The Funny Little Bungalow is beckoning us ever nearer. It is taunting us with its skirting boards, its lovely patchwork floor and its doors. Yes! We have doors! On actual rooms! And proper ones, at that. Sputnik is now tucked Read more
On Tuesday, Little Seymour Number Two had a birthday. An eleventh birthday. Another birthday. In The Shed. Luckily, her birthday was a school day. So, instead of hanging out here, amongst the spiders and the clutter, she was able to Read more
Last night, Big Seymour returned home to The Funny Little Bungalow before the rest of us with a new acquisition, about which he was very excited. As I pulled up after ballet, some of The Little Seymours saw IT, so Read more
I like to think I am vaguely intelligent. My brain works quite fast, and my sense of humour is genius – honestly. Well, in my opinion, anyway, I’m hilarious. I can work out Maths homework, read long books and speak Read more
I would like to publicly apologise. Again. (This is becoming something of a habit.) The other day, in light of his current, various and numerous annoying “quirks”, I found myself describing my son -out loud- as an arsehole. Repeatedly. This Read more
The kitchen floor has been a sticking point. When one has to choose a suitable ground covering to be the icing on the cake of a project that you have been pouring sweat and pennies into for the last four Read more
We went to a jumble sale again on Saturday. Despite my awareness of the clutter and junk we already possess, we went anyway. We do seem to be drawn to other people’s old crap. Off we set with our pennies, Read more
Ahhhhhh my son. My dear darling boy. My treasure, my gem, my little man. My pain in the bum. He loves me. He hates me. He tests me. He baits me. Boy Seymour has been going through a tricky phase Read more
I went away for the weekend. Yes I did. This “away-weekend” had been planned months ago. Some friends and I were going off-grid for twenty four hours, to eat crisps and cheese, drink wine and cover genital-shaped stones in multi-coloured Read more
Little Seymour Number Two exited our makeshift bathroom yesterday evening whilst brushing her teeth, holding aloft a tampon. “What’s this?” she queried, fully expecting me to tell her that it is some kind of compressed, expandable flannel, or a lipstick Read more