Look great, feel great - as long as you're not a mouse!

Sunday, August 31 08

“Have you got a minute? I want to show you something,” shouted Mr Bennet from the vicinity of the marital bed.
Mrs Bennet, not being used to such offers in the middle of the day, ran back upstairs. Over the sea of boxes, dust and clothes, she could just make out her husband’s outline, bent over something.
“You know you’ve been complaining about a smell on your side of the bed?"
"Mmm," she mumbled, not sure where the conversation was going.
"Well it isn’t gone off milk.”
“Do I want to know what’s coming next?” she asked.
“Probably not but I’m going to tell you anyway. It’s a dead mouse.”
Her stomach turned. There lying next to a romantic novel and a book called “Look Great, Feel Great,” was the source of the offending aroma. It didn’t look great, feel great and it certainly didn’t smell great either. It obviously hadn’t managed to read any tips on love either. It had no sexual companion, died alone and thankfully hadn’t followed the Bennet's example on the production front.
“At least it hasn’t got any babies,” remarked Mr Bennet, reading his wife's mind, as he fished the mouse out of the box.
This was not a good start to the preamble of building Pemberley. If Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy could have an impressive country estate, the modern Miss Bennets could at least have a slice of it. With six women in the house, Mr Bennet did agree that perhaps another bathroom might be a sensible idea. The builders were moving in within five weeks, so Mr and Mrs Bennet were on the move. They couldn’t afford to move out as first promised (it had been the only condition Mrs Bennet had set in stone) so there was no alternative but to move out of the bedroom into the lounge. Without a third bedroom, a garage, conservatory, probably a kitchen and a safe garden, the already cramped house was about to get smaller, commonly known as short-term pain for long-term gain. Mrs Bennet wasn’t complaining, well not outwardly anyway. It was just that there was a huge list to tick off before the builder had a chance of even starting work.
“Come on, think of it as a chance to dejunk and declutter. Everyone tells me how liberating that is. I’ll see whether they’re telling the truth,” Mrs Bennet told herself.
One mouse and one awful smell less, she could almost believe them.

Baby Twin calls police for help!

Saturday, August 30 08

Miss Kezia Bennet had had enough of the madhouse she was living in. She rattled on the stair gate door separating her from kitchen and cuddle and made her feelings known. She wanted to be carried and now. Mrs Bennet got the message and scooped up her smaller 15-month-old, hooking her on a hip and continued to make sandwiches one-handed. This pacified her daughter, but because Mrs Bennet had to put her down to go and buy some wet wipes, Miss Bennet Number Five protested big time. Under the "un"watchful eye of Mr Bennet who was stuffing the Scooby Doo van's back end with the garage's stomach ready for a trip to the local tip, the baby twin managed to get hold of the phone, dialed 999 and called for help. She wasn't having any of this. Both parents were preoccupied and she wanted some attention. Mr Bennet knew nothing of this successful manoeuvre until he got a call from the police a few moments later.
"We have just received a call from your address. Is everything alright? Do you need the police?"asked a female voice.
"No, certainly not," he replied, suddenly recalling Miss Emily Bennet had mumbled something about Miss Kezia Bennet tapping in a string of numbers.
"Umm, I'm really sorry but I think it was one of my baby daughters."
The woman's tone turned to ice and asked for his details.
"If it happens again, Mr Bennet, I'm afraid we will have to take action," she told him.
Mrs Bennet wasn't sure whether Mr Bennet would have told her about this incident, but having several witnesses he couldn't get away with anything. Miss Emily Bennet was very quick to tell her mother on her wet wipe return.
"Kezia called the police Mummy!"
"It's got that bad hey!" laughed Mrs Bennet.
Back in her kitchen cage and locked behind a stair gate, Mrs Bennet felt like ringing 999 herself. Miss Kezia Bennet's partner in crime, Miss Rosie Bennet stood by her sister's side. Both were now shaking the cage door, demanding their next meal. Mrs Bennet, who was doing her best to appease these hungry babes, was serving a sentence for being the meanest Mummy in the world. Mrs Bennet was guilty as charged according to her eldest daughter, Miss Naomi Bennet because she hadn't bought her a pencil case, any new clothes and never let her have anything. Serving her time, Mrs Bennet pleaded not-guilty. Eventually Mr Bennet bailed her out and let her out for good behaviour.

