Me Mam’s been staying for a couple of days. And when I haven’t been dwagging her through the undergwowth like some latter-day David Bellamy (remember him?) hunting our errant foster dog, we’ve been having a very pleasant time doing a touch of retail therapy and drinking champagne. Oh, and eating a lot (see, it’s in my genes, no point fighting it).

On Friday afternoon we all took #1 to the opticians for his sight test and, as it turned out his prescription had changed, to choose a new pair of glasses. We’re not a decisive family at the best of times and, after several hours, we were all losing the will to live. The conversation (you know the drill) went something like this:

#1: ‘What about these?‘ (coppery coloured metal frame, slightly square shape)
Hubby: ‘Ew. Robin Day.’
Grandma: ‘Ooh, what about these?‘ (plastic frame, orange stripe along top of sides, think Gok Wan off ‘How to Look Good Naked’)
Me: ‘Jesus. Timmy f*cking Mallet’
Grandma: ‘What? They’re lovely and cheerful!‘
#1 (sigh): ‘What about these, then?‘
#2: (rolls around on floor, crying with laughter, holding ribs): ‘Hah! Harry Potter!!!‘
#1: (bigger sigh): ‘Maybe not, then.’
Hubby: ‘These are cool’ (another metal frame, rectangular - very Fabio Capello*)
#1: ‘Hmmm…we’ll put these on the maybe shelf.’
Me: ‘Oh. Is that the ‘maybe’ pile? I thought it was the ‘absolutely not’ pile and put them all back’
*Collective sigh*

Finally, though, we found a pair that he’d probably tried on half an hour earlier when he was batting away his little brother who was walking around in a bright purple pair of Dame Edna frames, bringing him every pair of huge, ‘old fart’ glasses he could find whilst wetting himself laughing.

‘Well done,’ says the lady, now what about your free second pair?’

Aaaarrrrrgggggghhhhhh!

* Keep up, people, he’s the new England Manager.

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