Why Don't You Just Switch Off Your Television Set and Go and Do Something Less Boring Instead?

I'm sure some of you remember the irony of the BBC's summer holiday staple: 'Why don't you?' where the kids were told to switch off the TV and go out and try doing something less boring instead. Nowadays the corporation would be unable to broadcast that programme as between 6am and 7pm kids can watch wall-to-wall Cbeebies (with novelty disabled presenter) and CBBC. And, if I let him, my son would.

On Saturday I was awoken at 6am by my son yowling 'Mummy, I'm SICK' and proving his innate maleness by avoiding puking on the wipe-clean floorboards and instead covering my woven sea grass mat. Nice. I let him watch TV for a few hours whilst I checked his temperature (bucket ever to hand) and then decided he was fine. Therefore, I took him to the local museum where we had a great afternoon looking at fossils and doing interactive computer quizzes on the Romans.

In the evening he went to his Dad's and I met up with some Mums from his school. They had all generally been dealing with puke for the past 24 hours (and the one who hadn't yet switched her mobile to 'silent' so when her kid started chundering her partner couldn't call her home. Nice work). We had a great evening and then at eleven pm they returned to their families and I disappeared off into town with my pals. It was a bit of a random night in which we appeared to gatecrash someone else's birthday and then bumped into some blokes dressed as sheep. When one sheep gave me his fleece I thought it was time to get my coat and leave. So I did. (Without the sheep. In case you were wondering.).

In the morning when I awoke I was a little confused as to how my coat had changed fabric and colour overnight. Then I worked out (those 7 years of higher education were well worth it) that I had picked up someone else's coat and come home with it. I drove to town and tried to revisit the bar from the night before but it was totally locked up. I hung the impostor coat on the door and left.

On the way back to my car I wandered past 'Richer Sounds' and noticed a bit of a deal in the window - a TV which had been knocked down to a third of its original price. Now, my current TV is legendary amongst my friends. It was my baby sister's 18th birthday present in 1993, it has a tiny screen and you can't see what's happening on it when sitting on the sofa. 'Louise' once asked me whether it actually requires a TV licence. I've always liked it as it isn't imposing and takes up 0.5% of my house space compared to my books. But it is a little old. And it has a big dent in the side where my sister let a candle burn down on it. So, in 'Richer Sounds' I let a nice sales assistant talk me into buying a 32" flat screen LG LCD TV. And I even know what some of those initials mean. My old TV was not visible from across the room, this monster is visible from space.

Back home, I'm aware that now my son has even more impetus to watch more telly than is good for him. But I'm going to try to help him resist the urge. I've given up going online between the hours of 3pm and 7pm for Lent to spend more time with him. And it's lovely to spend time with a real person not just Facebook. So maybe I won't be able to get him to switch off the TV and go out and do something less boring instead, but I've banned myself from the internet during his time and it's lovely.

I just wish I could get my coat back.

Practical Parenting

Recently I've been wondering whether I'm actually a bit of a crap mother. I'd like to think I'm a good Mum and when I asked my son today what he liked about me I was rewarded with an honest appraisal of my parental fitness: 'you let me have Quality Streets'. Well, that's me mother of the year then. Ironically, the said Quality Streets were given to me by a student as a Christmas present and are in one of those paper cartons. Well, we've had them for virtually two months now and they are still only half eaten so clearly I don't even let my son have many Quality Streets.

This blog stems from me trying to work out this morning how many units of alcohol I consumed on a night out on Friday. The honest answer? I honestly don't know. I guessed the total numbers of glasses of wine, gin, cocktails, sambucca and tequila shots and, using the Drinkaware website, got to the staggering (pun completely intentional) total of 13.5 units and 795 calories. Ouch. Thankfully for me I don't get hangovers but I knew I wasn't fit to drive all day so I couldn't take my son out in the car. I did take him to the cinema to watch a Disney film but I kept nodding off.

Now, I'm aware that the perfect 1950s housewife was a mirage. Hand on heart I never planned to be a single mum: I was certain when I got pregnant that I was going to be with my husband forever. I also didn't plan to work fulltime when I had him, but circumstances pushed me into having a fulltime job. If you search the net for statistics on single parents you will find that a quarter of all children of lone parents live in poverty, that they are three times more likely to suffer emotional problems than children who have two parents living with them and every other statistic is bleak: likelihood to end up committing crime or suicide. It makes me feel really guilty that my son's potential has been damaged by my ex's choice to leave. But, on the other hand, I enjoy my freedom and am far happier. So, do I enjoy myself at my son's expense? Sometimes, yes. Usually, no. I'm not a perfect Mum, if such a person even exists, but I found these words on the BBC website to be very reassuring:

Jane Ahrends, from One Parent Families, said while single parents might face poverty, the image of them as "young, feckless women who deliberately get pregnant" was wrong.
"The vast majority of lone parents are ordinary working mums and dads in their 30s and 40s, who are just trying to do their best in circumstances they didn't choose," she said.

