Marcus said I was stupid to worry it might get out. It wouldn’t though, would it? No one would be that mean. Poor Beau.

The kids both tuned into their own headphones, I listened to a radio interview with the lead psychiatrist from Broadmoor Prison.

‘I’d rather work with a psychopathic murderer than counsel a couple in crisis,’ she joked. ‘It’s easier.’

But I found I wasn’t laughing.

Laughing was getting harder these days for some reason.

Jan: Mum Of The Iced Gems

‘My Darling Daughters’ Blog

Word on the street, you lovely people, is that a little camping trip took place last week, to which only a very select few were invited. My invitation came so late that family commitments prohibited my attending: keen readers may remember Iced Gem – my DD #2 – was running a half marathon for the Eat Right charity. For those of you who kindly sponsored her: you’ll be as overjoyed as me that she got record times – naturallement!

Anyway, sadly, I hear that the camping was preettttty stressful, poor things.

Note to self: It’s so important all of our attention is focused on our little ones, all of the time, and that we are 100% aware what they’re up to. I, for one, pride myself on the way my girls tell me LITERALLY EVERYTHING – and I find that tea and cupcakes from Betsy’s Bountiful Larder help oil the teens’ wheels to spill beans – if that’s not a mixed metaphor 🙂 (10% discount from Betsy’s with your next order: show this blog.)

I digress. From what I understand, things got a little out of hand, with one young lady in particular suffering badly for the serious mistake of— Ahem. Let’s just say, little birds tell me she overdid it.

But – where were the adults in all this, I hear you ask?

Well, I’m sure the camping hosts, the great Jackson Two, were all over it: they are the best parents around, I know. If I get more info, I’ll let you have it… and it’ll all be transcribed in my Angels notepad today – on special offer at Smart Stationers @ Notting Hill tube. Just mention my name!

More as I get it – keep parenting strong. Ta ta for now!

Ruby

SUNDAY 3 SEPTEMBER

The weekend before school started, Willow appeared at our front door.

Zach was playing football in the park at the time, and I was covered in paint, touching up the kitchen walls, blackened by toast burning once too often. Upstairs, my neighbour had whacked Frank Sinatra up loudly, which meant she’d been at the Special Brew for Sunday brunch.

‘How’s your dad?’ I raised my voice over the music. ‘His shoulder, I mean. Is it healing OK?’

Nothing had appeared in the papers, though I’d kept an eye out, the headlines all too easy to imagine:

Crazed boy shoots prospective MP dad in camping drama.

If the media ever got wind of the episode, Marcus’s blossoming political career would be over before it had properly begun.