BEFORE the sales disappear we go shopping in search of a bargain.
A new pair of boots tops my list and I force husband to trawl around the shoe shops with me.
After five shops I am not sure anymore if his comments are helpful. Anything remotely Ugg-like gets the verdict "slippers" and anything with a heel is "not very practical".
I don’t know which way to turn and am beginning to regret not going shopping with a girlfriend.
Then I spot the Doctor Martins and it’s like welcoming back an old friend into my life. DMs were a constant for many years from the age of 18.
They get the husband seal of approval and he confesses to being a bit scared of me in them. Job done. I may be tiny but I can now frighten grown men in my boots.
Back to school and it its the second Tuesday of the month. This means only one thing at my children’s school – it’s cake bake.
Each school Year group takes it in turns to supply and sell the cakes as a fundraiser and this month it happened to be Year 5’s turn.
I thought I had better do more than just provide cakes, so I offered to help sell them.
What I envisaged was a pleasant 20 minutes spent cheerfully handing out buns and biscuits to smiling children in return for 20p.
Oh how wrong I was. The sight of 200 children bearing down upon tables laden with goodies was almost enough to make me leave my post.
Tiny fingers grasped and, even though we were five strong on the adult side, I felt that we were losing the battle.
Luckily a dad in the crowd saw the look of horror on my face and kindly asked if I need a hand. I nearly bit his hand off.
I went home battle weary but after a restorative cup of tea felt a surge of pride. I had survived the cake sale and could take on the world.
Decide that next time it is our turn, I will volunteer my husband. Everyone should experience cake bake once - it is character building stuff.
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