Actual animals harmed in the emptying of the Mooncup – 0 (despite appearances). Peppermint creams offered as bribes – 3.
The shower is definitely more suited to Mooncup manoeuvres although I recommend emptying it quite near the bottom of the shower to avoid splatter from any sort of height. Horrifying how water spreads things …
Flo found all of the peppermint cream wrappers in the bathroom bin and questioned me about them while Jess was outside building a nest for snails out of soggy leaves and an empty packet of Quavers. I felt like a fifteen-year-old year caught with an empty bottle of Lambrini under the bed.
I couldn’t think of a legitimate reason why the bathroom bin would be full of peppermint cream wrappers other than the truth, so I went with that. Flo seemed almost impressed with my cunning and promised not to tell Jess as long as she could share them. Made a mental note to get some Poundland sweets for the haemorrhoid box and to empty the Canesten out of its packet to make room for the Bendicks. No point wasting the good chocolates on a child, just because I’ve been caught out.
WhatsApp from Busy Beavers about a parents’ social on Wednesday evening at The Boat and Anchor. Messaged WIB to see if either of them fancied it, but both said they were at home with the kids. I don’t like Cassie or Yvonne much, obviously, but if I’m really going to become a part of Barnmouth and make more friends then maybe I need to stop being a baby and go to things like this?
I will think about it.
Instagram post from @simple_dorset_life of an old wooden signpost that says ‘to the sea’. Behind it you can see an overgrown pathway leading down towards the beach.
‘Sometimes you have to walk a difficult path to find the beauty at the end of a journey,’ said the caption. ‘The walk isn’t always easy, but the feel of the warm sand between your toes could be all the reward you need. #takeupthechallenge #blessed #lifeisajourney’.
I took this as a sign that I should man up and go on the playgroup social tomorrow.
Playgroup committee roles accidentally volunteered for – 1. Glasses of prosecco drunk in the process – 3 (very necessary).
I’ve been duped!
I was extremely brave and went to the playgroup ‘social’, after a large glass of wine at home for courage, and what was my reward?
A playgroup committee meeting!
I blame @simple_dorset_life for this, with her stupid paths and signposts and warm sand.
It started out so innocently – ‘Thanks so much for coming, Frankie! Here, have a glass of prosecco, Frankie!’ – that I was almost relaxed when Cassie stood up and did a little chink on her glass with a perfectly manicured fingernail.
‘Thanks so much, everyone, for coming,’ said Cassie, managing to look humble and superior at the same time. ‘I know it’s not easy getting away from the little ones at bedtime!’
Who actually says ‘little ones’ in normal speech? I thought it was just used in marketing materials by organic, reusable nappy companies and other people who generally want to patronise you. Oh hang on, I see now.
‘It really is lovely to see so many new faces on the playgroup committee, though.’
What? Playgroup committee?
I was there for the prosecco, no way did I sign up for a committee. I pride myself on having managed fourteen years of parenting without ever once having got myself roped into the PTA. I’ve never manned a tombola or had to co-ordinate a bake sale. How had I ended up at a playgroup committee meeting?
‘I know that our little ones enjoy being busy little beavers every Thursday,’ she went on, ‘but it takes busy grown-up beavers behind the scenes to make it happen!’
Sweet Jesus. I looked around the table at the other mums. A couple of them were looking as confused as me, but no one was brave enough to protest. The ex-Olympic sailor (Jen), made a move, almost as if to interrupt, but then thought better of it and poured another glass of prosecco instead.
‘So the first thing we need to sort out,’ Cassie continued, ‘is committee roles.’
OK, so this was the key stage. All I had to do was not put my hand up for anything and I could leave without a particular responsibility, making it easier to step down (via email) after the meeting.
‘I guess the chair is the most important role,’ said Cassie, doing her best to look coy. ‘Does anyone fancy putting themselves forward for this?’ She moved her eyes around the table, as if challenging anyone to speak up.