Are they all yours?

Wednesday, August 27 08

Mrs Bennet realised her family was no longer politically correct. She had broken the 2.1 kid rule four and a half years ago when she gave birth to Miss Bennet Number Three. As she was also guilty of driving a large people carrier, she was therefore in dangerous territory. She was violating the unwritten fundamental law of minimising the carbon footprint. In reality she had produced ten extra footprints. These could be seen clearly on the Bennet's grubby green carpet, their outline often engraved in mud, soggy cereal and flour.
Mrs Bennet consciously put on her armour before she left the building to protect herself from an onslaught of comments. She half expected onlookers to throw remains of their compost heap at her - rotting tomatoes or cold, dried-out teabags. Instead words were the missiles.
"Are they all yours?" "My, haven't you got your hands full!" "Were you trying for a boy?!" or worst still, "Have you worked out what the problem is yet?"
She had an answer and a smile ready for each. Her best was regarding the "problem."
"Yes, I have worked it out. It's olives, but I'm afraid I still eat them!"
Mr Bennet never seemed to be around to hear the comments. He rarely went out with all five on his own. But when they ventured out with only the Miss Twin Bennets, every twin, every grandparent, aunty, uncle, sister, brother or godparent of twins seemed to greet them. Mrs Bennet didn't mind, she was the chatty sort and graciously answered their questions, but it did prove difficult when she was already late for school pick-up or an appointment.
"Are they identical?" "Are they both girls?" "Did you have them naturally? (as if it was anyone's business) "Are their twins in your family?" "How big were they when they were born?" "But you're so small, how did you possibly carry them?" "Are they good?"
She often felt like a contestant sitting on Mastermind's big black chair. "And your chosen subject is.......twins."
The problem was many onlookers struggled to believe the said babies were born on the same day. Brunette Miss Rosie Bennet, a mere six ounzes bigger at birth, was now significantly bigger, chunkier and heavier than her sibling. Blonde Miss Kezia Bennet, was petite like her mother and was wearing 3-6 month baby clothes at 15 months. So the observations in their differences made for extra-interesting remarks.
"You didn't leave much gap between having your babies did you?" And "You're brave doing it again so soon!" One lady had told Mrs Bennet how sensible she was not having twins.
"My daughter had twins and it was such hard work. I think you've done it the best way by having a gap between your babies!"
"How sensible I am then to have a 20 minute gap!" thought Mrs Bennet, too stunned by the comment to be able to utter a witty reply.
Mrs Bennet was many things, but even she would admit, having five children wasn't sensible. It was sheer madness, but then she hadn't banked on a) having a number four and b) having a number four with a "buy one get one free" sticker attached!
She went home and ate a few more olives.

Eau de Chutney

Tuesday, August 26 08

A perfumery was sitting brewing on the dining table. Various jars and pots containing the young Bennets display of their versions of Estee Lauder’s Beyond Paradise and Beautiful surrounded Mr and Mrs Bennet as they attempted to eat a late tea. It was summer and they were munching through Chilli and mash. What else could you expect to eat on an August evening? It might as well be November. It certainly felt like it.
Having a “pink” of girls inevitably meant the pinks occasionally got up to girly things such as making perfume out of flower petals, soap and water. Mrs Bennet wasn’t sure washing-up liquid had the same desired effect, but the Miss Bennets decided otherwise.
“So what have you called your perfume then?” Mrs Bennet asked Miss Bennet Number Two as she insisted on eating her parents’ accompanying salad, despite having just eating a two-course meal at a local restaurant.
“I don’t know - because it’s not very good!" moaned a defiant Miss Bennet, looking accusingly at her mother.
"I'm sure it is. Why don't you think it's good?"
"Because it’s got chutney in it!” Miss Bennet shouted back.
Of course it was all Mrs Bennet’s fault for giving her an empty jar of caramelized red onion chutney in which to prepare her fragrance.
“You could always call it Chutney and be a bit different,” offered Mr Bennet, coming to his wife's rescue.
Mrs Bennet could see it being a hot-seller. “Chutney: full of fruit and spice and makes you smell of a ploughman’s lunch!”
She could therefore understand her daughter’s frustration. A perfume ruined by relish, was not a fragrance to be worn by young ladies.
Mrs Bennet wasn’t sure what the “use-by” date was on the Bennet perfumes, so decided she best leave them well alone for today. She’d had enough battles. An hour earlier she found herself wishing she was an owl and able to turn her head right round to see what the Miss Twin Bennets were up to behind her. Mrs Bennet had managed to capture the little madams on camera simultaneously putting on baseball caps on back-to-front and munching through their sisters’ wax crayons, but then had to stop herself from putting the digital camera into the microwave instead of the onions. What she should have been doing was preventing the potatoes boiling over, which they of course did. Then, because she was sorting the spuds out, she forgot to shut the stairgate to the kitchen so she soon had four arms clinging to her legs, pinning her to the oven, which was thankfully off at this point.
Leaving the Chutney perfume well alone was perhaps the best decision of the evening. With a bit of luck mold might appear on the container walls overnight forcing her children to decide they should throw it away. Like her poor mung beans, which after a week in a caravan, and despite their tadpole tails, had never quite managed to sprout to their full potential.

