Thursday, May 17, 2012

title pic Bob

Posted by dulwichmum on Wed 2 April 2008

We recently visited my husband’s vile work colleague Annabelle at her capacious home in Chiswick. Her son Hugo adores my poppets – well of course he does, they are angels and perfect role models…

Annabelle constantly berates us for living in south east London. She savours every available opportunity to make fun of us because we live “on the front line,” as she so kindly terms it.

It is no wonder that you drive a tank. I believe that it is necessary for everyone in that part of London to tote some sort of military hardware…”

An Audi Q7 is not in any way related to a British Army Challenger Tank darling,” I protest. (Grrr, that woman is lucky I don’t own a gun…)

Annabelle also enjoys sending us up for what she interprets as our hot-housing of the munchkins – insisting that we force them to study.

I have been begging my progeny to allow me to play pop music in the car of late… fearing that they will miss out on so very much with two mature parents, hoping that they would display evidence of their care free childhood and love of current chart hits when we next visit Annabelle’s abode.

No, please NO,” object Freya and Max in unison, as I endeavour to sneakily introduce some Take That into their musical diet. “Let us listen to our Sing the times tables CD or our Muzzy French. Turn this frightful racket off,” they chime.

By all accounts, just this week Annabelle’s anaemic son Hugo has been watching music videos 0n Youtube with his Latvian au pair. Annabelle was incredibly smug. We are the angry mob by the Kaiser Chiefs is apparently his special favourite and he even sang for us (I swear that boy is tone deaf!).

“We are the hungry Bob
We read the papers everyday day
We like who like
We hate who we hate
And don’t get in our way.”

That child is bristling with aggression and every inch of his mother. Freya sat quietly, listening to Hugo’s recital, casually occupied with her Nintendo DS Brain Training exercises (I was very embarrassed) before pointing out that Hugo was singing the wrong words (OHMYGOD!). The boy was crushed, but I smiled like a Cheshire cat for the rest of the afternoon.

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