Only a few more days and we go on holiday! Am so excited I can barely type. We’re going up to Northumberland and will be staying at THE most magical place. Then we come back, I launch into a flurry of washing and then, ye gods, term starts.
I am feeling rather smug actually as, for once, I am pretty much on top of the uniform thing. James is moving up to senior school (AAAGHHHH) and I was terrified that the uniform list would be crucifying but actually it wasn’t too bad. I think schools are beginning to realise that parents have enough on their plates without having to take out a mortgage for blazers and boaters.
I can clearly remember the look on my poor mother’s face when my uniform list came in. I was only going to the local girls’ grammar but by heck there were three pages of it. Actually (I kid you not) there was even a boater. The skirt was a kilt - rather a nice tartan actually. The shirts were a particular shade of sky blue and came from a particular shop in Twickenham. No wonder she turned white.
Actually I think there is some kind of bias against girls because, as we pitched up at James’ school shop to buy our gear, I noticed that the girls still had to get special skirts and, yup, particular blouses while the boys were let off with any old grey trousers and white shirts. And halleluyah for that. I usually top up our kit at M&S but a few days ago I got an email from Tesco asking if I’d like a big bag of school uniform.
Naturally I said, ‘Nah, that’s okay, mate, I’d rather buy it. Give it to someone more deserving.’
Okay, so how many of you believed that? Even for a moment? Yeah, thought not. Suffice to say, I bit off its arm (if an email can have an arm).
Anyhow, at this point (biting the arm of the email) I had to walk away from my PC (okay, lunge) to extract my bra from the Soul Puppy’s piranha sharp teeth. Naturally this would be the precise moment that the delivery man chose to arrive (trying not to laugh as the SP and I had a tug-of-war with my industrial strength underwear) and handed me THE most enormous parcel, all tied up with a big black bow.
Oh god I LOVE parcels. Even parcels with, ahem, boys school clothes in them. But still – one gets that little frisson that accompanies any parcel (along with the random yet hopeful thought that maybe there might be a bar of chocolate stuck in there somewhere). Alas no (as Dumbledore would have said) but there were pens and pads alongside the clothes and (serious smile) a voucher for me to buy something online at Tesco who (who’d of thought) actually have a whole bunch of designer stuff now. Mind you what’s the betting I end up buying stuff for James? Adrian can’t understand why I no longer buy myself clothes but get armloads for the boy but really it’s simple. I can buy something knowing it will a) fit and b) look good. *sigh*).
Meanwhile, back at the parcel, I’m pretty impressed. The shirts, in particular, are good quality and the jumper is ace. Must add that this is the F&F Signature range. Anyhow, have a butcher’s.....
They’ve also asked if I’d like to nominate another blogger who might like to receive their largesse. Didn’t take me long to think of Milla – partly because her younger son, F11, is also off to big school but also because if anyone can make buying school uniform hilarious, it’s Milla and I rather yearn to read what she’ll make of it. So, Fairy TescoToes – please send a parcel to dear Milla (tip: if you want to make her REALLY happy, sneak in a few bottles of wine – she’s rather partial to Tesco Finest pinot if I recall).
Now all I have to do is sew on a few more labels. A monumental task as the school demands (for some inexplicable reason) that kit be labelled in HUGE type. It’s at this point that I wish I hadn’t married a bloke with a stupidly long double-barrelled name. James’ name tags are about six inches long (honestly, no exaggeration).
As I stab the needle in yet again, I narrow my eyes and feel a flash of unsisterly loathing for the mothers of Tom Hunt and Ann Green.
btw, of course it was only a question of time before this happened......