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”tis the night before the leisure centre extravaganza

”tis the night before the leisure centre extravaganza and orgy of extra cuticular activities.

Tomorrow as always (apart from when I’m hungover to fuck) I will be frantically dashing towards the family changing rooms of the local leisure centre at 8.35 for an 8.30 start with the three little shits moaning and possibly even crying about the utter unfairness of having to swim. As I’m a complete bitch, they will then attend children’s prison where they will be tutored to within an inch of their lives. On the way whilst in the car Oscar will say that he doesn’t want to go to Children’s prison. He hates children’s prison. I will hiss at him that it’s costing mummy a lot of bastarding money so he had better keep his complaints to himself.

“You know that it upsets mummy so when you moan about tuition. It is doing you good. You are now very clever darling. You will become an architect or something else wonderful if you go to child prison. I would far rather spend the money on clothes for myself. It’s making me die a little inside knowing what it costs. You need to learn to be grateful. There’s lots of other little girls and boys who would like to be doing extra maths on a Saturday morning”

Ted and I will have a saunter around Home Bargains and procure endless amounts of kitchen roll and other things that we don’t need but I stockpile in case of the apocalypse whilst forgetting to buy AA batteries and Wonder Web that we have needed for over a week and I have forgotten to buy on numerous occasions. Ted will demand Hot Chocolate from Starbucks. I will buy him a child’s size one and then wonder where the fuck the change is out of the fiver. Ted will lose the Batman lego figure that he demanded I buy him as we walked past the very well placed toy shop. What bastard decided that it would be a good idea to put a toy shop

Slap bang in the middle of the pedestrianised shopping no street in Altrincham? Greedy tosser shopkeepers is what I say. We will pick up Oscar and Bella who despite having moaned about attending prison will not want to leave.

The four of us will run back to the car park and the tyres will smoke as we leave the car park that you can only park in for 2 hours without getting a bastard ticket.

Whilst in the car the little shits will squabble relentlessly about who’s turn it is to play with the fidget spinner. There will be an incident of gouging. I will pull over to the side of the road and warm the little shits what would happen if our car were to plough into a bus because I was distracted by “the fucking fighting”. Two out of the three will cry at the visions I have conjured of missing limbs and decapitation. The other one will make jokes and ask increasingly sick questions about decapitation.

The mood will lighten and no doubt there will be a never ending chorus of the fucking “flying bum” song. All three will say that the others have sworn.

“he said shitter mummy!”

“She said shitter mummy!”

“I blame fucking Scottish Peppa Pig” I will say under my breath.

After a very long time we will arrive home. The car will look like the inside of a bin. The two boys will get out of the car leaving everything inside and all the doors wide open. They will
ring the doorbell of the house. We will all run in leaving the car with the doors of the car open. Bella will change for gymnastics and I will put my running gear on. We will get back in the smelly Nissan that looks like the inside of a bin and smells of sweaty little children’s socks and proceed at break neck speed down the back roads to Knutsford for gymnastics. On the way despite me driving really quite quickly we will be overtaken by a series of Porsches and Audi Q7s. I will swear a lot and Bella will ask inane questions about random things whilst spinning the much coveted fidget spinner.

I will run. Bella will do the most torturous body conditioning that she will try to teach me later on and will laugh when I roll around the floor like a beached whale that ate too many pies.
When we return home Dangerous will tell me what an amazing job he has done by making a sandwich for the three of them and then fuck off to football leaving crumbs scattered across the whole of the downstairs of our home. His mum and dad normally come on a Saturday but they aren’t coming tomorrow.

There will be fights to referee and there will be ironing to do, beds to change and washing to get on the line.

Dangerous will come back from football. He will complain that he has fallen over the fucking Hoover and then get all excited but pretend that he’s not about the Dads night out at the pub.

I will talk to him earnestly about not getting so wasted that he comes home at 3.00am and then spends the next day vomiting as I’m going to a race in Halifax. He will point out that I got wasted last weekend. I will point out that it was his fault that I got twatted last weekend as I was stressed and he was dismissive and rude to me.

Dangerous will leave the house all chipper. The little shits will kick the fuck out of each other. They will end up going to bed later than usual as I will have lost control. There will be much debate about Dr Who as despite Oscar being terrified last time we watched it, he has been able to talk of little else since.I will then turn the telly on but not be able to turn it over as I’m not allowed to use the remote under normal Circumstances.

Dangerous will wake me up for a chat at 2.30 to tell me that he’s not pissed but he’s the best husband in the world. He will then ask if I want a surprise made of sausage whilst beginning to gently snore. The gentle snoring will last for 10 minutes and then begin to gather pace until it reaches a crescendo around an hour later.

That is my Saturday. I can’t fucking wait.

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