The roar of the greasepaint and the smell of the crowd

Ladies and gentlemen, it's Blind Date!!
And here is your host, Miss Nobby's Missus!!

Oh yes, that was me last Wednesday night, sporting a lovely pencil skirt, tight jacket and an extremely dodgy Liverpool accent, bringing the joys of London Weekend Television to the parents and students of our school in Budapest. It was a Tudor version of the popular show, where Henry VIII, aka the Headmaster, had to choose between his six wives, played by various other teachers, much to the delight of all the students who weren't expecting it.

I confess to a lorra ad-libbing, chuck, and I really did enjoy myself, mincing around the stage. I'm not sure how much of the sarcastic humour scanned to the Hungarian audience, who so don't do irony:

'Contestant number 6, Kate, has been married twice so surviving fellas is Parr for the course for her...'

but we did get a lorra laffs.

Poppet and me did not laugh at a different show yesterday, we just stared open mouthed in awe at the amazing Budapest Opera House and a stunning performance of The Nutcracker. It was a wonderful Christmas treat from our lovely neighbour who risked life and limb in driving snow to come with us and sit amongst the ridiculously dressed up and outrageously behaved little darlings and their mothers.

Given that it was about minus 7 degrees and eleven o'clock in the morning I confess I passed over the floor length taffeta, sparkly shoes and diamond tiara, opting instead for tights, woolly trousers, vest, t-shirt, jumper, cardie and my comfy snow boots. However I was in the huge minority, why on earth would you pass up on the bling just because you might freeze your bits off on the journey? You never saw anything like it and I am proud that my little girl whispered to me,

'You'd never buy me clothes like that would you Mummy?' as another satin and lace froo-froo puff-ball flounced past us.

The only other two children who were dressed almost normally were Little Miss Loudmouth and her sister Miss Kick-That-Seat who were unfortunately sitting directly behind us in the stalls. Their parents weren't only ignorant of the unspoken dress-code, they also hadn't got a clue about keeping their kids under control or whispering during a live ballet performance such that I turned round to them at the end of the second act and told them they were unbelievable.

Cripes, I'm such an old stick in the mud now that school's out! I am supposed to have three weeks away from small people climbing up my legs, calling my name over and over again, spilling drinks and bodily fluids all over me, but I think I've taken it to heart a little too much expecting all kids to be seen and not heard. Jeez, maybe that stint in France is starting to kick in?

Anyway, I'm still partially on duty as I am interviewing a five-year old tomorrow morning before dashing off to the dentist with Poppet, whose temporary crown just fell off. She was amazingly calm about it, I'm immensely proud. I can't wait to show Pickle round the surgery, he's going to love looking at all the machines.

He bought himself a Robot yesterday which 'walks' along the floor avoiding objects as it goes and he has gone all Blue Peter on us creating mazes and rat runs for putting it through its paces. He reckons he's going to invent robots that will bring him snacks to the sofa so he never has to get up from the TV or Wii ever again. And he still hasn't given up on building a 'shelter' under the hill in our back garden, if the landlord will agree. I can just see him bombarding this dentist with questions tomorrow as he rebuilds this tooth again.

Second thought, better pack a DS.

Finally tonight I would like to annouce that Tiggy, our wonderful woofer, can count. Nobby discovered this amazing talent and I am just so sorry That's Life isn't still on the air so we could show our mutt off to Esther Rantzen.

Every night before we go up to bed Nobby lets the dog outside for a weesht then heads off to the cupboard to get her a bedtime treat. I think I've mentioned before that she only has to sense him walking towards the hallway and she makes for her bed like a cork out of a bottle.

Well it seems, ever the numbers man, he always gets her three biscuits and hands them over one at a time. And this smart pooch now takes the first one and puts it down in front of her and looks up for another one. She takes the second one and puts it down and waits for another. Only when she has two in front of her and the third one in her gob does she start eating. Amazing.

At this rate we just need the kids to come up with a double act and we'll shortly be performing at a theatre near you.

My Boys

I forgot to include a Lesson for Nobby last time.