Stubborn mung beans

Friday, August 22 08

Mrs Bennet’s mung beans refused to sprout. They were huddled together like frogspawn in a glass jar frightened to do anything other than cling to each other. Although a few individuals had managed to produce a minute white tail, the results were disappointing. Mrs Bennet liked a challenge and thought it would be fun to see if camping and caravanning made any impact on her sprouting beans. They clearly had. Not one sprout appeared during the Dartmouth wash-out. The beans, like the Bennets had been victims of too close confinement – without the sun and freedom to grow, the sprouting tails had refused to come out to play.
Now, in Weymouth on the penultimate day of caravanning, the sun had finally broken through the clouds at 7am and transformed mood and caravan site alike. Mrs Bennet, having taken the older three Miss Bennets and her athletic parents for a ramble over hill to the beach for a pebble treasure hunt, was enjoying a moment’s peace, sitting in the sun with her mung bean jar by her side, now happily sweating in the heat.

Seagulls chattered overhead, dog walkers desperately prized their precious pets away from over-friendly canine neighbours and playful children were far enough away not to remind Mrs Bennet she was a responsible mother. She thought back on the week’s events which had included another opticians to mend Miss Megan Bennet’s glasses; several trips to the beach in the freezing cold, where fellow Brits sat huddled up in blankets and anoraks, clutched ice-cream cones and wore that “we are on holiday so we will sit on the beach” mentality and a few plunges in the indoor pool, where children splashed and jumped around while parents bobbed like plastic ducks in a bath far too small for them. Their purpose only to clutch non-swimmers and catch cold.

Rain tried to stop play, but the Bennet’s creativity prevented it winning. Armed in warm clothes and determination, the Bennets deprived the beach of its flat pebbles to use as blank canvasses for felt-tip decorating. On another occasion Mrs Bennet challenged them to find two pebbles which they believed stood out from the rest. Mrs Bennet found one engraved with a glistening swirl and another resembling an owl. Her mother, Jannie, found a cat face and an etched heart. The girls saw pictures in their pebbles, Mrs Bennet couldn’t quite see, but admired their imagination all the same. There were strops of course and Oscar-winning drama performances. Each of the Miss Bennets played lead character, while the other two made a sterling supporting actress. Mrs Bennet wanted to join them especially when the rain seemed relentless and sleep deprivation due to a teething twin started to wear her down. But Mrs Bennet was happy, she had drunk in the beach’s heavy seaweed aroma, she had skimmed stones across the water’s surface, she had seen her children laugh and she had managed to wear her shorts on the last day.
Her mung beans too had finally found a comfortable spot too. Happy at last with a feast of sun rays, their white tails were beginning to curl in tadpole-like fashion. It had taken two weeks, but they had found their place – and so had Mrs Bennet. But she was ready to go home.

