Diary of a Mummy Misfit #1

by Amanda Egan

  The difficult part was getting Fenella to leave! Everything she picked up was accompanied with “So you’re telling me this is a pound?”

  Obviously a Pound Shop virgin.

  She left with seven bags of crap that she’d never realised she needed saying, “Well, I’ll definitely be going back there. Thanks for taking me Lib, can’t remember when I last had so much fun.”

  Think it’s good for her to see how the other half lives.

  Off to get ready for the cocktail party, meeting Ned there. Will kill him if he’s late, feel very nervous and not sure I can make the requisite small talk on my own.

  Friday 12th September

  Cocktail party could only really be described as interesting.

  Spent at least half and hour being talked and gawped at by ‘Letchy Dad’ - guess every school has one and ours is now very well acquainted with my cleavage. He flirted shamelessly and with huge doses of double-entendre. Felt like I was in a Benny Hill show and fully expected him to start chasing me around the school hall at any minute.

  Relieved when Fenella came to rescue me but ‘Letchy Dad’ just thought he’d died and gone to heaven - two pairs of breasts for the price of one, how good does it get? Must admit ‘BOGOF’ was exactly what I was thinking myself.

  Had to say I felt a bit sorry for him when I discovered he was married to the Gnome - guess he has to get his kicks from somewhere because I doubt there’s much action at home.

  Nevertheless, we made a speedy getaway and got talking to a rather strange couple who appeared to have jumped straight from their children’s dressing up box. The wife was modelling a tartan and lace gypsy skirt and pinny, with a torn corset and pearls and the husband was in riding trousers, flowery wellies and a biker jacket. His fetching ensemble was topped off with a tiny and tightly bound polka dot cravat. Most odd. They really were the most difficult couple to talk to as ‘Mrs Dress Up’ seemed to be away with the fairies - possibly doped up on Prozac or some other substance - and her husband was far too busy scanning the room for more interesting people to talk to.

  Getaway #2 found us talking to Rudolph-the resting-actor (or ‘Actor Wankor’ as he’s now known). He spent the whole time talking about himself in what appeared to be some kind of audition monologue. He was so successful but his agent hadn’t been able to find him the right part for the past year. Managed to ascertain that his last job was a bit part on ‘The Bill’ and he was currently writing his memoirs. (How would they read? “Coffee in the canteen was a tad cold this morning …” and “Spent a lot of time sitting around reading the paper” - while checking make-up regularly in the mirror, no doubt.)

  Through all of our efforts to socialise, Ned and Josh were happily chatting in the corner knocking back the cocktails and devouring the canapés without a care in the world.

  We were relieved to find ourselves talking to Jenny, the lovely school secretary. The school has two secretaries, her and the scary one - guess they play good cop/bad cop. Jenny is the touchy feely one and ‘Snotty Bitch’ (named by Fenella after a run in with her) does all the heavy-handed stuff - “Pay your school fees immediately or your child will be on the streets by lunchtime.”

  Jenny was telling us she’d been at the school for five years and her husband Colin was the caretaker. It was an ‘interesting life’ she told us and her words implied a lot more than she was actually saying. Could be a good source of inside info, methinks.

  She asked us if she could sell pashminas at the Christmas fair, as it was something she dabbled with on the side - “Anything to boost the meagre wage they pay!” Arranged for her to pop around after school on Monday for a preview - definitely one to get in with.

  Left at nine, unable to cope with much more talk of villas here and yachts there.

  Ended up in Pizza Express with F&J, the four of us voting for the most obnoxious person we’d met that night. Fenella eventually disqualified Ned and Josh’s suggestions as she said they hadn’t tried nearly hard enough.

  Decided we’d met so many it was impossible to judge one from the other as they’d morphed into one big pompous blob.

  God, we’re such bitches but it felt good to finally relax. Tucked into our dough-balls, trying to guess how often ‘Letchy Dad’ tried it on in a day.

  Saturday 13th September

  Had a quick chat with Pritesh in the front garden. He’d come over to take his mum to a big family wedding in Southall. “She’ll spend the whole time trying to set me up with any available women but then it will always come back to how perfect you are, Libby.”

  Mmm, he really is very attractive in a cheeky chappy kind of way. No woman could fail to be flattered by his attention even if Mrs S’s obsession is getting a little bit out of control.

  Went over to Nic & Rick’s for lunch. Took Dog & Dot so they could play in the garden with Max and Stripe. (Who has settled in as the spoilt child of the household).

  Nic very excited as he may have landed himself a commercial that could mean big bucks.

  Got talking about my Christmas fair dilemmas. The great thing about gay friends - they want to know every boring detail of your life, not just the juicy bits.

  Nic volunteered their services as face-painters for the day. They’re both very talented and have often done a masterpiece on Max. Thought this was a great idea and they’ve offered to do it gratis, so any money taken will be pure profit.

