Diary of a Mummy Misfit #1

by Amanda Egan

  Start to think of our fund raising idea for ‘CCL’ - considering school recipe book.

  Book a face painter - suggested by a mother who has had absolutely no involvement with the fair and no desire to help in any way.

  Was very brave and took the bull by the horns - called Gestapo and arranged to meet with her and her cronies (3 of them including the Gnome) to discuss food tomorrow. Best to get it out of the way or I’ll just keep putting it off.

  PM

  Max had us in hysterics tonight after filling us in on stories about the kids’ packed lunches. Mia had apparently been telling the children on her table that she isn’t allowed anything with a fat content over five or sugar of any sort so she won’t be a fat teenager. Also, Sebastian takes sushi which was described by Max as ‘very pretty looking but stinky and yucky’ when he was offered a taste.

  And Mia takes raw runner beans and ‘grass’ (never discovered what it really was!) for her playtime snack and drinks an ‘energy booster’ because it’s good for her skin.

  He then asked us what the fat content of his tuna sandwich, pretzels and banana was because he quite liked Mia and didn’t want her to think he was unhealthy.

  He saw me putting the parsley in our salad for later and asked if he could take some for his snack because then he might be able to share it with Mia. Love has obviously struck early.

  It would seem the lunch box wars have begun - cucumbers at dawn.

  Must give careful consideration to Max’s lunch content or he’ll be labelled ‘toxic’ before you can say ‘mung-bean’.

  Thursday 4th September

  Met Gestapo and her ‘Mafiosa’ at the Gnome’s at ten.

  Was warned by Fenella that she’d heard they were definitely the core of the mothers who wanted CCL abolished. After the Gnome’s outburst at the last meeting she hadn’t moved her kids to another school as threatened. Rumour had it she was determined to stick it out and do all she could to stop the fundraising and oust the ‘charity cases’.

  It was a meeting I really wasn’t looking forward to. Fenella would have come with me for safety in numbers but she was meeting with the foodie and leather people I’d contacted yesterday.

  I’d definitely drawn the short straw.

  The Gnome welcomed me into her hideous house - interior designed to the extent of removing any soul it may once have had - with massive ‘works of art’ which appeared to be blobs of paint-splattered cat litter.

  Her two henchmen were already installed at a huge table in the kitchen - notes and brochures spread around them. Neither acknowledged my presence. Gestapo was too busy feeding a croissant to the rat in the bag and the other mother (who I recognised as Stick Insect) was busy filing her already perfectly French manicured talons, ready for the kill.

  When they did eventually deign to recognise that I was in the room, it was with a swift head to toe assessment. Assume this was to confirm that I was definitely out of their league. After all, I live in a ‘little hice’!

  The conversation didn’t start well as I was offered a seat and the usual Earl Grey or Elderflower.

  Gestapo: “So, Elizabeth isn’t it?” (No it’s not. Not even on my birth certificate) “I take it we have you on side with this wretched CCL business?”

  Stick Insect: “Yes. We couldn’t possibly be involved in the food organisation if any of the profits would be used for such purpose.”

  The Gnome: “Of course, that needs to be made very clear from the outset.”

  Felt I needed to let them know where I stood on the matter.

  “I’m afraid I don’t oppose CCL. I think it’s a very worthy cause but profits from the Christmas Fair won’t be going to it. Only those from whichever fund raising idea Fenella and I decide on in conjunction with the fair will go to CCL.”

  Gestapo: “Well, that definitely won’t have our support. Will it gels? Frankly, Elizabeth, I’m surprised at you. It must be so hard for you to see your child through a private education but you don’t ask for handouts, do you?”

  Bloody cheek! I don’t know how I kept my cool but knew there was no point in showing myself up by stooping to her level. Managed to employ a little of Max’s quiet dignity and continued, “That’s not really what we’re here to discuss today. So perhaps we should get on with the issue in hand, the food.”

  Fenella and I had thought that hiring a good quality hot dog stand and an oven for jacket potatoes would be a good idea - they’d been a great success with kids and adults in the past and the mark-up was excellent.

  The Mafiosa had different ideas.

  600 smoked salmon and cream cheese bagels (made by their nannies on the morning of the fair) and 600 whole-wheat tomato and anchovy pizzas (made and frozen by the nannies in the weeks leading up to the fair). Slave labour lives in South West London thanks to the upper-middle classes.

  Voiced my concerns that (a) 600 of anything seemed a little excessive - we’re a school of 140 children! And (b) was it really the type of food that would sell? Our target audience was primarily the children and I couldn’t see many relishing a menu like that.

  Was quickly poo-pooed and told that their calculations were fine - people got very hungry at the fair and grandparents often came along too, so that boosted the figures - and if the children were hungry enough they’d have to go for the healthy options. Hot dogs and jacket potatoes, indeed!

  Realised I was fighting a losing battle and said I’d discuss their ideas with Fenella and they could also present them at the next meeting.

