Saturday, September 27 08
"Don't worry about Friday, it's fine for you to start on Monday," informed the recorded message on Mrs Bennet's mobile phone. Mrs Bennet looked puzzled and turned to her husband.
"I do believe Mr Bennet I've got a job, probably as a new cleaner."
She'd never applied for the position, didn't like cleaning and to be honest was not much good at the job. The duster was such a part of her daily routine it was still in its plastic cellophane. But Mrs Bennet realised the lady in question was a mother like herself and much to her relief, was having a senior moment.
Mrs Bennet was meant to be interviewing the mother on Friday morning for a radio programme, but when the three older Bennet daughters announced it was their Harvest Festival, there was no alternative. She had to rearrange and had left a message explaining the situation. Unfortunately the name of this lady's new cleaner was very similar to Mrs Bennet's, hence the confusion.
The phone rang. It was the radio lady. Mrs Bennet couldn't resist asking,"Did I get the job?"
"I'm terribly sorry, I thought you were the new cleaner. I'm having one of those days," was the reply.
Mrs Bennet told her about her shopping list blib and the voice on the other end immediately felt better.
"You wouldn't want me as your cleaner. I failed my A level in it," joked Mrs Bennet.
Cleaning was not one of her strong points. The spiders in the house loved her. They were free to make their webs wherever they chose. They only trembled when she was about to give birth and as that was not going to happen again, they were thrilled.
It wasn't the first time Mrs Bennet had been mistaken for the cleaner. Many years ago, the first time Mr Bennet ever saw his future wife, he had thought she was at his workplace to empty the bins and clean the floor. He worked with Mrs Bennet's father, and she and her mother had walked in, hoping for a lift home. What an impression she had made.
Now 15 years later, Mr Bennet knew his wife was NOT a cleaner. She did her best, but it was not on her priority list. With Phil the Builder due to start in just over a week's time, he did admit her efforts to cleanse the place had improved no end. Mind you, Mrs Bennet had no choice. If you moved furniture, you inevitably found grime behind it.
"My dear Mr Bennet, would you employ me as a cleaner if I applied for the job," she asked her husband as he was watching television. His team Aston Villa was playing. Amazingly she got a response.
"When you clean you do a good job," he replied, smiling.
When, was the word. "May be next year," thought Mrs Bennet, "After all a lot of dust will fall by then."
Saturday, 27 September 2008
Wednesday, 24 September 2008
Out of control
Tuesday, September 24 08
Mrs Bennet’s request was granted. The Sexy Sat Nav did arrive. It came with a brand new space wagon which had gadgets, buttons and lots of fancy stuff. Sliding doors slid open and shut, the boot door lifted up and down all at two clicks of a button. Mrs Bennet felt rich. She’d never driven a spanking new car, which gleamed on the outside as well as in. It came complete with DVD player and Sat Nav. But it wasn’t hers. She was in the driving seat for two whole weeks and then she would have to hand over the keys and the pretence of having a full bank account. The Scooby Doo van was having much-needed plastic surgery. It was operating mechanically, but as Mrs Bennet, who was suffering a severe bout of sleep deprivation at the time, had got it wedged between two gate posts and had made matters worse by moving forward – not that she had much choice – it was now wearing thousands of pounds worth of scratch and dent. The fact Scooby Doo was black, highlighted the scar’s impressive appearance. Mrs Bennet had done a very good job. She liked to do things well. But as they couldn’t afford to pay the £400 excess, six months later, Mrs Bennet’s few seconds of misjudgement was still on show until now.
Hence why the Sexy Sat Nav and all the trimmings. Mrs Bennet thought she had been given her early Christmas present, but sadly she couldn’t tell whether it was sexy or not. In fact she didn’t even know if it was male or female. All she knew was that the body was NOT included and neither was the remote control, which the manual said was essential to make it work.
“I shall never know now,” she nodded sadly, “But one day, when I’ve written my book, I will buy myself my male Sat Nav with a deep Irish drawl and I will buy a car like this.”
Having arrived at her destination without the sexy male voice to tell her so, she pulled up on to the Bennet driveway and proceeded to lift Miss Bennet Number Three and Four out and let them into the house. She found a few toys for Miss Rosie Bennet to play with while she went back into her classy vehicle. As she leant over to unbuckle Miss Bennet Number Five’s car seat, the boot suddenly lifted up in the air and shut again and the door she was leaning through, jolted into life and started closing. Startled she swiftly moved her legs out of the way so they weren’t caught in the guillotine and promptly bashed her head on the car ceiling.
“Ahhh help this car’s alive Kezzie! Perhaps I’ve hit a secret button,” she informed her daughter, looking around to see what she’d pressed.
Mrs Bennet couldn’t even find the keys, but managed to pick up the chirping child, who wasn’t at all bothered by the car's moving bits, and squeezed herself and twin into the front seat and opened the door.
