Bought this new jeans the other day that make me look like a cool Mum. You know the sort. Not so tight that they leave red welts on my thighs. Not sexy. Easy to wash if got baby sick on them. Or Fran sick. Magenta coloured too. I'm wild.Suddenly I'm 35 going for a walk with my Bugaboo pram and a cashmere sweater.
In a very accepting way I slipped on the loose fit jean of responsibility and took my Mum for an adventure to see the new Hockney exhibition, via a pie and mash shop. Don't worry we were proper Mums later with tea and cake. Anyway, I had a chicken and leek pie, champ mash, and bacon and red wine gravy. I like to mix my meats as I do my metaphors.
Aargh as I'm writing this some weird people are viewing my home to replace me like big fat cuckoos. My creative juices have been stifled by their cackles of delight. No more potato paradise. I'm in moving hell. Bye for now. I need to go to have a cry.
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