marriage, divorce and affairs, I remember someone making the remark “watch out for women in their 40’s”.  I was in my mid-thirties at the time and it struck me as a curious remark.  I didn’t really get what it meant.

And then finally, I hit 40!  And all of a sudden – I got it!

Throughout my 20’s I was totally focused on my career.  I met my now ex-husband and got married.  We bought a house together and made plans for a family.

Like many women of my generation, I had my first child in my early 30’s and gave up my career to be a full time mother.  And so life ticked along.  I spent my days changing nappies, taking the kids to parties, making endless meals and clearing up after everyone.  Then, by the end of my 30’s life started to get easier.  The kids were more independent and off at school during the term time.  I had a chance to exercise and get fit again and started to wonder what to do with myself whilst the kids were at school.  Not just anything, but something meaningful.

During this period of time, I came to reflect on my whole life.  I realised that the sense of identity I had had during my 20’s had gone.  I was somebody’s daughter, somebody’s wife and somebody’s mother.  I was worn out and I’d had enough.

And so I decided it was time to focus on me. 

The problem was, my then husband didn’t seem to “get it”.  I had made his life very comfortable at home.  When he got back from work there was always a meal on the table.  The kids were well looked after, washed, teeth brushed and ready to play with “superdad” until he’d had enough and I took them to bed. 

I organised our social life, cooked for our friends, arranged our holidays and sorted out the car insurance.  But having had everything done for him on a domestic level for so long, these things I did so seamlessly had become invisible to him.  And because it was invisible, he didn’t see or value it.   

I started to think about things I could do.  Freelance work, setting up a small business, re-training.  I had lots of thoughts, but whatever it was going to be, it needed to be done my way and in my own time frame.

I talked to my ex-husband about the various ideas I had.  What I wanted was support and encouragement.  But what I got was an opinion. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea because…..”

“No, that won’t work because….”

“I think you should do xxx because….”

And so it went on.

My ex-husband really didn’t get it.  Like many men, he was at a stage of his career where he was the one giving the orders.  And when he got home, I found myself being spoken to like a low grade employee.  Having had me as his social and domestic flunky for so many years, he had forgotten that the woman he had married all those years ago had had her own career, her own opinions, the ability to make her own decisions – oh, and a brain.

And that’s when I started to rebel.  And the more I rebelled, the more he tried to rein me in and control everything.  It was as if I was an unruly member of his team, not obeying his rules.  And to him, that was clearly unacceptable.

Finally, after much soul searching and heartache my rebellion ended in divorce. 

I knew then that my ex-husband simply couldn’t let me be myself and set me free, within our marriage, to regain my lost independence, feelings of self-worth, and identity.  Divorce was not a decision I took lightly – but now, a few years down the line, I have begun to get my ‘old self’ back.  Countless friends have commented on the change they’ve seen in me.  And friends who have only known me since I have had children, have started to see a whole other side to my personality. 

I feel very sad that I couldn’t have had this within my marriage – and that is why I decided to write this all down.

Men, whose wives stay at home when they have children, have pretty much the same weekday life after children.  Hang on, I shouldn’t say that…  there are of course a great number of men who have given up their career path to be the full time child carer.  What I should say is, the person in a marriage who stays in their career has continuity in their life.  The partner who gives up work and stays at home, has their life completely changed.  When that person at home gets to the point where the kids are older and the chaos of young children has subsided, there is a point at which they want something for themselves again.

If people understood this better, I really believe it could save a lot of marriages. 

So, watch out for women (or men!) in their 40’s.  Listen to what they have to say.  Remember what it was about them when they were younger that drew you to them and allow them to reclaim their identity.

Respecting your "ex"

Woo hoo – the kids are back…

I was up with the larks yesterday morning, to collect the kids from the airport on their return from a week away with their Dad and my ex-in-laws. 

As I greeted the kids with hugs and kisses I had a sense that something wasn’t quite right. 

We piled into the car, ex-husband included, as I had offered to drop him off on the way home.  And that’s when it all started to unravel. 

“I think I ought to tell you” he started “we had a bit of an incident yesterday with my parents.”

Knowing, as I do, that my former in-laws behavior is more than a little erratic and bizarre, this didn’t come as too much of a surprise. 

It transpired that the ex-mother-in-law (EMIL) had given money to one of the children and not the other.  Like most kids, mine have a very strong sense of fair play.  So the eldest told his Dad about the money.  The ex confronted his mother about it, and it all kicked off.

Without going into the nitty gritty, the EMIL started to scream at the eldest for telling his father.  She swore at him and was very verbally abusive.  The ex leapt to his defense and an almighty screaming match broke out. 

The whole incident was very shocking to the children.  The EMIL’s behavior is, without a doubt, outside the parameters of ‘normal’ behavior.  And her lack of rational thinking makes it hard for a child to understand and cope with.