Inside the house, sitting at the farthest corner of the lounge was the four-year-old controller. Holding the keys to Velma – the childrens’ nickname for the car as it was Scooby Doo’s friend – was Miss Bennet Number Four.
“Hey, this is fun Mummy!” she announced, pressing another button.
“So it was you! I can’t believe you managed to make that car obey you through two sets of doors and three lots of wall! I was inside Megan and the doors mysteriously shut on their own.”
“Were you scared like in Scooby Doo Mummy?” the controller asked.
“Well it certainly made me jump!”
“Can I do it again?”
“No!” And with that, the small controller reluctantly handed over the keys to Velma and moved on to train travel and started building a track.
Mrs Bennet was so glad Miss Megan hadn’t pressed the lock button too. If that had happened, she and Kezia would have been serving time for a long while. And Mrs Bennet would have been like a character in one of the Bennet girls favourite television programmes, Trapped. The intimidating voice on this occasion would have shouted out her catch line: “Poor unfortunate Mrs Bennet you are trapped!”
Mrs Bennet’s request was granted. The Sexy Sat Nav did arrive. It came with a brand new space wagon which had gadgets, buttons and lots of fancy stuff. Sliding doors slid open and shut, the boot door lifted up and down all at two clicks of a button. Mrs Bennet felt rich. She’d never driven a spanking new car, which gleamed on the outside as well as in. It came complete with DVD player and Sat Nav. But it wasn’t hers. She was in the driving seat for two whole weeks and then she would have to hand over the keys and the pretence of having a full bank account. The Scooby Doo van was having much-needed plastic surgery. It was operating mechanically, but as Mrs Bennet, who was suffering a severe bout of sleep deprivation at the time, had got it wedged between two gate posts and had made matters worse by moving forward – not that she had much choice – it was now wearing thousands of pounds worth of scratch and dent. The fact Scooby Doo was black, highlighted the scar’s impressive appearance. Mrs Bennet had done a very good job. She liked to do things well. But as they couldn’t afford to pay the £400 excess, six months later, Mrs Bennet’s few seconds of misjudgement was still on show until now.
Hence why the Sexy Sat Nav and all the trimmings. Mrs Bennet thought she had been given her early Christmas present, but sadly she couldn’t tell whether it was sexy or not. In fact she didn’t even know if it was male or female. All she knew was that the body was NOT included and neither was the remote control, which the manual said was essential to make it work.
“I shall never know now,” she nodded sadly, “But one day, when I’ve written my book, I will buy myself my male Sat Nav with a deep Irish drawl and I will buy a car like this.”
Having arrived at her destination without the sexy male voice to tell her so, she pulled up on to the Bennet driveway and proceeded to lift Miss Bennet Number Three and Four out and let them into the house. She found a few toys for Miss Rosie Bennet to play with while she went back into her classy vehicle. As she leant over to unbuckle Miss Bennet Number Five’s car seat, the boot suddenly lifted up in the air and shut again and the door she was leaning through, jolted into life and started closing. Startled she swiftly moved her legs out of the way so they weren’t caught in the guillotine and promptly bashed her head on the car ceiling.
“Ahhh help this car’s alive Kezzie! Perhaps I’ve hit a secret button,” she informed her daughter, looking around to see what she’d pressed.
Mrs Bennet couldn’t even find the keys, but managed to pick up the chirping child, who wasn’t at all bothered by the car's moving bits, and squeezed herself and twin into the front seat and opened the door.
Inside the house, sitting at the farthest corner of the lounge was the four-year-old controller. Holding the keys to Velma – the childrens’ nickname for the car as it was Scooby Doo’s friend – was Miss Bennet Number Four.
“Hey, this is fun Mummy!” she announced, pressing another button.
“So it was you! I can’t believe you managed to make that car obey you through two sets of doors and three lots of wall! I was inside Megan and the doors mysteriously shut on their own.”
“Were you scared like in Scooby Doo Mummy?” the controller asked.
“Well it certainly made me jump!”
“Can I do it again?”
“No!” And with that, the small controller reluctantly handed over the keys to Velma and moved on to train travel and started building a track.
Mrs Bennet was so glad Miss Megan hadn’t pressed the lock button too. If that had happened, she and Kezia would have been serving time for a long while. And Mrs Bennet would have been like a character in one of the Bennet girls favourite television programmes, Trapped. The intimidating voice on this occasion would have shouted out her catch line: “Poor unfortunate Mrs Bennet you are trapped!”
Tuesday, 23 September 2008
Mrs Bennet chases balloons
Monday, September 22 08
It was almost 5.30pm and Mrs Bennet was on a mission. She was tracking down a hot air balloon which was taking her mother for a ride over Gloucestershire. Having been cancelled several times due to unsuitable weather conditions, the day had finally arrived. But a few hours before take off, the venue changed. Instead of Stroud, where the Bennets lived, the balloon was now to go up from the Royal Agricultural College in Cirencester. The three older Bennets, having never witnessed a hot air balloon close-up, were keen to see Jannie get carried away in her basket. Handing them a packed tea, Mrs Bennet waved them Miss Bennets One, Two and Three off as they took their grandmother to her launchpad with Grampie. Mrs Bennet said she'd stay and feed the little twin Bennets and get there in time for lift off.
