Tag Archives: pub

We’re Going On A Bar Hunt

 

 

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Greetings to all you reading this blog.

 

I don’t know about you, but our summer went by in a flash and it’s only when I scroll back through the photos on my phone that I realize just how much we did.  We had such a great time with the girls, mucking about in Paris, eating peaches in the French countryside, going to Wilderness Festival and crabbing in the Isle of Wight.  I ate and drank in the sunshine and now I’ve put my flip-flops away and realized how tight my jeans are, that it’s time to get back on the straight and narrow and summer is over.

 

I’m not moaning, though.  I love September.  I love the whole idea of a new start.  New projects and new school years for the kids and… well…new jeans.  Oh and socks.  I love socks and boots and central heating.  

 

And most of all, I love a cosy night out in the pub catching up with mates – which brings me onto the latest offering from Rees towers.  It’s the first book I’ve written with Emlyn for some years and it has been fabulously illustrated by the very talented Gillian Johnson.  The brand new first copies have just arrived and we’re so proud of them.  It’s called ‘We’re Going On A Bar Hunt’ and is written entirely for any parents (like us) who have not only read and re-read the children’s classic ‘We’re Going On A Bear Hunt’ but have also booked a babysitter and tried to recapture their sense of youth. 

 

There’ll be more written about it here in due course when the book hits the shops on October 17th, but here’s a glimpse of the front cover.

 

If you would like the chance to win a signed copy and be the first of your friends to see it, we have one copy to give away to the lovely readers of this blog.  Send your details in on a message to me and I’ll put your name in the hat.

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Gordon Brown Nuissance Caller

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Is it just me, or has the level of road rage gone up?  And rage in general?  I entirely blame the Government, but more on that in a moment.

The other weekend we were in London with our pals. We’d snuck out for Saturday lunchtime lemonades at The PV (the Princess Victoria, my fave West London pub) with all the kids – six in all between us.  About an hour later, after all the crayons had been scattered liberally over the floor, the WOO had closed (that’s Window Of Opportunity in Rees speak), but we’d all had a lovely time.  In a jovial mood we headed back out of the cosy pub to cross the Uxbridge Road.

The traffic was heavy.  Bumper to bumper.  Lots of empty buses.  The usual London glue.  We waited at the lights and duly crossed at the green man.  But it started flashing as we were only half-way across the road, at the same time as the amber light started flashing for the drivers.

A man in a red car, keen to get going, started hooting us, then wound down his window.  “Get out of the way you F*******   C***!” he screamed at me.

I put up my hand and asked him to wait.  The Little One had fallen off her scooter on the  way across road.  The man honked his horn more persistently and screamed more abuse, revving the car, threatening to run us down. By the time we’d hurried all the kids across to the far pavement, most of them were crying.

Of course being in heavy traffic, the driver had only managed to get twenty yards down the road.  My noble husband morphed into a gorilla and gave chase and pounded on driver’s car window, demanding to know why he thought he had the right to swear at me and the kids.  The man denied it, terrified now that he was hemmed in by buses and a very angry Mr Rees.  The woman sitting next to him implored Emlyn not to wake up their baby in the back!  The cheek of it.

I was shaken and cross, but gratified that Emlyn had called the bloke on his unreasonable behaviour.  He won’t be doing that again in a hurry, I hope.

But let’s face it, I’m no saint myself.  I’m aware that the problem of too many cars makes us all see red.   More often than not I’m raging against the system as soon as I can’t park.

And now, to add to my frustration, I’m now being pestered by a nuisance caller.  Guess who?  Yep, none other than Gordon Brown.

I’m receiving recorded announcement messages up to ten times a day.  A man, who sounds like he’s selling carpets informs me that I might qualify for a ‘Debt Relief Order’, a government initiative set up to help people ‘affected by the recent recession’ to eliminate 100 per cent of their debts within six months.  I might qualify, he tells me.

Except that I won’t.  Because I pay my mortgage and my credit cards off and spend within my means.  I never take the kids shopping and let them have what they want, and although I’ve had several dreamy crushes on new sofas, have never got actually bought one on credit.

So I’m outraged at these calls.  What makes me swear obscenities at this recording, is not the sheer numbers of these irritating calls, or my inability to track down the perpetrator, or my lack of knowledge as to whether it’s phoney or not, but the fact that the Government seems to be saying that it’s fine not to take responsibility for our financial actions, whether you’re a big bank, or a normal punter.

And whose paying for this scheme and all these calls?  Why, moi, of course.  Grrrrr.

The middle one picked up the phone earlier and as soon as she heard the ‘This is an important announcement.  Do not hang up,’ message, she said, “Shut up and go away, Gordon Brown, otherwise my Mummy will call you a tw*t again.”

Quite right.

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