  Rick said, “It’ll be great to see the kind of circles you’re mixing in now, Libster. Sure they can’t be half as bad as you and Fenella make out. You just made up that salmon and pizza story for effect, you big drama queen!”

  I’ll just let them decide for themselves.

  Sunday 14th September

  Update email to Shaaaron last night, letting her know that Nic & Rick had volunteered to do the face painting at no charge.

  The return email read:

  ‘Thanks for the update. Must stress that your ‘actor friends’ will need to have a police check before being allowed to work for us. Sure you can understand the importance of this. Will leave you to organise.’

  ‘Actor friends’ - were the quotes really necessary? She made them sound vulgar.

  Work for us? They’re doing it for nothing!

  And I’m sure none of the dads on the Father Christmas rota will have to be vetted. (But of course, Effin’ Safety will keep them in check).

  What about the outside stall holders? Do we have to check those as well in case their sole reason for coming is to sneak a child into one of their boxes when they’re packing up?

  Felt really quite affronted. Even though Ned said it was only right for them to be taking precautions.

  Was dreading calling Nic as I thought he might tell me to shove the police check where Mrs S thinks the sun shines and I wouldn’t blame him.

  Instead he simply said, “No need to get your knickers in a twist girl. We both had checks when we did that ‘theatre in education’ stint. Came out whiter than white.”

  Another crisis averted but still felt a little peeved - must remember to find out if any others need to have checks or if it’s just limited to my friends.

  Monday 15th September AM

  More ridiculous emails!

  Fenella and I live in constant fear of what we’ll find in our inbox next.

  Just today …

  ‘Not allowed to sell the Christmas puddings you have sourced as they contain nuts.’

  It is stated very clearly on the label ‘CONTAINS NUTS’ but they are still considered contraband (airbound particles).

  ‘Sweets are not to be used as consolation prizes - the children have enough treats and we are responsible for their oral health.’

  Find alternatives. Do I have the audacity to ask the Pound Shop for a refund?

  ‘No unaccompanied child is to be sold food - so many have allergies now and we cannot take risks. Also choking must be considered.’

  Yes, I’m considering it!

  ‘Pocket money toys must be good value
for money and absolutely no plastic, tattoos or fake nails.’

  More Pound Shop refunds.

  ‘An adult must be on lavatory duty at all times - check cleanliness and ensure little ones don’t get locked in. Under no circumstances may any ‘toileting assistance’ be given.’

  Our recipe book idea for CCL went down well though. Each family and member of staff is to submit a recipe and the children will do some illustrations for it. We have a dad in publishing who’ll print it free of charge and we’ve been told to order 300 and sell them at 20 quid each - seems a little pricey to me but who am I to judge in this Brave New World?

  BUT … the recipe book must also contain, nut free, gluten free, fat free, sugar free and meat free recipes - it will make it ‘so much more saleable’.

  Yep, the plot has officially been lost!

  PM

  Jenny came round with her pashminas after school and we had a real hoot with her.

  Fenella said her honesty is a joy to behold. Whereas we guiltily discuss our Meemie grievances, she has no qualms about exposing hers.

  “I’ve worked there long enough to be able to spot ‘the type’. I’ve been treated like a queen by some and worse than shit by others.”

  Fenella and I were eager to hear more - and she didn’t mind accommodating.

  “My Colin inherited a rather smart veteran Jag, you know - his pride and joy. Well, one morning one of the mothers saw him giving it a little polish and she asked him how much he charged. When he told her it was our car and not a sideline, she wouldn’t believe him! Wasn’t until she saw us pull up in it one day that she was convinced. ‘How could a lowly caretaker and school secretary possibly own a car like that?’”

  Ended up opening a bottle of wine so that we could extricate more.

  A little boy had once invited Jenny to tea at his house because he’d always been a sickly child and Jenny took care of him in the office. The mother flustered in front of Jenny and said they’d talk about it when they got home. The next day the boy went to Jenny and said, “I’m really sorry but Mummy says you can’t come for tea because it would be like eating with a servant!”

  She knew it wasn’t said in malice. From him at least!

  Fenella and I were just left speechless.

  Jenny continued, “But don’t get me wrong. There are some lovely mums there - the ones who know how to treat people. I think the worst are those who married into money (often their rich bosses - boy, could I tell you a few stories there!) or the ‘new money’ set - they just seem to forget where they came from.”

  Felt such an affinity with Jenny, I asked if she and Colin would like to come for dinner in a couple of weeks.

  Said they’d love to. “It’s funny, you know the last time we were invited for dinner with parents was when I met a new mum at a school drinks party and she just thought I was another mummy. Got on quite well and she said we must get together sometime. Then she asked what Colin did for a living. Never heard from her again and whenever I pass her in the corridor now she blanks me!”

  Can still see Fenella clutching her wine and ample chest with her mouth wide open.

  Tuesday 16th September

  Seedling class coffee morning.

  As class reps it fell to Fenella or me to host the coffee morning.