Realising the babies were wearing the only nappies in the house, she made an emergency detour to a nearby supermarket, grabbed a take-away Mr Latte and sped (within the speed limit) to the venue. She soon spotted a large blue and red balloon lying on the grass opposite, half inflated with its insides lit up by a determined flame.
Mrs Bennet pulled into a layby and called Jannie.
"Where are you Mum?" she asked.
"We're in the field behind the college," was the reply.
"I can see the balloon, I'll be with you in a moment," explained Mrs Bennet.
Mrs Bennet was in the field behind Cirencester College but couldn't work out how to get to the balloon in question. Not being able to leave the twins, she looked around for help. A staff member, about to go home, kindly let Mrs Bennet follow her so she could park near to the now roaring inflatable. Out came the pushchair, in went the twins, out came the cries, in went the milk bottles. Miss Rosie Bennet stared in disbelief at the biggest party balloon she'd ever seen, Miss Kezia Bennet cried at the biggest dragon she'd ever set eyes on. Grabbing her camera, Mrs Bennet aimed at the basket, containing what looked like a dozen different coloured eggs. Its occupants were crouched down low and as the balloon took off, the pilot instructed them to stand and wave. Mrs Bennet waved back, frantically looking for her mother's face. But the yellow egg she'd thought was Jannie wore a different face. She was still waving but to a group of strangers, while her stunned twins looked up to see a group of people suddenly take off into the air. Mrs Bennet was as stunned as they. Where was her mother? She rang her. No answer. She rang her dad.
"You've got the wrong balloon," he laughed. "Mum is in a pink balloon and she's about to take off now!"
Mrs Bennet was in the wrong field, wrong college watching the wrong balloon, just quarter of a mile away from the right one.
"But Dad, I've got some brilliant photos. I'll just have to superimpose Jannie's head onto it!"
Mrs Bennet laughed at her own mistake. Of course it had to be a pink balloon - it couldn't be any other with her girly brood. Her parents had realised why she hadn't arrived when they saw the red and blue balloon float by overhead. They too had had no idea they were so close to another launch party.
The next two hours were spent chasing round the countryside to follow Jannie's pink balloon, which elegantly floated over tree, field and countrylane. Mrs Bennet couldn't help thinking it resembled a giant gum bubble. The twins and the three older Miss Bennets were delighted to play hunt the balloon and insisted Mrs Bennet play a certain track on the High School Musical CD.
"This is for you Jannie!" they cried.
"Souring, flying, there's not a star in heaven that we can't reach..." they sang at the tops of their voices. Despite the jollity, the balloon trip had a profound impact on Miss Bennet Number Three. When her grandmother returned safely back to earth, she needed an answer.
"Jannie, did you fly up to heaven?"
"No darling, I don't want to go there just yet."
"Oh, I wasn't sure where you went," the little girl replied.
Mrs Bennet smiled. She was also glad her mother was back on solid ground. Mrs Bennet was just grateful it hadn't been her balloon trip. She would have most probably got into the wrong basket.
It was almost 5.30pm and Mrs Bennet was on a mission. She was tracking down a hot air balloon which was taking her mother for a ride over Gloucestershire. Having been cancelled several times due to unsuitable weather conditions, the day had finally arrived. But a few hours before take off, the venue changed. Instead of Stroud, where the Bennets lived, the balloon was now to go up from the Royal Agricultural College in Cirencester. The three older Bennets, having never witnessed a hot air balloon close-up, were keen to see Jannie get carried away in her basket. Handing them a packed tea, Mrs Bennet waved them Miss Bennets One, Two and Three off as they took their grandmother to her launchpad with Grampie. Mrs Bennet said she'd stay and feed the little twin Bennets and get there in time for lift off.
Realising the babies were wearing the only nappies in the house, she made an emergency detour to a nearby supermarket, grabbed a take-away Mr Latte and sped (within the speed limit) to the venue. She soon spotted a large blue and red balloon lying on the grass opposite, half inflated with its insides lit up by a determined flame.
Mrs Bennet pulled into a layby and called Jannie.
"Where are you Mum?" she asked.
"We're in the field behind the college," was the reply.
"I can see the balloon, I'll be with you in a moment," explained Mrs Bennet.
Mrs Bennet was in the field behind Cirencester College but couldn't work out how to get to the balloon in question. Not being able to leave the twins, she looked around for help. A staff member, about to go home, kindly let Mrs Bennet follow her so she could park near to the now roaring inflatable. Out came the pushchair, in went the twins, out came the cries, in went the milk bottles. Miss Rosie Bennet stared in disbelief at the biggest party balloon she'd ever seen, Miss Kezia Bennet cried at the biggest dragon she'd ever set eyes on. Grabbing her camera, Mrs Bennet aimed at the basket, containing what looked like a dozen different coloured eggs. Its occupants were crouched down low and as the balloon took off, the pilot instructed them to stand and wave. Mrs Bennet waved back, frantically looking for her mother's face. But the yellow egg she'd thought was Jannie wore a different face. She was still waving but to a group of strangers, while her stunned twins looked up to see a group of people suddenly take off into the air. Mrs Bennet was as stunned as they. Where was her mother? She rang her. No answer. She rang her dad.
