Dungarees and pyjama disasters

The other week I bought myself some dungarees.  I was trying to channel my hipster but I am also realistic so I ordered them off Amazon because they were cheap.  They don’t look awful (my Mum said that they were quite flattering) but my husband said “For gardening, yeah?” when he saw them.  I mean, I wasn’t planning to wear them to the Chiltern Firehouse.  But, yeah, they were quite handy for gardening – they have a pocket at the front for me to keep my keys in and a couple of pockets at the side for my mobile to go in.


I am considering bringing them back to London so I can wear them round Shoreditch.  Then the people who actually ARE hipsters can point and laugh.

On other news – my daughter’s new summer pyjamas have holes in.  This created a lot of moth related panic – we went through the drawers to search for evidence.  However, absolutely nothing else had holes in.  Then I realised – I’d left the pyjamas on the floor in front of the washing machine, ready to go in when I had a full load.  And, because I took them off after breakfast, they would have been covered in milk and cereal.  So, my conclusion is that the bloody mice have eaten my daughter’s pyjamas.  I have a new regime where I do a wash every evening once the kids are in bed, just to avoid this happening to anything else.  It may not be terribly green but it is greener than buying a load of new clothes every time the mice do their thing.

I have another regime – we have a competition every other morning to see whether we (the kids and I) can have breakfast, get dressed, brush teeth and get our shoes on before 8am.  Once we get to September, we will need to leave the house at 8am to catch the bus to school, you see, so I don’t want to suddenly find myself with an impossible task.

Mutant watermelon

Last week, I went out round Shoreditch (daytime) with my husband.  I was wearing a most questionable outfit – yellow shorts, blue top and orange cotton sweater.  I wore my giant sunglasses and pretended that it was because I am a hipster, don’t you know, and not an early middle aged woman with a very strange wardrobe.  I did do that thing where I said “Do I look awful?” to my husband and he said no (he is generally very honest).

On the way home, we stopped off at a grocer on the Essex Road and bought an absolutely massive watermelon.

This was miles bigger than my head
This was miles bigger than my head

My husband had to carry it home as there was no way I could lift it.  And I am quite strong.  I was a bit taken aback by the price – £10.75!  On the cheapo Essex Road! But this was at least four times bigger than the ones going on Ocado.

The author of Knowing Kimberly pointed out that, should I have carried this myself, I could have pretended to be Baby off Dirty Dancing.  But I hate that film.

We won’t need any more watermelon.  Ever again.