27.01.12.
Before I got together with my husband, I was never late for anything. However, as a couple, Team Wayne quickly gained a reputation for never being on time. I blame my husband's faffing gene he has inherited from his father (sorry John), and it seems to take an age to leave the house. Chuck a baby into the equation, and as a unit, we are always running about half an hour late for every occasion. The working week doesn't really allow for this, but I do seem to spend Monday to Friday rushing around. And that was exactly how Friday started.
If Thursday morning I was Mr Bean (see previous post), Friday morning I was Tom Cruise in 'Mission Impossible'. I left the house, 'sans child' but loaded down with bags, at five to seven to run to the next road along where I had parked the car after the previous night's late return home from work. I then drove my car two roads in the opposite direction to retrieve the carseat from the husband's car. I then drove back to our house to collect Dexter and finally picked up a friend at ten past seven. A fairly hectic but typical start to the day.
After a day at work, the rushing continued as my mission impossible was to get Dexter back to Brighton in time for his buddy Lenny's first birthday party. Lenny is the first of my brilliant NCT ladies' babies to turn one, so it seemed even more important that Dexter should be part of the celebrations.
The party was due to finish at five. By about quarter past four, Dexter and I were on a very busy Brighton seafront, desperately trying to squeeze the car into an impossibly small space, whilst creating a huge line of traffic. Three failed attempts later, I aborted the mission and managed to park in a side street off the main street in Kemptown. Being Brighton, you have to pay to park anywhere. The ticket machine on that road wasn't working, so I spent a further ten minutes lugging the boy up and down several side streets in order to get a ticket. Eventually, we rocked up at the party venue; all our buddies had gone, we'd missed the 'Baby Boogie' and everything was being cleared away in bin liners.
The party was due to finish at five. By about quarter past four, Dexter and I were on a very busy Brighton seafront, desperately trying to squeeze the car into an impossibly small space, whilst creating a huge line of traffic. Three failed attempts later, I aborted the mission and managed to park in a side street off the main street in Kemptown. Being Brighton, you have to pay to park anywhere. The ticket machine on that road wasn't working, so I spent a further ten minutes lugging the boy up and down several side streets in order to get a ticket. Eventually, we rocked up at the party venue; all our buddies had gone, we'd missed the 'Baby Boogie' and everything was being cleared away in bin liners.
I was devastated. The guilt that Dexter had missed out because I was at work, was immense. I even had a little cry on the way home. He wasn't remotely bothered. The party venue had a large flat-screen television in the corner. The boy sat sucking on a tuna sandwich, glued to 'Octonauts'.
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