"You've got the wrong balloon," he laughed. "Mum is in a pink balloon and she's about to take off now!"
Mrs Bennet was in the wrong field, wrong college watching the wrong balloon, just quarter of a mile away from the right one.
"But Dad, I've got some brilliant photos. I'll just have to superimpose Jannie's head onto it!"
Mrs Bennet laughed at her own mistake. Of course it had to be a pink balloon - it couldn't be any other with her girly brood. Her parents had realised why she hadn't arrived when they saw the red and blue balloon float by overhead. They too had had no idea they were so close to another launch party.
The next two hours were spent chasing round the countryside to follow Jannie's pink balloon, which elegantly floated over tree, field and countrylane. Mrs Bennet couldn't help thinking it resembled a giant gum bubble. The twins and the three older Miss Bennets were delighted to play hunt the balloon and insisted Mrs Bennet play a certain track on the High School Musical CD.
"This is for you Jannie!" they cried.
"Souring, flying, there's not a star in heaven that we can't reach..." they sang at the tops of their voices. Despite the jollity, the balloon trip had a profound impact on Miss Bennet Number Three. When her grandmother returned safely back to earth, she needed an answer.
"Jannie, did you fly up to heaven?"
"No darling, I don't want to go there just yet."
"Oh, I wasn't sure where you went," the little girl replied.
Mrs Bennet smiled. She was also glad her mother was back on solid ground. Mrs Bennet was just grateful it hadn't been her balloon trip. She would have most probably got into the wrong basket.
Sunday, 21 September 2008
Mrs Bennet the Airhead turns to Mr Google
Friday, September 19 08
Mrs Bennet was born bottom first, three and a half weeks early. By nature she was ahead of herself and at times this characteristic worked against her. Take today for example. Mr Bennet had kindly offered to buy some shopping on his way home to save his wife taking all five Miss Bennets, who inevitably all pointed to various items on shelves which definitely weren’t on the list. All Mrs Bennet had to do was write down the groceries and toiletries needed and email them to her husband. And this she did. Well she thought she had until a few minutes later, two emails arrived in her in-tray. The first was an email to herself from herself. Instead of sending the message to her friend she had sent it to Mrs Bennet. The second was more worrying. It was from a reporter from one of the local newspapers. Mrs Bennet had only gone and sent her shopping list to the paper instead of Mr Bennet!
“Calm down! I don’t think you intended this to be published!” read the reply. Mrs Bennet roared with laughter. She had been accused by her mother of being on another planet and this confirmed it. Only last week she had forgotten her parent’s 44th wedding anniversary. Mrs Bennet never forgot. Her head was so full of shifting, sorting, packing, moving, settling a four-year-old into school and day-to-day living with five children, one husband, soon to be joined by one or two builders, that she had no room for sense. It was just as well her head was fixed onto her body. Because being where she was right now, she would probably leave it in the strangest of places - most likely in the microwave or freezer. She used to be a fan of Worzel Gummidge, a country bumpkin scarecrow with a weird-looking wart on his face who came to life and sang ”you put a wer after W and a wer after O, a wer after R and away we go….” He used to unscrew his head and take it off.
“If I could take off my head right now, I’d put on Mr Bennet’s. It works better than mine. Or actually, come to think of it, Mr Google’s head would be fantastic,” decided Mrs Bennet.
Mr Google was highly intelligent, could speak hundreds of languages, answer every Trivial Pursuit question and was a mind of useful information. He was someone with whom Mrs Bennet kept good company when she wasn’t seeing Mr Latte. She couldn’t have them both. Mr Google wasn’t connected at the venue she met Mr Latte, so she had the best of both worlds. Mr Latte in the day; Mr Google late at night. He often kept her company into early morning, much to the dismay of Mr Bennet.
Mrs Bennet’s mind was wondering. That was the problem, it wondered a lot. She looked at the mug she was holding. At least her friends understood her. One mum friend had given her this mug – one she hadn’t broken - for her birthday. On it was a picture of a woman, book in one hand, cup in another, hanging upside down from a lamp post. The caption read: “I’m in my own world, it’s OK they know me here.”
Jannie, Mrs Bennet’s mother was quite right, her daughter was in her own world at the moment. But Mrs Bennet was happily oblivious. Her mind on overload, she was content with her new friend Mr Google. And hopefully if she spent enough time with him, she’d pick up a few intelligent tips and wouldn’t email shopping lists – or worse - to the wrong person.
