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Sunday 3rd December 2017

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Everyone else in the family is under the weather and I might be ill too, but I am just too tired to notice. When you don’t sleep, colds and hangovers just disappear. This could be a marketable cure to both conditions. I will just come round your house with a baby and make you feed it every two hours.
We decided to take it easy and skipped Phoebe’s football lesson and stayed in the lounge eating biscuits and watching True and the Magic Wishing Tree (that’s just a punt at the title - I just checked it’s actually True and the Rainbow Kingdom, which is just stupid) on a loop, occasionally interspersed with the blessed relied of Finding Nemo. 
There was play dough being slowly stomped into the carpet and I thought that like the vandalism on the bedroom wall, seeing little pink flecks in the carpet in years to come will make me feel nostalgic and happy and wish that I could be back here. But future me, you’re forgetting what this was like. You do not want  to come back here. Be glad you are out of this. Whichever route you took.
Talking of being nostalgic for a time that was definitely worse, I lost myself a little in the World Cup of Grange Hill that’s being run on this Twitter feed. It’s fun to see who you remember and who you don’t, but also to discover the tricks that your brain plays on you. I think if I bumped into the actor who played Helen Kelly I would be pretty certain I was actually at school with her. This was be a constant problem for these people. The more famous ones possibly less so, but those semi-familiar ones…. But just the fashions and the hairstyles are dizzying too. Dragged by the guts back to those days when sausages on forks flew across the canteen (hold on, no that was Grange Hill).
It seems impossible that any of those characters have become old and are in their forties and fifties. And I refuse to believe it. The only good thing about Brexit taking us back to the 1950s is the means in 30 years time it will the the 1980s again and Grange Hill will be back. And I will be in my eighties in these eighties too.
We learned nothing from our scare the other night and once the kids were in bed shared a bottle of champagne. We were celebrating the fact that both the kids were in bed. The little one woke up so I drank most of my champagne in his bedroom whilst trying to calm him (I am an excellent parent), but it was still amazing. Plus I had griddled some haloumi cheese. So, you know, we can get through anything. 


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