Jam Tarts and Sag Aloo

Alone this weekend; Alan's away on a luxury golfing foray! Well, he needs a rest from the stresses and strains of life at the cutting edge of Human Resources. I am not resentful in the least, certainly not. Or noting with interest that it is raining.

I, then, am holding the fort, without car (no problem!) but hopefully with good humour. We got off to a good start after school on Friday. I'd set out an activity for Bonnie and her friends (packet of ready-rolled). There was ground to make up; she'd just had her class assembly (Greeks) and anyone could see that the 'costume' I'd provided her with was a double sheet bound round and round and round her until she resembled an enormous cotton reel. It was so heavy that she had to pin her arms to her sides throughout the performance to keep it from thudding to the floor. She gave the dances her best shot, lifting each arm dead fast - updown! updown!- one at a time, but she couldn't really let rip. When I cast an eye over the bronze chokers, the off-the-shoulder robes and the Cleopatra eye make-up of her mates, I had to admit I could have made more of an effort.

Anyway, I got brownie-points for the ready-rolled; 'Let's make tarts!' I beamed, perfect Mom. It was all going nicely, tart sale set up in the front garden, passers-by running for cover, children shouting 'Tarts for sale! Tarts for sale!', when oops-a-daisy, the whole cake-stand went down with a crash! Bonnie was in floods. I swept up the crushed tarts, blowing off the mud - 'Look!' taking a (gritty) bite, 'they're fine!' but it didn't wash. She was inconsolable.

I'd planned some quality time with Josie too, allowing her an indian takeaway while we watched a film together. But we'd just switched on when she dropped her vegetable curry onto the front room floor-boards (unfilled,until now). I swooped with a baby wipe, 'watch what you're doing, Josie!', pushing more into the cracks, and making her nervy, so then she stood on all the poppodums, which was obviously more than I could bare. 'Sit down and lift up your feet' I snapped. With my nose in the sag-aloo and my head under her legs, I didn't feel like bonding any more. Quality time can be over-rated.