Mrs Bennet was born bottom first, three and a half weeks early. By nature she was ahead of herself and at times this characteristic worked against her. Take today for example. Mr Bennet had kindly offered to buy some shopping on his way home to save his wife taking all five Miss Bennets, who inevitably all pointed to various items on shelves which definitely weren’t on the list. All Mrs Bennet had to do was write down the groceries and toiletries needed and email them to her husband. And this she did. Well she thought she had until a few minutes later, two emails arrived in her in-tray. The first was an email to herself from herself. Instead of sending the message to her friend she had sent it to Mrs Bennet. The second was more worrying. It was from a reporter from one of the local newspapers. Mrs Bennet had only gone and sent her shopping list to the paper instead of Mr Bennet!
“Calm down! I don’t think you intended this to be published!” read the reply. Mrs Bennet roared with laughter. She had been accused by her mother of being on another planet and this confirmed it. Only last week she had forgotten her parent’s 44th wedding anniversary. Mrs Bennet never forgot. Her head was so full of shifting, sorting, packing, moving, settling a four-year-old into school and day-to-day living with five children, one husband, soon to be joined by one or two builders, that she had no room for sense. It was just as well her head was fixed onto her body. Because being where she was right now, she would probably leave it in the strangest of places - most likely in the microwave or freezer. She used to be a fan of Worzel Gummidge, a country bumpkin scarecrow with a weird-looking wart on his face who came to life and sang ”you put a wer after W and a wer after O, a wer after R and away we go….” He used to unscrew his head and take it off.
“If I could take off my head right now, I’d put on Mr Bennet’s. It works better than mine. Or actually, come to think of it, Mr Google’s head would be fantastic,” decided Mrs Bennet.
Mr Google was highly intelligent, could speak hundreds of languages, answer every Trivial Pursuit question and was a mind of useful information. He was someone with whom Mrs Bennet kept good company when she wasn’t seeing Mr Latte. She couldn’t have them both. Mr Google wasn’t connected at the venue she met Mr Latte, so she had the best of both worlds. Mr Latte in the day; Mr Google late at night. He often kept her company into early morning, much to the dismay of Mr Bennet.
Mrs Bennet’s mind was wondering. That was the problem, it wondered a lot. She looked at the mug she was holding. At least her friends understood her. One mum friend had given her this mug – one she hadn’t broken - for her birthday. On it was a picture of a woman, book in one hand, cup in another, hanging upside down from a lamp post. The caption read: “I’m in my own world, it’s OK they know me here.”
Jannie, Mrs Bennet’s mother was quite right, her daughter was in her own world at the moment. But Mrs Bennet was happily oblivious. Her mind on overload, she was content with her new friend Mr Google. And hopefully if she spent enough time with him, she’d pick up a few intelligent tips and wouldn’t email shopping lists – or worse - to the wrong person.
Stunk out and stuck in!
Thursday, September 18 08
Week day mornings were always a challenge for Mrs Bennet. If she overslept or she wasn’t focussed enough (which was often) the race-against-time challenge was verging on the impossible to complete. She had to allow a reserve bank of seconds to cater for the unexpected. This morning she wasn’t concentrating on the task and the reserve bank was empty. And someone had pressed “repeat” on the unexpected button. Mrs Bennet was packing up lunch boxes, buttering toast, brushing hair and finding baby clothes. Mr Bennet, aware his wife had got up far too late, had delayed his departure to give her a hand, and was chasing two tiny bottoms around the lounge floor in an attempt to put outfits on Bennet numbers four and five. Meanwhile upstairs, Miss Bennet number three decided to empty the contents of an old Pringles tube on her bed. The emphasis here being on old. If the Pringles had still been inside, there would be no story. As it was, this tube contained treasures – shells, pebbles, sand, sea water and the foulest smell imaginable. Mr Bennet was informed of the rancid aroma by Miss Bennet number two and quickly removed the offending tube. He hadn’t noticed the slime covering Dora the Explorer’s head. But his informant had and the smell swiftly travelled downstairs as the Dora duvet landed at the feet of Mrs Bennet, ready for a rapid entry into the washing machine. This was Unexpected Incident One. By this time, all the Bennets should have left the building. Mr Bennet was late, but drove Miss Bennet number one, a junior, to school as she had to be there 10 minutes earlier than her siblings; leaving Mrs Bennet with four Miss Bennets. She was changing a rather putrid nappy, when Miss Bennet number three called from her bedroom that she wanted a certain doll in a certain bag but couldn’t reach it. Mrs Bennet explained she couldn’t move and would come as soon as she could. But it wasn’t soon enough and cause Unexpected Incident Two to occur. By now Miss Megan was yelling for a different reason. She was stuck (wedged was perhaps the better phrase) under the bed.
“What are you doing? I said I’d come up! Why couldn’t you wait? We just don’t have time for this!” expressed an exasperated Mrs Bennet.
