Bitter Sweet

Posted by dulwichmum on Sun 14 January 2007

On balance, I can’t decide if today was a good day or a bad day. I suppose it has been bitter sweet.

We received two letters of note this morning. Both were invitations to Freya (our three and a half year old) from outstanding local private prep schools, for a second interview and assessment. James and I laughed when we read the letters.

I am aware that there are at least fifty sets of parents celebrating the arrival of second assessment invitations for their children this morning – while many other poor crestfallen parents try not to show their disappointment. No child of this age should ever to be allowed to experience any sense of failure in this or any other situation. James and I are unable to celebrate the news. It is not that we are ungrateful for these opportunities, it is merely that we feel powerless to take advantage of them.

Freya is adamant –

‘I have had enough sasessments and I am not going’, she says with steely determination.

The home we were in the process of buying in the catchment area for the excellent state run Dulwich Village Infants School has slipped from our grasp – the chain has fallen apart at the eleventh hour. Freya is a willful young lady who refuses to attend any further assessments for private or independent schools.

I saw David Beckham on the news last night, discussing in monosyllables the enormous pay deal he has accepted to play football for LA Galaxy in America. Apparently he and Victoria were seeking good schools for their children in the UK, but none were good enough, hence their move to the USA. Yes I am sure the money did not influence the couple at all in their decision (ha bloomin ha).

Could Tom Cruise hope teach this couple to so much as spell ‘Scientology’?How do you think Brooklyn would fare at an assessment for the English Independent schools I have mentioned? Not very well I would venture, considering his inarticulate fathers range of vocabulary last night on TV.

Max – our five year old son is substantially more articulate than Daddy Beckham. But David would wave his cheque book, and Brooklyn, Plonker and whatever the third one is called would all get into Eton no doubt.

Sigh, I wish we were rich enough to buy a playing field or music room or something. Freya is sensible beyond her years, she is right to refuse to attend. The whole idea of assessing these little people so closely is unduly stressful for them, and without doubt inaccurate.

Now, where did I put that corkscrew?…..

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 Getting Old(er)

Posted by dulwichmum on Sat 13 January 2007

Life is too serious. I so enjoyed being a student. I didn’t realise it at the time, but those days were just the best fun. Living in halls, having no cash at all…….ever, eating nothing but pasta and rice for weeks on end, and parties – yes lots of parties. Those were the days, when I drank lager – before I discovered gin and tonic, before I became respectable.

In the early days when I arrived at University and was just getting to know my very good friend Lara, what a complete wake up call that was! She was (is) the prettiest woman I have ever met. She has enormous eyes and perfect olive skin, and the shiniest long brown hair, every man just stared at her goofily when we went to The Penthouse Bar on the top of Kings College Hospital. She is one of those physically perfect people, who just sparkles, and is completely unaware of the effect she has on the opposite sex – which is nice, I don’t really like arrogant people. Lara is the complete picture of innocence. She has a ‘butter would not melt in her mouth’ look.

Within the first few weeks of meeting Lara, she appeared to be getting more and more exhausted, eventually, she was almost in a state of collapse, she became incredibly pale with slurred speech. It was all rather early in our careers, I began to think – ?Meningitis ?Diabetes ?plain old exhaustion from excessive study or partying………..? liver failure.

No………….., Lara one night knocked on my door and asked if she could sleep on my floor. The lamps from the hydroponic farm in her room where she was growing her marijuana plants was playing havoc with her sleep.

Lara, that’s my girl. Always prepared to flout convention. She turned my world on it’s head, never played by the rules, and always got away with it. I have never had the self-confidence to be as care-free as she, but she certainly made London a more interesting place for me when I left home first. I have never joined in with her hilarious/outrageous antics, but my life has been much richer for having the pleasure of observing her and having had her as my friend. Everyone should have a friend like Lara.

I have a dreadful feeling that I have a mini ‘Lara’ age three and a half, sleeping deeply upstairs right now.

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