‘Oh, you should definitely do it,’ said Yvonne, practically drooling into her Scampi Fries. ‘You’ve done such an amazing job so far.’
‘Well,’ said Cassie, giggling coquettishly, ‘that’s ever so sweet of you, Yvonne. I do try my best! It isn’t easy when you’re dealing with two children with dairy intolerances! I wouldn’t want to monopolise the job, though, if anyone else wanted to have a go.’ The table was silent. The rest of the pub fell briefly silent too, as though everyone was being careful not to accidentally volunteer.
‘Well, if you’re all sure,’ said Cassie, ‘then I’m flattered that you all have such confidence in me! Now, how about squash and biscuits co-ordinator?’
In a manner similar to a horror film I once saw where the main character had their fingernails ripped out one by one, Cassie assigned six more roles. I sat on my hands, lips pressed together (between sips of prosecco, obviously).
‘So that just leaves the important role of Busy Beavers treasurer!’ said Cassie. She looked at me. With horror, I realised that there were only seven of us around the table. By saying nothing I appeared to have inadvertently landed myself with the most hideous role of all. How had I let this happen? Why hadn’t I put my hand up when Christmas Party Liaison Officer had come up? That’s a cushy job – once a year, with plenty of time in between to think up an excuse to get out of it. Riya looked pretty smug right about now, clutching the list Cassie had made of potential Santas.
‘Oh, I don’t know, Cassie,’ I said, looking around the rest of the group desperately. ‘My mental arithmetic is terrible, plus I have Flo starting her GCSEs, I’m really not sure I—’
‘Oh, Frankie,’ said Cassie, cutting me off before I had time to wriggle my way out of it, ‘you’re such a sweetie, playing down your talents like that! Don’t worry, though, we have every faith in you! Plus, of course, I will be just at the other end of the phone should you have any questions at all. Shall we move on to the next item? It’s plans for a summer cake sale to raise funds for a new glockenspiel.’
And so there I was, Treasurer of the Busy Beavers Playgroup. FML, as Flo would say.
Very little sympathy from WIB. ‘This is what happens when you fraternise with the enemy,’ said Sierra.
Message from Cassie today. She wants to arrange a meeting so that we can chat over the responsibilities of the Busy Beaver treasurer and she can hand over all the records for me to keep and store. I absolutely must think up a reason to get out of this. Firstly, I really do not want to do it. I cannot imagine how stressful it would be to worry that every time my phone beeped that it was a message from Cassie, questioning our spend on squash or asking for profit and loss on the sponsored toddle.
Secondly, I can’t be storing financial records. I throw away most of my bank statements because I don’t want to look at them and I don’t even shred them – I just tear them in half and put them at opposite ends of the recycling bin. I can’t be trusted to keep someone else’s financial information secure. I drafted a reply to her.
Hi, Cassie, I would love to meet up but I’ve been thinking a lot about the role and I just don’t think I’m at a point right now where I can take on any new responsibilities. Flo has GCSEs next year and Jess has so many commitments at the moment. I’m afraid I’m going to have to resign my post.
Lame. I’ll never get away with that one. It needs to be something more conclusive.
Another message from Cassie. ‘I saw that you read my last message,’ she wrote, ‘so I just wanted to check that you’re OK as I didn’t hear back?’
Oh God. This is why I can’t be the treasurer. There will be no escape. I drafted a new reply.
Dear Cassie, it is with deep regret that I have to bow out of my new job as treasurer for Busy Beavers playgroup. I would have loved to have had the chance to get to know you and the other mums better through this vital role, but unfortunately my doctor has just diagnosed an RSI in both wrists and has said that it would be very dangerous for me to do any additional work that might aggravate it, e.g., filing, using a calculator, etc.
Hey Cassie, how’s things? Sorry it has taken me so long to reply, it’s because I met a charming circus performer called Antoine and he insisted I learn the trapeze so that I could accompany him around the world on his upcoming tour! How exciting! I am sure you will understand that this means I can no longer take on the role as treasurer.
God damn it.