“But I can’t move Mummy,” whimpered the jammed child as her mother struggled to set her free. Wiping the cobwebs off her daughter’s head, Mrs Bennet brushed her down and retrieved the pink plastic doll which had caused this commotion. The minutes were ticking. The babies were moaning and Miss Bennet number two was now refusing to put on her shoes. Having half-packed the conservatory, Mrs Bennet couldn’t remember where she’d put her own shoes and now the clothes sculpture was no more, the babies’ coats had vanished. She looked at her watch in desperation. They were late. She rang the school secretary to explain they were on their way and immediately tripped over a tiny blue and green dog on wheels, which barked as she kicked it. Miss Kezia Bennet sneezed and as she did so her dummy shot out with such force it startled the baby twin and almost made Mrs Bennet laugh. She couldn’t quite manage a full chuckle but it was enough to bring some much-needed light-relief and calmed her down.
Miraculously the five of them arrived as the bell rang. Once the two school children were handed over to their teachers, Mrs Bennet sighed deeply. She felt worn out and it was only 9 o’clock in the morning.
“My life is a farce,” she acknowledged, “a complete farce – or perhaps it’s just a comedy of errors!”
Week day mornings were always a challenge for Mrs Bennet. If she overslept or she wasn’t focussed enough (which was often) the race-against-time challenge was verging on the impossible to complete. She had to allow a reserve bank of seconds to cater for the unexpected. This morning she wasn’t concentrating on the task and the reserve bank was empty. And someone had pressed “repeat” on the unexpected button. Mrs Bennet was packing up lunch boxes, buttering toast, brushing hair and finding baby clothes. Mr Bennet, aware his wife had got up far too late, had delayed his departure to give her a hand, and was chasing two tiny bottoms around the lounge floor in an attempt to put outfits on Bennet numbers four and five. Meanwhile upstairs, Miss Bennet number three decided to empty the contents of an old Pringles tube on her bed. The emphasis here being on old. If the Pringles had still been inside, there would be no story. As it was, this tube contained treasures – shells, pebbles, sand, sea water and the foulest smell imaginable. Mr Bennet was informed of the rancid aroma by Miss Bennet number two and quickly removed the offending tube. He hadn’t noticed the slime covering Dora the Explorer’s head. But his informant had and the smell swiftly travelled downstairs as the Dora duvet landed at the feet of Mrs Bennet, ready for a rapid entry into the washing machine. This was Unexpected Incident One. By this time, all the Bennets should have left the building. Mr Bennet was late, but drove Miss Bennet number one, a junior, to school as she had to be there 10 minutes earlier than her siblings; leaving Mrs Bennet with four Miss Bennets. She was changing a rather putrid nappy, when Miss Bennet number three called from her bedroom that she wanted a certain doll in a certain bag but couldn’t reach it. Mrs Bennet explained she couldn’t move and would come as soon as she could. But it wasn’t soon enough and cause Unexpected Incident Two to occur. By now Miss Megan was yelling for a different reason. She was stuck (wedged was perhaps the better phrase) under the bed.
“What are you doing? I said I’d come up! Why couldn’t you wait? We just don’t have time for this!” expressed an exasperated Mrs Bennet.
“But I can’t move Mummy,” whimpered the jammed child as her mother struggled to set her free. Wiping the cobwebs off her daughter’s head, Mrs Bennet brushed her down and retrieved the pink plastic doll which had caused this commotion. The minutes were ticking. The babies were moaning and Miss Bennet number two was now refusing to put on her shoes. Having half-packed the conservatory, Mrs Bennet couldn’t remember where she’d put her own shoes and now the clothes sculpture was no more, the babies’ coats had vanished. She looked at her watch in desperation. They were late. She rang the school secretary to explain they were on their way and immediately tripped over a tiny blue and green dog on wheels, which barked as she kicked it. Miss Kezia Bennet sneezed and as she did so her dummy shot out with such force it startled the baby twin and almost made Mrs Bennet laugh. She couldn’t quite manage a full chuckle but it was enough to bring some much-needed light-relief and calmed her down.
Miraculously the five of them arrived as the bell rang. Once the two school children were handed over to their teachers, Mrs Bennet sighed deeply. She felt worn out and it was only 9 o’clock in the morning.
“My life is a farce,” she acknowledged, “a complete farce – or perhaps it’s just a comedy of errors!”
Thursday, 18 September 2008
Open wide please!
Wednesday, September 18 08
At 10 o'clock Mrs Bennet had the chance to be without all five of her daughters and to sit down for half an hour. The only sting in the tail was the fact she was sitting in the dentist's chair. However unlike the unfortunate tooth incident during a wet week under canvas, this dentist was dishy and if she wasn't married and about 20 years younger, she would have perhaps fluttered her eyelashes at him. But respectable wives with five children, fast approaching 40, didn't do such things. Well they might, but she wasn't one of them. She just flirted with a cup of hot frothy coffee, which didn't count. This morning's drilling, was the final chapter in the holiday dentist saga. To recap, she had woken up a bald-headed middle-aged man on a Saturday morning, forcing him to get into his very expensive soft-topped vehicle and fly to her aid to rid her of the unbearable pain, which three days earlier he'd charged £40 to tell her was a pulled muscle. He'd taken off a filling, to put a temporary one on, and now she was paying to have that one removed and a permanent one put back.