  There was no way I wanted 20 sticky beak mothers scrutinising my humble abode and I wouldn’t have had the space to accommodate them anyway - unless they sat on one another’s laps, tables, welsh dresser, floor etc.

  Thank goodness Fenella had volunteered and went straight home after school drop off to tidy up a bit while I went off to buy pastries and croissants.

  Mothers were meant to arrive at ten but we were still twiddling our thumbs at half past - obviously they had more pressing demands on their time.

  At around 11 they began to arrive in dribs and drabs with talk of Pilates sessions, traffic on the King’s Road Chelsea and assorted dramas with cleaners, nannies, builders and project managers.

  Fenella and I acted as the dutiful hostesses, dishing out Earl Grey here, mineral water there. A couple even had a cup of the evil brew - coffee. Little devils! Felt like we were dishing out in some kind of speakeasy during the prohibition, some of them fell on it with such eagerness.

  Got chatting to a very sweet nanny, Olga, who was clearly uncomfortable - know how she feels. She looks after Henry in Max’s class but I’ve never met the mother - big knob in the City or something.

  Olga was telling me the mother had insisted she come along to the coffee morning to get to know the other mothers, “So important for Henry”, and also to find out what she could do to help with the Christmas fair - Olga of course, not the mother.

  “I am not knowing vhy zees silly mudders are popping out de babies if zey never vant to see zem. She saw Henners vunce last veek, just before bedtime - poor little bugger, my heart it bleed for him.”

  Think she might be taking her English lessons from Eastenders.

  The Gnome and Gestapo held court for rather too long, discussing food rotas for the day of the fair and how clever they’d been to come up with such an original idea. Much blowing of own trumpets and patting of backs.

  Fenella managed to rein them in by bashing a wooden spoon onto the side of a saucepan - think we may need to invest in a referee’s whistle though because some of them still didn’t take any notice.

  Eventually managed to explain, over much interruption and rude whispering - God I know how it must feel to be teacher now - that it was our class dinner on Saturday and we’d booked a table for the six couples who had already replied. Any other parents wanting to attend should let us know by Friday, the latest.

  Gestapo spoke up, “But I can’t possibly let you know by Friday. I’ll just turn up if I can.”

  In other words, she’s hedging her bets to see if a better offer comes up. Let’s hope it does.

  Moved swiftly on to the Christmas fair and managed to delegate more jobs. Olga volunteered to help with setting up the school hall for the event.

  Gestapo spewed forth again, “No, no no, Olga. You’ll be far too busy preparing the food, that’s what the nannies are doing. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” It was embarrassingly like watching Basil Fawlty with Manuel, her volume increasing to make this foreigner comprehend English. Then, in an aside to the Gnome, she said “God, I don’t now how Lydia copes with her. Thick as pig-shit.”

  Olga smiled sweetly and replied, “I am understanding most well sank you. I vill do de skivvy jobs and zen maybe you could set up de hall. You vill have ze time, yes?” And then, very quietly to me, “Vot a minger!”

  Gestapo quickly excused herself from being able to do the set up. “Heavens no. I’m having new acrylics fitted on the Thursday and I’m not ruining two hundred quid by doing manual work.”

  It was agreed that Stick Insect and the Gnome would help us on the night.

  Must remember to provide a step-ladder for the Gnome or she’ll be worse than useless.

  Think we achieved everything we set out to. Felt really sorry for Olga as she left. She’d been given instructions to go to Gestapo’s house - no offer of a lift - to collect her supplies for the pizzas she was to start making and freezing.

  Heard her mumble, “I’m not ‘appy. Vun day I kick her ‘ead in. Zen she be sorry!”

  Couldn’t agree more, Olga. Phil Mitchell would be proud.

  Wednesday 17th September

  Mrs S now has a computer and I received an email from her this morning.

  ‘Testing, testing. My Pritesh is training me in the ways of the modern world. Are you receiving? Over and out. Yours sincerely, Mrs Sengupta, next door.’

  Much as I love her, something tells me this will be the first of many.

  Max was very excited to receive his invite to Todd’s birthday party next month. Fenella had decided on a small family affair, as Todd hadn’t wanted any children from school - think he’s still finding it tough making new friends.

  “We could buy him a Playstation
3, couldn’t we Mummy? I bet he’d like that.”

  Yes, I bet he would but the Marchant family budget won’t be running to anywhere near that.

  Thought I could fob him off with, “Perhaps we’ll have a chat to Fenella. There must be a DVD he wants.”

  “Yeah, or maybe an Xbox. That would be better.”

  Think it’s time to start explaining money in more detail than ‘too many pennies’.

  Received return email from Mrs S this evening:

  ‘Oh my goodness, Libbybeta. How amazing that our computers can talk to one another through the walls. We are now penpals, are we not? My Pritesh has opened a whole new world to me. Must hurry along as I want to check on a barter I have put in for some leopard skin leisure panties in a shop called eBay.’