It was such a lovely romantic evening, watching TV with a bottle of wine and a few candles. Until one candle burned too low and set fire to the plastic Christmas decorations round its base. I was shutting down my computer at the time, luckily Nobby noticed it and called me in that slightly higher-pitched than normal voice with an edge of panic to it. Actually all he said was 'Aaaargh!' or words to that effect so it took me a second to clock the belching smoke and growing flames in the corner of the room. As I sprang into action to fetch a wet tea towel, Nobby attempted to move it away from the surrounding ornaments and decs which were all in imminent danger.

Not as much danger, however, as poor Nobby's finger, which caught a big drip of molten Christmas decoration - how on earth he managed to set the candles down safely, run to the kitchen, shove my tea towel aside and thrust his hand under the tap I'll never know, his finger's quite a mess. So Lesson 4 (Nobby): leave your burning ornaments where they are and fetch a bucket of water.

Thank goodness for my recent First Aid course. I opted to leave out the recommended introduction:

'Hello. My name is Your Missus and I'm a trained Emergency Responder. Can I help you?'

and went straight for 'Sit down, shut up and put your hand in this bowl of water.'

He's now sporting a fetching bandage, he's exempt from washing up but he has to shower with a plastic bag on his hand. Well, it's something to talk about in the office.


My other boy made an interesting pronouncement the other morning. Apparently they were going to do some cooking in school. Pickle declared he definitely wanted to learn how to cook because,

'When I'm grown up, I'll do all the cooking so my wife won't have to.'

He said this as he finished his morning weesht in the upstairs toilet - without lifting the seat and without flushing -before dropping his PJs on the floor and heading down for brekkie. Mmm, yes, I muttered, your wife won't have time to cook while she's picking up your clothes, flushing the loo and cleaning the bathroom so if you don't want to starve, yeah go for it!

Lessons of the week

Lesson 1 (for Poppet): When messing about in front of the mirror instead of going to bed when Mummy has told you to, always wear a gumshield. Especially when performing contortionist tricks which involve trying to wrap your legs round your arms whilst standing on your hands. You never know, you may fall over and you're either going to land on your arse... or your face. And if your face makes contact with the drawer handles in front of you, you may chip a tooth.

Yup, we've had another 'oh shit' moment from the her ladyship. I always thought the boy would be the one to have us rushing to emergency rooms late at night, but actually Poppet is the one who breaks pieces of herself and last night it was two thirds of her front tooth.

You never heard screaming like it.

I got straight onto the phone to my Uncle in Cornwall - I think I only phone him for denstistry questions lately. Long story short, much wailing and gnashing of severly shortened teeth later, Poppet and I made an 11pm visit to a dentist recommended by a friend and he was able reassure us that the tooth was probably salvagable without root canal work at this stage and, with the help of a beautiful assistant otherwise known as Nobby's missus (all the nurses had sensibly gone home to bed) he proceeded to apply a temporary crown so poor Poppet wouldn't look a total Fang the next day.

I have to say, if you're going to wreck your teeth, do it in Budapest. Amazing.

Lesson 2 (for Pickle): When Mummy has been up until one in the morning with a traumatised daughter, she won't be firing on all cylinders getting all your ducks in a row for you next morning. Therefore, it might be better to think about picking up a coat for the minus six degrees snowy weather BEFORE you arrive on the school premises.

My son looks very fetching in my car travel blanket, though I swear the coat would have been much trendier, after all the dosh we paid for it. This is the same boy who made it all the way to a birthday party climbing trees in the Buda hills before realising he wasn't wearing any shoes. You'd have thought the ritual humiliation of having to wear his sister's spare PINK trainers for the entire party would have rammed the message home that one ought to check one's footwear and out garments before entering the car, but no.

It'll take a lot more than a sledgehammer to get that message installed.

Lesson 3 (for Nobby): and I have said this before - NO YOU CAN'T WIN.
You married a woman, there is no such thing as 'winning', be it choosing the right gift for a birthday or examining the decisions taken in an attempt to fix your daughter's broken tooth.

Deal with it.

So ends the sermon for this evening.
I'll tell you about my thespian performance some other time.

Just say a quiet 'yippee!!' for me at 14h GMT+1 tomorrow when school ends for three weeks!!!!!