  Left swiftly, only to hear Gestapo saying, “Perhaps we should also sell the ‘Energy Booster’ drink I give Mia.”

  So, Mia’s her daughter? Suddenly it was all beginning to make perfect sense!

  Friday 5th September

  Fenella and I met to discuss the outcome of our separate meetings.

  Her foodie man was perfect - delicacies that no one ever knows what to do with, beautifully presented to gather dust on your shelves and at extortionate prices. Ideal for Manor House mummies.

  The leather stall was also a hit - jewel encrusted bags and belts, made to specification. No two designs the same.

  Fenella’s day had been a success and she was eager to hear about mine. She couldn’t believe the Mafiosa’s rudeness and gave me a good telling off for letting them get away with it. “Sod dignity, Lib. They treated you appallingly and you just let them get away with it. Good grief, if I’d been there they’d have got the sharp end of my tongue.”

  Loved her reaction when I told her their food plans.

  “Fuckwits! I’ve really heard it all now - how totally up themselves can they get?”

  Fell about hysterically when we checked my email for any fair updates.

  There was one from Gestapo which read:

  ‘Elizabeth,

  Further to our discussions the food committee would like to confirm the following menu:

  Smoked salmon and cream cheese bagels - £5.00

  Tomato and anchovy pizzas - £4.00

  Mulled wine - £3.50

  Earl grey - £2.00

  Energy drink - £3.50

  Our calculations show that we should make a profit in the region of £4,000 and we look forward to having our proposal accepted at the next meeting.’

  Fenella was spluttering wildly. “£4,000 profit? That’s almost as much as the whole school fair usually makes. They’re bloody barking.”

  Agreed to let it lie until the next meeting, hoping it would be thrown out of court.

  Couldn’t help thinking about the poor nannies if the idea does go ahead - maybe there’ll be a mutiny and the Mafiosa would be left high and dry.

  Now that would prove to be an interesting headline:

  “MELTDOWN IN SOUTH WEST LONDON AS YUMMY MUMMIES LEFT TO FEND FOR THEMSELVES.”

  Saturday 6th September

  Max didn’t get up until 09.30 - unheard of for him but he was shattered from his first week at school.

  Thankfully, he loves it and seems oblivio
us to any snobbery or one-upmanship that goes on. Any actual malevolence is limited to the parents but the divide does manifest itself in innocent playground conversation.

  Just yesterday, Mia asked him why he doesn’t have a nanny. Their teacher, Mrs Chaney, had heard Max answer “Because my mummy loves me enough to look after me herself, of course!” Mrs Chaney said he hadn’t meant it in a nasty way, it was just the obvious answer as far as he was concerned, but it had sent Mia off with a puzzled look on her face, obviously questioning the depth of her mummy’s love.

  Wouldn’t have wanted to be in Gestapo’s Manolo’s when Mia got home last night.

  Sunday 7th September

  Went to the park. (For a change).

  Had Nic & Rick and F&J around last night so we’re a little on the fragile side. (For a change).

  Fenella had suggested that Nic bring the starter, she’d do the main and I’d make an ‘MG’ pud - nice cheap evening, just what we need.

  Ended up playing ‘saucy charades’ which bordered on the disgusting.

  Fenella, Nic & Rick digressed into a graphic conversation about Fenella’s regular trips for colonic irrigation. N&R were besides themselves with excitement, wanting to hear every last detail of what paraphernalia went where and graphic descriptions of the expulsion.

  More anal reference and innuendo than Ned and Josh were comfortable with, which resulted in them both looking slightly queasy.

  For a moment I feared we might see a repeat appearance of my ‘Peaked Meringues’.

  Evening ended with Nic, Rick and Fenella waxing lyrical about Pritesh’s pert buttocks and kissable lips.

  Hope I don’t end up with a repeat appearance of my Delhi Delight dream - it knocked me for six for days.

  Monday 8th September

  And so the second week of the autumn term begins - amazing how few mothers I saw at the school gates this morning. Nearly all nannies, dads or car shares. Must have felt they’d fulfilled their motherly duties by settling their little ones in last week and it was time to get the most out of their gym memberships or hired help.

  Starting to adapt to not having Max around during the day - feels really weird but have so much to get on with and knowing he’s happy makes it so much easier.

  Mrs S has finally stopped pickle production and is working on her presentation and display - lots of jewelled table cloths and dried chilli garlands. “My Pritesh says I need to set the stage for my goods and, with his successful emporium, he is very much knowing what he is talking about, Libbybeta.”

  Fenella called after school drop-off to say that Todd had been in hysterics as he’d forgotten what fun he’d had last week and it all seemed scary again. Luckily it was ‘Max to the rescue’ again and he’d taken Todd’s hand and reminded him how they could play with the Lego until ‘circle time’.

  Discussed our plan of action for the committee meeting tomorrow night and hoped we were prepared enough for our first official meeting with all reps and staff.