Toothache, rain and a high dentist bill

Saturday, August 16 08

To sum up the week's camping trip to Dartmouth then - two visits to the dentist costing £166, the milk bar closed and then re-opened two days later because cow and calf couldn't handle it, rain poured, poured, stopped, poured, stopped and poured again.
But despite the gnawing, all-consuming ache a poorly tooth brings, Mrs Bennet couldn't deny the Miss Bennets had had a great time. They'd enjoyed their first experience of crabbing over the banks of the River Dart with their friends, while parents hovered with hearts-in-mouths close enough to stop offspring becoming the bait. They'd also loved dragging Mrs Bennet on belly-churning pirate ship and trauma tower rides where she was convinced her stomach was left at some unearthly height like an over-enthusiastic pancake. Eventually it dropped but it took its time doing so. She admitted participating on water slides, particularly in darkness, proved an excellent way of letting off steam in the form of the loudest scream she could muster. It should have been made in the dentist chair - but having saved it for certain rides, made the scream of excitement (mixed with frustration) even higher pitched than she'd normally allow. The first visit to the local private dentist (it had to be private didn't it?) cost £40 for a diagnosis of teeth grinding resulting in a stiff jaw. Yeah right?!
"But you don't grind your teeth. And I should know!" protested Mr Bennet.
"Precisely," replied his wife, "But then I'm only the patient."
Four days later, Mrs Bennet, having cried herself to sleep with tooth pain, woke the same dentist up early in the morning and demanded to see him.
"You do know it costs £75 for a call-out and then there will be further charges depending on what you have done," said the sleepy dentist, who made it known Mrs Bennet had woken him up.
She spent a whole hour in the dentist chair that same morning, after he rolled up in his soft-topped sports car.
"Funny that you don't ever see a poor dentist," commented Mr Bennet, knowing full well that their bank balance would probably need root canal after the visit. He had the task of entertaining Miss Bennet number three with a collection of Noddy books, a broken rocket and a collection of soft teddies from the waiting room toy box. The two older Miss Bennets were experiencing yet more fast rides with friends while the twins were being looked after by the family with the Tent Mansion.
Mrs Bennet's only consolation was listening to Five Live's commentary of the GB Rowing team win Olympic Gold. One of the team was brought up in her home town so she was particularly pleased but it just wasn't the time and place to be listening to such news. She could hardly shout for joy with a white plastic hand in her mouth could she? At this moment she would have much preferred to have bitten the said fingers, but the bill might be somewhat higher than it already was.
A permanent filling had been removed, a temporary one put in its place. Mrs Bennet needed to pray it didn't fall out during week two of the Bennet holidays. It had to stay in place until a permanent one could be put in - which meant yet another stint in the dentist chair and more charges. But at least her dentist was dishy!

A night to test tent and nerves

Tuesday, August 12 08

It was the night which tested waterproof coating and Mr and Mrs Bennet's nerves. Torrential rain, strong winds and the fear of being blown away kept the adult Bennets awake all night. Mrs Bennet's nighttime prayer was brief: "Please Lord, keep us dry and don't let the children wake up needing the loo!" Both requests were granted, but the little twin Bennets didn't hear their mother's spiritual mutterings and in the temporary lull of the storm, Miss Rosie Bennet yelled. She was soon drowned out by a chorus of wind and rain, but their efforts were fruitless in soothing her back into slumber. She was soon joined by her sister and a twin sandwich quickly formed between mother and father, who were balanced on the airbed edges, receiving complementary pokes and prods by the fillings.
To add to the fun, a pair of seagulls squawked in delight as they attacked the Bennets rubbish bag, which had been carelessly left outside the tent. Mr Bennet, armed for battle, immediately took action in the darkness, put his dry feet down into a pool of cold water which was collecting in the living quarters, stuck his arm out in the rain and pulled in the seagulls' loot before they could cause any more chaos. Meanwhile the Bennet twins cried in stereo.
"This is just the pits," thought Mrs Bennet, half expecting the tent to take off. The only consolation was there were two travel cots holding down their sleeping pods. Thankfully the other three Miss Bennets were sound asleep and stayed that way until their sisters and finally their parents joined them. The parents however looked how they felt in the morning - rough. They weren't the only ones. Three families in their party had decided they'd had enough and were packing up to return to home comforts.
Mrs Bennet didn't blame them. But the rain hadn't defeated the Bennets yet. Their beds were dry, the children were happy and so stick it out they would.
"It's character building I suppose. If we can live through this, putting up with building work will be a doddle," mulled Mrs Bennet, her fighting spirit willing her on.