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So here we are, sitting round the table at Grandma and Grandad’s, Uncle Dan is at one end pulling faces at Rose, Mummy is trying for feed Violet while Daddy holds her and everyone is trying ot eat bithday cake that’s covered in too much sugar and we’re falling about laughing.

Today we at Grandma’s for lunch.  Once again the kids have kept us up all night, we’ve had no sleep and are shattered.  We’ve made an extra special effort to look nice, looking nice will always give you a lift when you need one, and are sitting down to our dinner.

Grandma’s friend’s are coming to stay.  His name Hongo.  Of course I’m tired, I’m thinking out loud and I ask if he’s got a brother called pongo, Mary asks if he plays the bongo, back to me has he got anotherer brother mongo, does he live in the congo, does he drink umbong?  Umbongo, umbongo, they drink it in the jungle in the congo! At which point we’re all laughing hysterically, the tiredness has gone, Grandma says, in her best straightest face, we’ll actually he is from the congo, and we fall apart laughing again.

Apologies to Grandma and Grandad’s friend for being so rude about your name but thank you for the huge laugh that restored our strength

What sort of question is that?  The marketing hype has really worked.  Somehow my daughter has worked out that Jonny plays rugby for England and is the linch pin of the side.  She hasn’t a clue who he is but she’s got 90% of the information so is happy to miss cbeebies and watch England Italy with me.

I spend most of the game pointing out who Jonny is, jumping up and down with Rose and Violet when England score and then afterwards practising our rugby moves.  So far we’ve mastered the hand off, the ruck and catching the high ball (well almost catching a really low ball).

If dancing doesn’t win I think Rose may well take up Rugby at some point. 

A childs imagination is the most wonderful thing in the world.  I guess for most of us adults as we’ve grown up our imagination has been squashed into a small space at the back of our brains.  The constant dealing with everyday mundane things has slowly but surely killed the imagination we had. So much so that most of us find it difficult to imagine anthing.  So much so that when you watch children playing it is the most capivating thing ever.

Our back lounge has become Rose’s restaurant.  “It is not a cafe, Daddy” she often tells me, “It’s a restaurant!”.  Almost as if there’s a difference and she’s the giver of michelin stars.  Anyway she’s always asking “are you coming to my restaurant”.  Often when I’m working from home I’ll nip in for my morning coffee at 10:30, but today she was fully booked.  Auntie and P where waiting for there lunch when I nipped down and so all I was offered was a quick coffee to go and a big kiss both of which incensed her exisiting customers who were still waiting for their first course.

“There’s going to be a blizzard tomorrow.  It will start at 5am and will snow all day.”  That was the weather report.  You can’t get more specific than that.  It’s not a case of Michael Fish and the hurrican.  There is going to be a blizzard, it will start at 5am and it will be horrendous.  Alright I’ve overplayed how bad it is going to be.

And despite all this London Underground still cant get the tubes to run on time.  I’m lucky, I leave at 6am as I have to be in London for breakfast at 7.30. Plenty of time. Even get to sit on the district line.  Get to Mile End at 6:50 and it’s 5 deep at the platform.  Delays.  There’s no surprise.  What I didn’t bank on is that everyone decided they were getting on no matter how hard it was or how squashed they were or wether it was safe or not.  So there we are, entering the “most people in a tube carriage” contest when the doors close and some blokes rucksake gets stuck outside the tube.

“Is that my bag? I dont spose you could lend a hand and pull me in a bit more?” was the best he could do, rather than get off someone had to reach over everyone else (Thank goodness for exceedingly tall people) and yank him in. 

So for the next 6 stops we had “would you mind pulling my bag in” at every station.  Personally I felt like pushing him off but decided to behave myself.

It never surprises me how we have all these health and saftey laws and regulations about everything except how many people can get in a tube carriage.

Unlike most people I dont like my birthday and today is no exception.  I am the grand old age of 35 and according to some the best years have passed me by as I am approaching middle age.  Personally I hope that 40 is not my middle age and that the best years are still to come.  We shall see!

Anyway, today is no different than any other birthday.  I dont know what I want.  I dont know what I want to do.  I dont know why I am bothering.  Except of course this year there’s a little person who knows I’m not working and it’s my birthday and that they have got me for the whole day and they are excited about it.  Have you ever noticed how catching excitement is?  Try it.  Go and see the most misserable person you know and be excited about them.  They’ll soon smile - although I would like to point out that I am NOT the most miserable person I know.

Little does she know that we’re going to Tots and Pots in Hornchurch to decorate mugs.  What a fantastic place.  I could have spent all day there painting mugs.  Probably all my mortgage as well but it was worth every penny.  Not only did I get to do something creative, but I got a large coffee and a massive slab of carrot cake.

To top it all off we had fish and chips and curry pancake rolls for dinner.

In your face Gillian McKeith!  I’ll be back on it tomorrow.