  Fenella finished with, “I hear they have wine in the staff room for these evening meetings so I’ve booked us a cab. If it all goes arse up, at least we won’t remember it in the morning!”

  Tuesday 9th September

  Spent most of the day either scanning my notes or practising my spiel for tonight’s meeting.

  The rest of the day was spent on the loo - my constitution doesn’t cope well with nerves and I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite so out of my depth.

  It’s not that I don’t think that Fenella and I will do a decent job. I just feel so inadequate in other ways - salary, house, holidays, clothes, shoes, handbags, dog - need I go on? Ned keeps telling me that we’re paying our way so we’re equal to all of them when it comes to the education of our children.

  Wonder if I’ll feel that when I’m standing there in my M&S/Oxfam combination?

  Although the look I have planned for tonight is a good one - kind of confident, arty and individual.

  Can guarantee no one else will be wearing it anyway. Which must be a constant worry when most Manor House mothers frequent the same designer boutiques.

  Now that’s one worry I’ll never have to deal with.

  Wednesday 10th September AM

  Fenella and I had emergency coffee meeting - partly to deal with our hangovers but also to come to terms with the bloody-mindedness of some of the women we’d had to deal with last night.

  ‘Shaaaron’, as Chair, had absolutely no control over the proceedings whatsoever and a meeting that should have taken an hour ran on for over two. The poor teachers - just what they need at the end of a school day.

  Digression was certainly the tone of the night. Along with “Listen to me because I’m so important” and “I’m going to disagree with everything that’s said because I’ve only got a nanny and children to get home to because my husband works every bloody hour that God sends and is never in the country and I’M JUST FEELING A BIT AAAUURGHHH!”

  Half the things we’d intended to get sorted for the fair got sidelined, as mothers used the opportunity to bring up totally unrelated issues not listed on the agenda we’d received from Poo, the committee secretary.

  - “Why can’t the school provide a cooked lunch or at least soup? The nanny’s sick of preparing packed lunches”

  - “Could Harrods provide more durable trousers? We’d be more than happy to pay over the odds.”

  - “What’s the news on CCL?”

  On and on they went with their own questions and little debates - often two or three groups at a time on their own topic.

  Noticed a couple of Mums were getting as pissed off as Fenella & me and looking surreptitiously at their watches while tutting to one another. Thankfully one of them, Eva, brought the meeting back on track by asking how she could help with the fair because she needed to dash off soon.

  She and her friend Sarah kindly offered to take responsibility for the mammoth task of organising and running the children’s games and we then managed to recruit a few more helpers.

  We finally got around to The Mafiosa presenting their food ideas. Noticed Eva and Sarah give one another an ‘are they mad?’ look at their proposal. Seemed as if we had some allies.

  After nearly an hour of totally pointless discussion, sheer determination won over resignation. Most of the mummies thought it was a ‘simply marvellous idea’ and ‘so civilised’. Those (few) of us who were opposed to the idea, eventually just rolled over and died - we’d got to the point where we thought we’d never get home to our children again.

  Had a bit of a giggle with Fenella, Eva and Sarah outside while we were waiting for our cab.

  Eva said it was the most ridiculous idea she’d heard since last year when one of the mums had suggested compulsory mandolin should be on the school curriculum.

  She went on to say she’d been class rep for four years now because none of the other mothers wanted to do it and the meetings were always the same - a sounding board for those seeking an audience and very little actually achieved. “It’s all Me, Me, Me”. We laughed again when Fenella quipped that ‘Yummy Mummies’ was too flattering a term for such self-centered women and that ‘Meemies” would be far more appropriate!

  Sarah warned us not to expect too much in the way of help from the majority of the mothers. Often those who did volunteer wouldn’t actually deliver on the day but she assured us that they would both be organised with the games - in fact, last year she and Eva had run the food (hot dogs!) on their own and made a profit of almost a grand.

  Fenella and I had our slightly subdued emergency meeting this morning to consider once more what we’d let ourselves in for. Ate a packet of dark chocolate biscuits to calm our nerves but Fenella hankered after something stronger. “At this rate I’ll be back on the fags - not smoked since my twenties but I feel a relapse coming on.”

  May well be joining her.

  PM

  More panic - what does a Manor House mummy wear to a Parent/Teachers cocktail do? Need to feel prepared
for it tomorrow night but my wardrobe doesn’t want to play the game.

  Fenella said it would probably just be ‘smart/casual’ so no need to borrow Mum’s sequinned golf club number - but what?

  Decided on floaty white linen trousers and an embroidered tunic with beaded sandals - if it’s all ball gowns and tiaras, I’ll make Fenella eat one of her hats!

  Thursday 11th September

  Parent/Teachers Cocktail Party.

  Spent successful morning in the Pound Shop with Fenella, buying suitable Father Christmas gifts and lucky dip prizes. Also found decorations, wrapping paper and sweets for consolation prizes.