Dear Mum, I'm so sorry for breaking your vase

I was in bed this morning, wishing that I could have slipped back into the land of me going 'hmmm hmmm' (my weird tongue vibrating sleep inducing weird thing) but the long list of things that really had to be done wrestled me to have a breakfast with the number one son. The one good thing about the early part of the morning was when child#2 slept in later than everyone else.

Then it was a whirlwind of retrieving serviced bikes, painting pipes waiting patiently for a year, picking up children from birthday parties, trying not to follow a football match, hoying two Ikea bags of earth and weeds over an embankment and then trying to encourage Madame in her endless quest for allotment satisfaction. If the near May temperature was not as bitterly cold, then maybe it would be an easier task, but it is cold and tricky work.

So having convinced Madame to move two beautiful antique vases of the mantelpiece for fear of a thrown object smashing it off the edge onto a fireplace, the worst happened as our eldest somehow managed to knock it down from a fairly safe place moving a remote control. To say I was totally guttted is a slight underestimation. I think I'd have rather seen my finger broken as it can be repaired, but I am not going to tempt fate.

6°