Soccer Aid 08

Sunday, 7th September.

I know teenagers can easily regress to grunting neolithic styles of communication, but Perry has taken this to an art form.  Last night he went one step further, while MSNing him on the status of the pizza I had ordered for supper, I received single LETTER responses.  And yes, we do communicate electronically even within the house, it saves losing one's voice by shouting all the way upstairs, upstairs.  What Mr Moore and my excuse is, doing that in the living is anybody's guess.  Except that we find it funny, because we are dweebs.

I drove to Wembley with the children tonight to watch Soccer Aid 08.  Sadly, the wildly-expensive-champagne-and seafood-bar wasn't even open.  Not only did this mean that we had to make do with chicken-and-chips in a Wembley box, but there was no opportunity for the children to do a little mouse-hunting.

They simply adored the football, which was admittedly of a much better standard that two years previously.  Unfortunately we forgot my fab new 400mm lens, so I couldn't get any good photos of Gordon Ramsay's legs.  The aforementioned legs were not even on the pitch that long, as his old knee injury flared up.

Meanwhile, a much more important match was taking place.  Sparta Park won the opening match of their season 7-2, and retired to the sponsors for supper.

Monday, 8th September

My Mum's birthday, but she is so worried about my father she is not really in any position to enjoy it.  Xanthe's winter wardrobe arrived, courtesy of Next, but sensibly she wanted to try jeans on before committing to a pair.  Very sensible, buying jeans is worse than deciding to move in with someone.  We went to Gap, where the the age 11-12 jeans looked as though they were designed for an anorexic stick insect.  We then decided to look at clothes for normal humans, and ended up in Oasis.  We found a good pair of straight leg, dark denim ones, in a size 8.  I spotted a cute little waisted jacket, with puff sleeves and a fine pinstripe. Xanthe flatly refused to try it on.  'Just pretend I'm Gok.' I said.  'But you're not.'  She retorted.  After a few minutes of this sort of intellectual debate, I managed to get her to wear it.  I then found a pink tartan tie neck blouse to complete the look.

'Blimey, you look just like your mother,' said Troy when we got home.  'Which one of you two did I actually marry?'  Xanthe pointed a panicky finger at me.

Tuesday, 9th September

I took a leaf out of Xanthe's book today, wearing slimline jeans, a smart jacket, and the new teal satin shirt I bought yesterday at M&S.  I topped, or rather undered, this off with matching teal stilettos.  At PG, an elderly man was being wheeled into CT.  'I do like your shoes,' he said, as he went past.  'Thank you,' I replied, 'they're Louboutins.'  'I can tell.' He said.  'I don't think they do them in your size though..'  He had the good grace to laugh.