petite anglaise

What are you supposed to say when you see someone’s new baby for the first time, and he looks like a chubby, ruddy-faced, thirty-something car salesman?

I was at a loss for words and the best I could do without any advance warning was “what lovely chubby cheeks!” I do hope I managed to conceal my horror.

In the light of this new evidence, I’m tempted to believe in reincarnation (à la Britney Spears ‘Everytime’). Click here to purchase me a red string bracelet…

I have finally caved in to pressure and reluctantly abandoned the Tadpole for a week with the Frog grandparents (childminder is living the high life at my expense in Algeria for five weeks so alternative childcare solutions had to be found). Packed toddler off with a first aid kit twice her size as she seems to think the laws of nature do not apply to her, and is fond of hurling herself off furniture as an experiment to see whether she can defy gravity. At best she will come home covered in cute band aids with animals on and a few colourful French words in her repertoire. These will consist largely of expletives that the grandparents will unwittingly teach her when they see her poised to throw herself down the stairs.

In the meantime I’ll just have to cope with the long summer evenings of freedom stretching ahead of me and see if I can’t put some serious effort into getting my alcohol tolerance back up to a respectable level.

Wish me luck.