Sunday, 2 March 2008


On the domestic front, Shark, Squirrel and Tiger have had a big fight. Shark has had a Queen of the Night squeal and shouted that she hates Daddy, Mummy, her sisters, and, for good measure, everybody in the whole world. Then, spying the fact that mummy had put kiwi fruit slices on the table, stopped for a kiwi break before commencing with the observation that daddy does nothing ever but tell her off and that mummy has a big bum.

Just as well then, I tell them, that I have discovered it is Mother's Day, and now I expect three cards, a bunch of daffs, and chocolates which are not to have been eaten before I get to them. So quit the insults and get the crayons out.

It is just as well too, that last night I wrestled a quick visit from the 20 minutes before boarding the plane - in between five trips to the toilet and three to the cafe to buy bottled water and tut at the price of cheese sandwiches - when I sharply managed a solo dash to Barcelona duty free perfume department.

This morning I unwrap my reward for surviving. On Mother's Day, no less. And what's this? Hey, things could be going my way. Because in my haste I even bought Pour Femme and not Pour Homme.

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