Look What I Got...

My brother recently sent me an email with the exact same title as this entry. The attached picture was of a shiny red car. Don't ask me what make or model it was, I am so dumb when it comes to cars and I am not ashamed to admit it. Much as I love Top Gear and a weekly dose of Jeremy Clarkson humour, I just don't get it. As long as it has four wheels and something to steer with it's just another car to me. But Bruv was clearly very proud so here's a quick congratulations. 'Congratulations, Bruv!' (He's also getting a 40th birthday next month; is there any connection? I'll check with his girlfriend whether he's also had a new haircut and bought a whole new wardrobe in case we're looking at a full-blown mid-life crisis here...)

Well, I am far too young for a mid-life crisis but clearly some mental aberration occurred on the weekend because look what I bought:

OhMyGod.

As if I didn't have enough going on at the moment, what with a daughter with a broken leg and a son with new and emerging allergies, I fell for a dog. It's more true to say, however, that the dog fell for Nobby and him for her... I tell you, it was love in that refuge. So 'Tiggy', as she is now known, is gradually becoming part of the family. She's been here 2 nights so far and stayed downstairs without complaining the first night... then had me up until 2am last night repeatedly having to take her back down to her own bed. Oh dear. I confidently told the woman at the refuge that I have had a dog before. It's now dawning on me that in reality my parents had a dog whilst I was still living with them and I didn't have to take part in any of the settling in or training processes. Rose and I were only last week discussing how we seem to need more and more to raise these children 'The Woodhouse Way' given the way our sons are constantly throwing themselves about the place making us yell 'sit!' at them several times a hour. But for all that practice it seems I still have a lot to learn. And it all looks so straightforward on Dog Borstal! I've only recently adjusted to carrying a handbag to accommodate all the paraphernalia I seem to need for the children these days and now I have added a dog-walking bag with the long lead, reward treats and poo-bags inside. Can I ask, if Tiggy and Nobby are so loved up why is it I have had to pick up all the dog-poos so far and Nobby is getting off scot-free? Surely she wants to offer him a big steaming pile of dung as a sign of affection? Or is she trying to put me in my place, I wonder. Watch this space for updates.

Meanwhile, we've finally had some visitors at the Nobby and Me household - my sister and her husband popped over at the weekend for the France v Argentina rugby match (3rd/4th place play-off). They arrived on Thursday night, just as France was kicking off it's other sporting passion, a public transport strike. Previously our local suburban line has never been affected but I think the powers-that-be have been reading my Blog about my unending run-ins with Sod's Law and so this time not one train arrived at or left our local station for 4 days straight. I had to go to La Defense at 9 o'clock at night to rescue the pair of them on Thursday. That was 'interesting' as it's a concrete jungle surrounded by ring-roads with no escape routes. Nightmare. Getting to the match was much simpler on Friday but what a shame about the result. Still at least I had some voice left for shouting at the TV on Saturday for the England game. I'm not sure why we've descended into rugby frenzy. We spent our 8 year wedding anniversary squished like sardines into the local English pub to watch the semi-final. Hardly the usual romantic night out, although we did go for a meal afterwards - at the local curry house. Still, it's been fun; my family knows how much I love a good shout.

My sister has also been dashing straight from work to the pubs to watch the games. She was meeting her hubby at a pub in Kensington for the semi-final and he sent her a text telling her where to find him when she got to South Kensington tube. When she got there, however, there were no pubs in sight; because he was in West Kensington (and had clearly had too many beers already). When she finally caught up with him she told him loudly and in no uncertain terms what a muppet he was, and let's face it she had written proof, having saved his text. The pub owner overheard and offered her a free pint to make up for it. So the moral of this story is that nagging your husband loud and long in public does occasionally reap benefits so we should all make sure we do it.

One more titbit before I have to sign off and dash out for the next school-run - with Tiggy in tow of course because I'm not confident I can leave her alone in the house yet having watched her start chewing on a table leg right in front of Nobby and me last night! Goodness knows what she'd get up to left all alone. So far, touch wood and whistle, she is ok in the car, which is a blessing since she'll be doing the 7 hour drive to the UK with us every so often, once I have her passport sorted. Mr Sod may have finally missed a trick. Both dogs we had when I was a kid had to be drugged senseless for car journeys unless we wanted to be mopping up sick the whole way. So, the other day I was discussing potential meals with the children when I realised that I didn't have any ketchup left if they wanted chips (as they usually do). Pickle pipes up with

'That's ok Mum, you can use that sauce called Barbara'. I was slightly confused by this and assumed it was something to do with having discovered the previous evening that the sugar here is called 'Daddy's' as he'd been able to read the icing sugar label whilst dowsing his crepes.

'What sauce is that then?' I asked.

'You know, Mummy, the brown one called Barbara that you put on my hot dogs,' he replied.

'Er, do you mean barbeque sauce, Pickle?'

'Yes! That's the one.'