I love Mary Berry, there is something so calming about watching her programmes, a sense of what life should be like. It gives me the belief that I could calmly host a village fete in my garden and unflappably cater for hundreds of people. I dream of a summer’s day where we play a jolly … Continue reading It’s just not cricketi →
I love Mary Berry, there is something so calming about watching her programmes, a sense of what life should be like. It gives me the belief that I could calmly host a village fete in my garden and unflappably cater for hundreds of people. I dream of a summer’s day where we play a jolly game of cricket and then sit around the table and share a meal as a family; everybody’s smiling, everybody has manners and no bugger flatly refuses to eat the food in front of them.
It’s a lovely day dream that I enjoy having whilst sat with my children, who resemble apes at mealtimes. For some reason they think it’s acceptable to get up and walk around whilst holding food, stand up on their chairs to eat and use no cutlery.
‘Would you be allowed to do this at school?!” I bark at them, having pleaded for them to sit on their chairs.
‘NO! Of COURSE not Mummy!’ they chime in unison.
‘Then why do you think it’s acceptable at home?’
They never answer, they’re too busy walking around the table dropping food all over the place as they go. Despite my protestations, Jack insists on eating spaghetti bolognese with his hands. I dread to think how they behave at other people’s houses and I would like to take this opportunity to state that their table manners are completely unacceptable and well, rather repugnant to me. They have been taught manners, they have been taught to use their cutlery and they have been taught to sit on the bloody chair when they’re eating but for some reason, despite ALL MY NAGGING, they continue to flout my instructions. So i’ve sort of given up for now and generally over the sound of them masticating with their mouths open *GAG*, i’ll mutter ‘I bet Mary Berry doesn’t have to put up with this shit’ before pouring a large glass of wine for myself.
I mean, what is she doing? How does she get Hoby et al to cooperate? I’ve never seen one of those grandchildren burst into tears because they don’t like the lovingly prepared meal that has been placed in front of them.
We never get to see them gagging on a mouthful of shepherd’s pie before going ‘WELL! I’ve tried it! Can I have toast now?’
It just doesn’t happen. What witchcraft are you employing Mary? SHARE THAT SECRET! NEVER MIND YOUR BLOODY RECIPES! Tell me how you get them to play cricket in the garden without them going ‘I HATE CRICKET!’ before they proceed to strip stark bollock naked and jump on the trampoline. Is she drugging them? Bribing them? WHAT IS IT MARY?! WHAT?!
It will happen one day, won’t it? Like toilet training or reading? One day it will just click?
Until that day, it’s just me and the wine against the children.