Sometimes I do get the balance wrong: but tonight my son and I had Dominos pizza in front of 'You've been Framed' and laughed our socks off. Ok, so it wasn't mung beans and dolphin friendly tuna steaks followed by an improving game of charades but we had a great time.

I need to remember that I'm a single Mum, not single.

Tuesday Night is Curr-istmas night (the 25th)

Tonight Velouria and Rio have thrown caution and financial solvency to the wind and had not just a Christmas meal, but a Marks and Spencers Christmas meal. This involved remarkably posh nut roast, veggies, leeks in Gloucester cheese sauce and Yorkshire pud. For pudding we had Christmas mulled fruit crumble and Armagnac crean which was so good we did pseudo-sex noises throughout it.

Tonight's topic: Ree and Vee's 12 days of Christmas

On the first day of Christmas my true love sent to me a frozen strawberry daiquiri
On the second day of Christmas my true love sent to me two leather thongs
On the third day of Christmas my true love sent to me three hot men
On the fourth day of Christmas my true love sent to me four brawling birds
On the fifth day of Christmas my true love sent to me five sore rings
On the sixth day of Christmas my true love sent to me six Gin and Tonics
On the seventh day of Christmas my true love sent to me seven muffs a-trimming
On the eighth day of Christmas my true love sent to me eight chavs a-blinging
On the ninth day of Christmas my true love sent to me nine boils a-lancing
On the tenth day of Christmas my true love sent to me ten lads a-leching
On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love sent to me eleven arseholes parping
On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love sent to me twelve armpits humming

Sadly this wasn't a podcast as Velouria just sang this modern classic beautifully and Rio howled through like a tone-deaf badger with the rhythmic ability of a drunk uncle at a wedding, dancing to Natasha Bedingfield.

Your turn: can you think of any alternative lines?

Feeling supersonic, give me gin and tonic

I doubt you need a refresher on quantum mechanics, but here's one. Nils Bohr's quantum theory suggested that as matter behaves differently at the quantum level that we had to 'look' at the matter for it to behave as expected in our world. Hugh Everett III's many-world theory gets around the idea that it appears that at the quantum level matter behaves oddly (it exists in two places at once; freaky) and he suggested the many-worlds interpretation. Basically, Everett suggests that whenever we come to an important decision another parallel universe is created where the choice we chose not to take is followed. So, you go to Dorothy Perkins, remember your bank balance and don't buy the gorgeous frock. Everett would suggest in a parallel Universe another you buys the frock, goes out, parties and maybe ends up marrying the lead singer of a major 80s band such as Duran Duran. Bet you wish you'd bought the frock now, don't you?

So, somewhere in a parallel universe there is another me whose husband didn't leave at the beginning of February. Last night she would have eaten pasta & pesto alone in front of the TV and then snoozed on the sofa. At 2am she would have run up the stairs to bed at the sound of his key in the back door to avoid a fight. Meanwhile, her colleagues would be out celebrating the end of term.

But, I don't live in that Universe because my husband did leave. And so, last night was another milestone. I went to a staff do. This is a big deal (although not enough of a big deal to warrant random capitalisation). I had a blast and behaved fairly disgracefully. I admitted a wholly inappropriate crush to a colleague. I did bum-to-bum dancing whilst pouting with mates. My mini-me friend and I decided that even though there are 12 years between us we were going speed-dating whilst pretending to be sisters because that would make us hotter. For some reason my mate and I ordered about 7 taxis which never arrived so we commandeered a lift to town with a faculty leader's boyfriend. Who we've never met before. I snogged a completely random stranger who is about a decade younger than me in a club. I didn't get to bed before 4am. At one point a kid who I used to teach asked me if I was stoned (no, I wasn't) but I did suggest that the state I was in could be aptly summed up by these Oasis lyrics:

I need to be myself

I can't be no one else

I'm feeling supersonic

Give me gin and tonic

Actually, I didn't need any more gin and tonic because it appears that I was a major factor in the bar running out of gin. No, really. Anyway, I'm glad I live in my supersonic Universe and I feel really sorry for the alternative me in a parallel Universe who is probably having an argument with an alternative ex-husband right now. But, I have to say I'm quite jealous of the other alternative me who once picked a dress that I rejected and is now Mrs le Bon. Well? I can dream.

A game: please (anonymously, if you wish) tell me what an alternative version of you is doing in a parallel universe. This must be based on a decision you made and where the flip-side might have ended up. Go on, it'll be fun - and you can post anonymously!