Annabelle has had engagements every night this week and I am beginning to think that hiring her a PA complete with iPhone and company car would be the most sensible way forward. She informed me this afternoon, for example, that she had invited Little-Friend-Adam around to play.
The village in which we live is the one that I grew up in. In those days, however, it was the very last pin on the map when looking at the county bus routes; a collection of ramshackle cottages inhabited by free roaming ducks and people driving tractors whose country burr ensured that inadvertent visitors, who it has to be said were usually lost en route to somewhere else, beat a hasty retreat to somewhere a bit more civilised.
It appears that after I set off with my handkerchief and cat in the direction of London that an invasion occurred and the occupying force has wrought quite a change.
The village has gone from Larkrise to Candleford and is now a chic little haven for ‘yummy mummys’ positively dripping with four wheel drives, purple hunter wellies and husbands who have terribly important jobs in the city. The interior of the cottages are no longer visible through the vast and ubiquitous holes in both the thatch and the walls but in a disturbingly Stepford-esque manner, all resemble feature articles for Country Life magazine.
Each young suitor that Annabelle brings home for supper has to, inevitably, be taken home and so it came as no surprise when Little-Friend-Adam pointed out that his was the white house with the roses around the door and the bloody enormous Range Rover. His bedroom window, he explained to Annabelle, was the one above the swimming pool.
Walked home wondering why I never managed to achieve ‘slummy mummy’, ‘yummy mummy’ or any other variation of the theme and dimly became aware that Annabelle was chattering away on the subject of her various love interests. Little-Friend-Adam has a couple of rivals in the form of Little-Friend-Jacob and Little-Friend-Barney.
As it turns out Annabelle is particularly smitten with Little-Friend-Barney who it turns out, lives on the never mentioned council estate at the end of the village.
The apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree does it?