mothers on the verge

It being half-term in good Ol ' Blighty , Alpha, the rugrats and myself have escaped the rat-race for a week to sloth out and consume large amounts of croissants/ chocolate/ alcoholic beverages chez The In-Laws. The In-Laws, who are delightful (I am a fortunate Mummy indeed) live in Geneva, which is a marvellous thing indeed apart from the fact that it forces us to experience the rancid charms of the Easyjet cabin crew. Why these orange-clad muppets act as if they are doing us a favour I have so far failed to understand. Added to this annoyance, flying with two children under the age of five is on par with being shut in a small box in the company of a pair of rabid baboons. I am selflessly considering offering my darlings to Her Majesty's Secret Service as a powerful weapon for the War Against Terrorism. The loud and tuneless singing of the three lines they know from High School Musical; the repetitive kicking of the seat in front of them; the endless demands for juice/ c...