In which I travel a bit…

Busy weekends?  Pah, I laugh at ’em!

Well, I do until I wake up really hungover on Sunday mornings a hundred miles from home; then I apologise profusely to them and promise it’ll never happen again, guv’nor.

And everything had been going so well until then.  Millie’s party at the Crayzee Barn play centre in Bexley went very well, everyone having a great time and coming home absolutely worn to a frazzle.  There were lots of pictures taken (most of them not so good as the subjects were usually in extremely rapid motion) which I’ll try and upload tonight.

One thing I couldn’t help noticing was how rough some of the boys play.  Now, I’m pretty much a lily-livered pacifist – violence makes me extremely nervous – plus, both my children are girls, but I didn’t think this would make quite such a difference amongst 4-5 year-olds.  Perhaps the girls argued and fought just as much as the boys at the party (or even more?) but I didn’t notice it because their disagreements didn’t end up in physical confrontations as often as  those of the boys did.

And when the boys played  – even if they weren’t arguing – there was always pushing and shoving and people getting kicked and hit and knocked over.  It was actually a bit unnerving to watch and made me feel a bit helpless to intervene, to be honest (I know, I know – they’re five-year-olds!  Get some nuts!)  Luckily some of the mums (the ones with boys) had no such qualms and waded right into the thick of things whenever a bit of argy-bargy broke out.

I came out of the Crayzee Barn once again secretly quite glad to have two daughters.  They might whine a bit sometimes, they might love screaming loud enough to perforate an eardrum, they might even smack me occasionally, but I’ve never seen them deliberately punch or kick or push over another child.

Well, maybe I have seen them do it occasionally, but always somewhat half-heartedly by comparison.  And I’m not saying that to brag or boast, rather as someone genuinely a bit unnerved.

Straight after the party I made a dash for Bristol, which all went surprisingly smoothly.  Arriving at Bristol Temple Meads at 7.45pm it was a beautiful warm evening so I walked to the pub (following my iPhone directions – I don’t know Bristol that well!) and had a really lovely night.  It was my sister-in-law Conny’s 30th birthday, so I was glad to be able to make it for that, but loads of old friends had made the effort to come, too, so it was lovely to catch up with all of them.

I don’t remember drinking to excess (although I’m not sure what counts as “excess” these days since I don’t drink at home and very seldom have more than 3-4 pints when at the pub) but I surely remember how utterly crappy I felt on Sunday.  Having to travel back home feeling like that really was a dreadful prospect, I don’t mind telling you.  Luckily, I was just beginning to rally slightly by the time my train was due at 1.30, so it wasn’t too bad.

Just “bad”.

Thank goodness I booked a first class ticket so I had a quiet carriage, fierce air conditioning and a large comfortable seat.

I made a pact with my body – we agreed that if it would just get me home to Bexley then it could collapse, which is exactly what happened.

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