"I'm definitely in the wrong job. But I wouldn't want to look down throats all day long. Although drilling must be kind of fun when it's not done on yourself," she thought.
It helped that her dentist was young, friendly and like Mr Bennet had a nice smile, which showed off his perfect teeth. In her mid 20's when she had first set eyes on the young Mr Bennet, it was his long-lashed blue eyes and gorgeous smile which had impressed her. He was a good advert for teeth, unlike herself, who seemed to be taking a dentist residency. However she wished to add her teeth were fine before she had had children. She'd only had this conversation yesterday with a dear friend and fellow mother who was also forking out a fortune for dental treatment. She'd lost a gold crown and was paying dearly for it.
"My mum told me you lose two teeth for every child you have," she'd informed Mrs Bennet.
"I may as well order my dentures now then!" Mrs Bennet replied, "Although 10 teeth might fetch a fair price from the tooth fairy!"
It was the first question she'd asked the dentist when she sat in his chair. His assistant replied:
"I think the story's got exaggerated in time. My mum told me it was one tooth per child."
"Still five teeth is still too many for me," declared Mrs Bennet, who resolved never to eat another toffee in her life.
She kept quiet after that. Well she could hardly say much, with a drill in her mouth, a numbed jaw and two faces peering over her. She tried to relax as Terry Wogan rambled on in the corner of the room. She shut her eyes and pretended she wasn't there. For a moment, she was on a beach, lying in a hammock, enjoying the warm sea breeze with a rum and coke in hand. Until she had to raise her hand to spit out the potent taste which was filling her mouth. Mrs Bennet could think of a better and cheaper way to spend 30 minutes without children.
At 10 o'clock Mrs Bennet had the chance to be without all five of her daughters and to sit down for half an hour. The only sting in the tail was the fact she was sitting in the dentist's chair. However unlike the unfortunate tooth incident during a wet week under canvas, this dentist was dishy and if she wasn't married and about 20 years younger, she would have perhaps fluttered her eyelashes at him. But respectable wives with five children, fast approaching 40, didn't do such things. Well they might, but she wasn't one of them. She just flirted with a cup of hot frothy coffee, which didn't count. This morning's drilling, was the final chapter in the holiday dentist saga. To recap, she had woken up a bald-headed middle-aged man on a Saturday morning, forcing him to get into his very expensive soft-topped vehicle and fly to her aid to rid her of the unbearable pain, which three days earlier he'd charged £40 to tell her was a pulled muscle. He'd taken off a filling, to put a temporary one on, and now she was paying to have that one removed and a permanent one put back.
"I'm definitely in the wrong job. But I wouldn't want to look down throats all day long. Although drilling must be kind of fun when it's not done on yourself," she thought.
It helped that her dentist was young, friendly and like Mr Bennet had a nice smile, which showed off his perfect teeth. In her mid 20's when she had first set eyes on the young Mr Bennet, it was his long-lashed blue eyes and gorgeous smile which had impressed her. He was a good advert for teeth, unlike herself, who seemed to be taking a dentist residency. However she wished to add her teeth were fine before she had had children. She'd only had this conversation yesterday with a dear friend and fellow mother who was also forking out a fortune for dental treatment. She'd lost a gold crown and was paying dearly for it.
"My mum told me you lose two teeth for every child you have," she'd informed Mrs Bennet.
"I may as well order my dentures now then!" Mrs Bennet replied, "Although 10 teeth might fetch a fair price from the tooth fairy!"
It was the first question she'd asked the dentist when she sat in his chair. His assistant replied:
"I think the story's got exaggerated in time. My mum told me it was one tooth per child."
"Still five teeth is still too many for me," declared Mrs Bennet, who resolved never to eat another toffee in her life.
She kept quiet after that. Well she could hardly say much, with a drill in her mouth, a numbed jaw and two faces peering over her. She tried to relax as Terry Wogan rambled on in the corner of the room. She shut her eyes and pretended she wasn't there. For a moment, she was on a beach, lying in a hammock, enjoying the warm sea breeze with a rum and coke in hand. Until she had to raise her hand to spit out the potent taste which was filling her mouth. Mrs Bennet could think of a better and cheaper way to spend 30 minutes without children.
