Clingfilm Chickie

Chickie has been super clingy today, monitoring my every movement. Had he been a boyfriend, I would have dumped him. There’s been no pleasing him and every little thing had him reaching his arms up to me with floods of snotty tears rolling down his little face.

If he’d been asked to complete a childcare satisfaction questionnaire, I know his overall rating would have been ‘Rubbish’, with suggested improvements of ‘more cuddles’; ‘more playtime’ and ‘more chocolate malt biscuits’.

His mood was not improved by the fact it was Cleaning Day so I had less time to cater to his cuddle demands. I didn’t much feel like cleaning today, so took some time out to procrastinate. This included a trip to the shop to get the paper. I'm in there again and the more I look at that photograph of myself, the more I wonder just how I managed to achieve quite so much volume and height on that quiff. What was I thinking?

Luckily for me, I bumped into a neighbour, who pointed out that I needed to tend to my moustache. Extensive questionning of family and friends followed who declared my top lip hairless. He then kindly spared me thirty minutes of his time to educate me on the most recent research on male circumcision and the resulting health benefits. A wide-eyed Chickie peered up at me from his pram, his brow furrowed in concern, no doubt wishing his vocabulary extended to "No" and "Snip Snip" rather than "Moo" and "Woof Woof". On my return home, I explained to Chickie that, if he was a good boy, he should have nothing to worry about.

It was the “Take One Thing at a Time” song on CBeebies that finally inspired me to reach for the duster after the slow, unmotivated start to my chores.