The ex was so upset by the incident, that he packed the kids and their suitcases into the car and they left to spend their last night in a hotel near the airport.

Quite apart from the fact that this was a terrible ending to their holiday, it was a shocking way to see an adult behave.

I have been on the receiving end of the EMIL’s behavior on countless occasions over the years.  I have personally found it very traumatic.  The ex’s childhood was peppered with incidents of her erratic and abusive behavior and I have always done my best to be supportive of him.

The whole incident has left me in a terrible dilemma.

I do not want my kids to turn round to me in 20 years time and complain that I didn’t let them get to know their Grandparents.  But I do not EVER want them to be subjected to this type of abuse again. 

So, I dropped the ex off at home, and decided that it was not appropriate to have ‘the conversation’ with him in front of the kids.

As I drove home, I realized that the key to it all is the ex’s understanding of and attitude to his responsibilities.  I do not want to demand that the ex does not take the kids to see his parents.  He has to come to this conclusion himself.  And from a legal standpoint, I’m not sure that I could force the issue even if I wanted to.

Finally, I got the kids home, to discover that they both had severe sunburn.  The EMIL had told them not to use sunscreen and the ex had not over-ruled.  I was horrified and on the verge of tears of frustration.  Again, the ex had tried to brush it off as “not that bad”.  Well, as it happens, it is bad.  Really very bad.

And so we unpacked the suitcases.  Half the clothes were missing and what was in the suitcases was either wet or dirty.

By this stage, I was about to spontaneously explode.

There I was, presented with two very serious issues (abusive behavior and failing to protect the children from sun damage) and one less serious issue of disrespectful behavior (failing to return the kids belongings in the condition that they were given).

I am glad that he took a stand against his mother, and removed the kids from their house on the last night of their holiday.  But I have to question his decision to take them there in the first place, knowing that the final outcome could have been predicted.

As I am no longer his wife, I feel powerless to influence his decisions.  I feel like I’m walking a tight rope.  I want to make my feelings known without alienating him. 

He needs to be “pulled up” about his disrespectful behavior towards me, but more importantly he needs to accept that his parents’ behavior towards the children could be irrevocably damaging. 

I cannot begin to explain my frustration because I know there is not a great deal I can do.  There are some things in life that people have to work out for themselves… and I fear that this is one of them.

Embarrassing doggies....

When I finally moved out of the ‘marital home’ just before my divorce came through, I decided it was a great time to finally get the kids a couple of dogs.

They had been asking for a pet for ages.  We’d done the fish tank stuff (they’re gross, they eat each other!) and I said a big fat “no” to any member of the rodent family.  Sorry Hamster lovers, but I don’t like creatures that look like rats, run under the floorboards, and chew their way through electric cables!

And so, finally, we got the dogs. 

They have been absolutely fantastic.  They were easy to house train, the kids adore them, and when I’m on my own in the house, I don’t feel alone.

In addition, through the dogs, I have met a number of local people who have become good friends.  And so last night, when one of these new friends invited me over for dinner, and the dogs were invited too, I was really excited. 

As I walked to my friend’s house, the dogs had a quick pee on the grass outside!  Great, I thought.  Now I don’t have to worry about ‘little accidents’.  But I was also a bit worried.  The little dog was recently attacked by two dogs.  It has made her very nervous and she becomes aggressive when she feels threatened.

For the first ten minutes, everything was fine.  The little dog thought it was all terribly exciting to be in a new house with new smells and I sat down to enjoy a glass of wine.  And then, it all started to go terribly wrong…

First it was the cat.  Having defended herself by boxing my dog with her claw, the poor cat had to be put into the bedroom for both their safety.  Then, my dog decided to turn its attention on my friend’s adorable and gentle dog. 

First she tried to hump him.  He wasn’t impressed!  So he growled at her to give her a warning.  And that’s when world war three broke out.  My friend and I separated the dogs and her poor dog had to join the cat in the bedroom for safety.

You’d have thought that was enough excitement for one evening.  But as it happens, my dog had barely started.  Throughout dinner, the little dog was acting like she was on speed, hurtling in and out of every room she had access to.  And then… she pee’d once my friend’s sofa, twice on the floor and finally… as I saw her scuffling out of the room, I smelt an unpleasant odor.  The source of this pungent smell was in a little pile in the corner of the room.

Despite my friend’s protestations that hers is a ‘dog friendly’ home and ‘not to worry’, I was mortified.  I dragged the dogs home, having apologized countless times, wondering whether I’d be better off taking the dog to Battersea Dogs home, or trying to sell her on eBay!

Of course, there would be meltdown if the kids came back to find their dog missing.  So, I guess I’ll just have to investigate the local dog trainers. 

As I write this, she is of course lying quietly in her bed… looking like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth… eBay will have to wait a little longer.