Me: “The shower’s still leaking.”


Boyfriend: “It can’t be. I re-sealed it – all of it. THREE TIMES.”


Me: “Look…”


*point to huge pool of water*


Boyfriend: “But I re-sealed everything! There simply is nowhere for the water to get through.”


“I… I don’t understand.”


Me: “I’ll call a plumber.”


Boyfriend: “We can’t call a plumber. It’s a leaky shower cubicle.”


Felix: “Marmite! Marmite!”


Me: “No marmite now darling – it’s time to go to nursery!”


“I’ll call the manufacturers.”


Felix: “Felich have marmite! Have it! HAVE IIIIIIT!”


Boyfriend: “I’m pretty sure they’re not going to replace a 4-year-old shower cubicle covered in mildew and smears of badly-applied sealant.”


Me: “So, what? We have a leaking shower… forever?


Boyfriend: “I just… I just don’t know.”




Me: “No love we’re going to nursery… Nursery! Hooray!”


Boyfriend: “Oh, last time I picked him up they gave me this…”


*hands over crumpled form*


Felix: “Felich have it! Have paper! Felich have it!!!! PAPER!! HAVE IIIT!!!”


Boyfriend: “We have to write comments. And give it back to them. Today.”


*skim read full-side-of-A4 account of Felix putting toys into and taking them out of a box*


Me: “Comments? What kind of comments?”


Boyfriend: *shrugs*


Quickly scribble: “We are very pleased. Thank you.”


Boyfriend: “You can’t just put that.”


Me: “You write something then.”


Boyfriend: “I… no.”





*press security code into nursery gate*


Gate wont open.


Try code again.


Won’t open.


Press intercom buzzer through to Scary Office Lady who once glared at me in the corridor for talking about a hangover, and then included an “Attention parents: please make sure you only have child-appropriate conversations when waiting in the corridor” in the following month’s newsletter.


Me: “Hi. the gate isn’t working.”


Scary Office Lady: “What code are you putting in?”


Me: “9382”


Scary Office Lady: “It’s not working because that’s not the code”


Me: “Yes it is.”


Scary Office Lady: “No, it’s not.”


Me: “Yes it… Oh. No. That’s my pin number. Shit. Sorry.”


*oh god just said shit*


Me: “Sh – sorry – I can’t remember the code.”


Scary Office Lady: “Are you a parent?”


Me: “Yes.”


Scary Office lady: “Who’s parent?”




*Can I say another child’s name? Can I…???*


Scary Office Lady: “Hello?”


Thankfully, Perpetually-Frazzled-Dad-of-Twin-Girls I often bump into comes out the other way and lets me through – with a particularly strained “heey”.





Entrance to the freelance office space I’ve just started using…




Lady: “Hi are you new?”


Me: “Yes! Relatively! Can’t seem to remember the door code!”


Lady: “Ah don’t worry I’ll let you in – I’m Zara by the way!”


Go to shake her hand, but speedily retract it halfway through when realise she is going to kiss my cheek. She backs out too, and ends up just stroking my right shoulder, while I end up flicking the edge of her left boob.


Both laugh awkwardly and walk in.


Both head straight to the loos.


Both go into the only not-blocked cubicles, which are next to each other.











Ok this is silly am just going to pee…






Flush & quickly walk out, avoiding eye contact with her for rest of day.





Self-service till at Sainsbury’s, clutching a quickly defrosting spinach and ricotta pizza, a multipack of babywipes and a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc…




*Look at empty bagging area*




Wait a long few minutes before man brandishing a swipe card pops up.


Me: “It’s saying there’s something there. But… there’s not.”


*man wearily taps in long and complex sequence of numbers*


Man: “And can I see some ID please…”


Me: “Huh?”


Man: “ID – for the wine.”


Me: “I’m 32.”


Man: “I still need to see ID.”


The last time I saw my driving licence Felix was using it as a spoon to feed Big Panda his invisible lunch.


Me: “So, I don’t have any on me – but look… I’m buying a 10 pound bottle of wine! I’m definitely not 17!”


Man: “I do see that, but now I’ve asked I can’t sell you alcohol unless you show ID.”




*Hand man wine.*


*Man walks away, wearily.*







On the sofa, eating takeaway pizza…


Boyfriend: “So nursery text me today.”


Me: “They text you??”


Boyfriend: “Yeah they text quite regularly – we gave my number because you’d lost your phone. Remember?”


Me: “Oh. Yeah.”


Boyfriend: “It’s Easter Bonnet Day at the end of the week, and we’ve got to make a bonnet with Felix for him to take in.”


*wave of mild panic*


Me: “But…he’ll… he’ll eat it!”


Boyfriend: “We have to try.”


Me: “What on earth do you make Easter bonnets out of anyway?”


Boyfriend: “I… I don’t know… cardboard?”


Me: “We don’t have any cardboard.”


*Both look over at half empty pizza box*