In recent weeks, Saturdays have been a split affair, as Charlie has football practice/match and then goes on to watch a football match, meaning Libbie and I are left to our own devices.

This week, we tried ice skating. With an exciting adventure of going with some friends on the bus (I had taken several anti histamines in advance of bus travel) to the ice palace.

To anyone with small children, it's probably not a great idea to take your 3.5 year old ice skating for the first time to the disco session, where it is full of rabid teenagers doing dance moves to who knows what, and the learner penguin ice stabilisers aren't allowed on the rink.

Cue, hissy fit, in epic proportions. So much so that other people (some parents, some not) questioning your parenting ability as your child lies writhing on the floor banging her fists in search of love? attention? chocolate?

Oh she must be tired, oh she must be hungry, oh she must have the wrong size skates on, oh she is cold, they said.

Oh fuck off.

Oh and no we probably shouldn't have taken the myriad of fluffy dogs too.

Still the arts cinema (thankfully quite nearby) offers respite in the form of kids pizza and wine for the ladies.

After my shitty week I am trying to catch up with your, probably better weeks, slowly.

Lots of swearing this week, not big or clever, but frankly my dears I don't give a flying monkey's kahunas.