After the usual argy-bargy, we had agreed that the trip would be to the seaside. Not that the decision stopped the sulking and door-slamming, of course.
But the real trouble started when Fi insisted that the children had to decide beforehand what flavour ice-cream we were going to have – it had to be the same for all. Yurt, ever the reborn Labrador, insisted on a double scoop of chocolate; Pashmina, despite her teenage body dysmorphia, dug her heels in for strawberry.
Of course we hadn’t told them that the beach kiosk didn’t offer either and when we broke the news there were tears and shouting.
So this morning Fi kept phoning the vendor who now only stocked a mint and quinoa mix – we suspect that’s because the first was all that grew in his garden and the second was leftovers from his cereal cupboard, but he claimed that all his customers wanted it and in any case that’s all they were going to get.
Then the children started to call her a bad mother and Fi said, fine, you work it out between you. The train was due to leave at ten and if they hadn’t sorted out their differences by then there’d be no ice cream at all, so there.
Well naturally, the inevitable happened and there’s an ongoing thumping and hair pulling situation in the lounge. Fi has been online and tried to change the tickets, but the only option is a later departure and much pricier fares, so now we’re over budget before we’ve even started.
I’m the shed and I suspect Fi is eyeing the organic Molina a Vento Grillo Siciliano in the fridge.
Aaaaand that’s democracy, folks.
At least, the Parliamentary version.
Like John Major and David Cameron, Mrs May has spent a long time trying to ride two horses; as in Ben-Hur, except in this Circus Maximus the steeds are galloping away from the finishing post and heading for a fork in the road, determined to take both tracks at the same time.
There is a difference, though: Major, who reportedly prided himself on “knowing how to talk to the man in the four-ale bar” must have been surprised that the latter agreed with the “bastards” in his party; Cameron’s misunderstanding about oddballs who could be sectioned with a visit from Doctor Democracy, turned out a right Eton mess.
At least May knows the score. Now it’s the Commons that is full of “fruitcakes and loonies.”
It’s no use her telling them that the Referendum was on a binding official promise to respect the result; that there was a nationwide majority for Leave that was larger than in many Commons divisions; that most MPs were re-elected on the promise of implementing Leave. For they are the People Who Think They Know Better – the ones that have being making a rowlocks of the country for decades.
And now they’ve thrown out the coach driver and taken charge of the Magical Mystery Tour. They’re all going to sit in the driver’s seat and agree the destination.
What could possibly go wrong?
It’s going to be an interesting few days.