The issue of specs
Tuesday, September 17 08
Miss Megan Bennet was finding her new routine tough. She was used to having a say in what clothes she wore for the day. Now she had no choice apart from grey trousers or grey skirt. She hadn't realise this school business would be every day and she wasn’t sure she liked it. After her sobbing entry on the first day, the tears had subsided, fingers were out of the mouth and the limpet’s suction removed. Having almost completed a week, Miss Megan Bennet was bouncing in confidently and it made leaving her a much happier event for Mrs Bennet. But one issue was troubling both Miss Megan and Mrs Bennet – the issue of spectacles. The tiny delicate pink-framed glasses, which this dimple-faced Bennet number three wore so well, had been part of Megan’s life since she was 17 months old. At one, her noticeable squint had raised a few concerns and various orthoptist appointments diagnosed long-sightedness in both eyes. The prognosis: a possible operation and specs for life, but the option of contact lenses when appearance mattered in the teen years. If any of the Miss Bennets were to have a problem with sight, this sweet-natured, accommodating child was the right one. She sat perfectly still in examinations and for six weeks wore a patch on her good eye (three hours a day) without complaining, largely because Mrs Bennet made matching left-eye patches for every doll in the Bennet household. Miss Bennet hardly ever took her glasses off, only to be cleaned or if she knew she was dropping off. She accepted her accessory.
School changed all that. On her first day, Miss Bennet relayed how one of the little boys in her class had pushed her glasses into her face with his hand. ("Why do children do that?" thought Mrs Bennet angrily) As soon as Miss Bennet had finished her morning classroom session, she took her specs off and refused to wear them. Later when piling into the Scooby Doo Van with her sisters she remarked:
“Mummy, why do I have to wear glasses and Naomi and Emily don’t?”
Mrs Bennet was about to give a sensitive reply, when the eldest Miss Bennet, without tact, did it for her.
“That’s because we can see better than you.”
If Mr Bennet had made such a comment – which he wouldn’t have done – she would have poked him. As it was her daughter, she gave her the look, which spoke a hundred words. The daughter didn’t need an interpretation.
Mrs Bennet managed to sooth her bespectacled-child. But the problem arose again the following day when she came out of the classroom, this time holding a scroll of white paper, with her glasses wrapped up inside.
“I fell over and broke them Mummy. And now I won’t be able to see,” explained the tearful girl, although probably enjoying the fact she looked like everyone else.
A reassuring hug from Mrs Bennet soothed the hurt. The teaching assistant reported how the children had just had a story about a dinosaur who couldn’t see and needed glasses. Mrs Bennet received this as her reassuring hug. Miss Megan would be well cared for, and though she was the only four-year-old wearing specs, so too was she the only one who matched her teacher – the lovely surrogate mother.
Miss Megan Bennet was finding her new routine tough. She was used to having a say in what clothes she wore for the day. Now she had no choice apart from grey trousers or grey skirt. She hadn't realise this school business would be every day and she wasn’t sure she liked it. After her sobbing entry on the first day, the tears had subsided, fingers were out of the mouth and the limpet’s suction removed. Having almost completed a week, Miss Megan Bennet was bouncing in confidently and it made leaving her a much happier event for Mrs Bennet. But one issue was troubling both Miss Megan and Mrs Bennet – the issue of spectacles. The tiny delicate pink-framed glasses, which this dimple-faced Bennet number three wore so well, had been part of Megan’s life since she was 17 months old. At one, her noticeable squint had raised a few concerns and various orthoptist appointments diagnosed long-sightedness in both eyes. The prognosis: a possible operation and specs for life, but the option of contact lenses when appearance mattered in the teen years. If any of the Miss Bennets were to have a problem with sight, this sweet-natured, accommodating child was the right one. She sat perfectly still in examinations and for six weeks wore a patch on her good eye (three hours a day) without complaining, largely because Mrs Bennet made matching left-eye patches for every doll in the Bennet household. Miss Bennet hardly ever took her glasses off, only to be cleaned or if she knew she was dropping off. She accepted her accessory.
School changed all that. On her first day, Miss Bennet relayed how one of the little boys in her class had pushed her glasses into her face with his hand. ("Why do children do that?" thought Mrs Bennet angrily) As soon as Miss Bennet had finished her morning classroom session, she took her specs off and refused to wear them. Later when piling into the Scooby Doo Van with her sisters she remarked:
“Mummy, why do I have to wear glasses and Naomi and Emily don’t?”
Mrs Bennet was about to give a sensitive reply, when the eldest Miss Bennet, without tact, did it for her.
“That’s because we can see better than you.”
If Mr Bennet had made such a comment – which he wouldn’t have done – she would have poked him. As it was her daughter, she gave her the look, which spoke a hundred words. The daughter didn’t need an interpretation.
Mrs Bennet managed to sooth her bespectacled-child. But the problem arose again the following day when she came out of the classroom, this time holding a scroll of white paper, with her glasses wrapped up inside.
“I fell over and broke them Mummy. And now I won’t be able to see,” explained the tearful girl, although probably enjoying the fact she looked like everyone else.
A reassuring hug from Mrs Bennet soothed the hurt. The teaching assistant reported how the children had just had a story about a dinosaur who couldn’t see and needed glasses. Mrs Bennet received this as her reassuring hug. Miss Megan would be well cared for, and though she was the only four-year-old wearing specs, so too was she the only one who matched her teacher – the lovely surrogate mother.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
