Saturday, 16 August 2008

Just Call Me Sherlock


Today I have solved a myth, a riddle, a puzzlement if you will that has been niggling at me for ages. There is nothing quite like the feeling of actually getting to the bottom of something (especially if that something is called Mr. G Clooney) and sighing a satisfied aha! in your face sister, or some such hip and happening remark. I am hip aren't I? Anyway, today I had my moment.

My friend Kate and I had decided to take the children to feed the ducks, Kate is a typical Mum-about-town, all 4x4, gym membership and Boden, and before you ask I am not jealous one tiny bit, oh no, I swear. I mean 4x4's are terrible for the environment, if God had meant us to exercise in an air conditioned studio she would have made them free and Boden? OK I'd quite like the flowery boot cut thingys, and I do have visions of Isla being one of those achingly cool models, but I'm afraid the gene pool I have supplied her with will make it nigh on impossible. So no, I am not envious of Kate and her Mum-about-town status.

Anyway, this is the riddle: every time we go to the park to feed the ducks Kate's children whip out bags of fresh (yes, fresh) granary bread. The sort you get from those specialist shops in a paper bag, the sort where the shop also home makes the Chelsea buns and remembers to accidentally slip one in with the bread to eat on the way home. I didn't think much of it at first, being my only Mum-about-town friend I just assumed that this is what they fed the ducks. Indeed a daily boost of B vitamins would go a long way to ensuring a healthy duck population. How community minded. But last week we went to Kate's house for tea rather than feed the ducks, who wouldn't have been there anyway since the rumour of Noah building a Modern Interpretation of the Ark to escape the rain and flooding meant all the local animals have been queuing for days. Our dog even camped out, but came home when his sleeping bag flooded. It won't do them any good though as apparently the Modern New Interpretation involves lots of holes through the hull representing (I'm told by the dog) the disintegration of society, so not much chance of floating off towards an olive tree (we have two in the back garden for them to aim for, though no dove, unless they want to borrow Jack's hand puppet one).

Anyway, having tea at Kate's I noticed one tiny thing; she served white bread. I looked around the kitchen to see if it was just for the children and that she kept a lovely fresh granary for her and her Husband but no. Why? Where was it? Cue music for Scooby Do and the arrival of the Mystery Machine. Oh yes, I was about to become one of those Pesky Kids. I spent most of the afternoon trying to find reasons to look in cupboards, Kate began to think I may have had some mental impairment or at least a brain as leaky as (New Modern Interpretation) Noah's ark, as for the eighth time I offered to make the tea and proceeded to open five different cupboards before locating the cups. But it paid off, unless she kept the bread in the cloak room there was no granary loaf to be seen. No granary loaf at all. Right, something strange is going on and I have to get to the bottom of it (or perhaps I need a part time job to give my brain something else to do).

So today we met at the park, and there it was; the brown paper bag filled with fresh granary bread. Why? It turns out that Kate doesn't like to feed white bread to the ducks in case Other Mums-about-town think she eats it at home, or worse feeds it to the children. She does though, the family get through two loaves of thin white sliced every week. They don't eat the crusts either so she puts them in the middle of the compost bin so that the bin men don't see them and think that she eats white bread and is very unhealthy and feeds her children unhealthy things too. So the granary loaf is bought fresh from the bakers before going to the park and dolled out to the children much in the manner of left over bread. She recycles the brown bag though, she told me solemnly. She uses it to hide the Nesquick packet in the recycling bin.

15 comments:

Eve said...

I think I'll stick to being a slummy mummy. The lengths I would have to go to to be a mum-about-town, or to scale the lofty peaks of yummy mummy, seem just too much to be bothered with.

I mean buying two sorts of bread, one for the binmen and one for the family, and then not even eating it if I wanted to be yummy mummy!

Bush Mummy said...

I'm not sure whether to laugh or cry!!

Is she for real? You're making it up? Go on??? I think Kate is the one that needs a job.. She clearly has FAR too much time on her hands to go these lengths.

BM x

Tara@From Dawn Till Rusk said...

You see, you look behind the facade of these 'mum-about-towns' and they're usually totally like everyone else. I can't stand that kind of pretense. Who cares if she serves white bread and Nesquik? Really, who cares? Does she make sure the children's clothes labels are hanging out so everyone knows she shops at Boden and Baby Gap rather than H&M like the rest of us!

Jolly Good Yarn Girl said...

Funny thing is that as you know I'm in the natural health business and there was one instance at my kids' tennis lesson when the Mums were sitting watching and there was a whole load of whispering going on and snickering and my friends on the row in front were getting their kids to drink their juice cartons without showing the labels. I am naturally nosey and wanted to know what was going on ... they were hiding them so that I wouldn't realise their kids weren't drinking organic juice!!! I was horrified...what kind of dragonlike reputation have I got? Do I come over as some kind of guru of knitted yoghurt and hemp sandals?...God I hope not. Nevertheless I made sure my kids drank their's out of view...
...their chocolate milks!
JGYG x

Millennium Housewife said...

Eve, you're right, much easier MH

BM, I think artistic licence is the Blogger's perogative don't you?! MH

Tara, I'll have to check for the labels MH

JGYG, you are indeed a fiercesome presence. I personally always quake before coming to see you and always double check I am wearing my organic underwear MH

Mud in the City said...

Wow! Now that's either hugely competitive or hugely paraniod. I don't think I'd have the energy.

Impressive organisational skills though!

you can take the girl out of essex said...

surely if she were a real mum about town she would make her own bread and freeze the crusts for the ducks! i love it x

Ernest de Cugnac said...

one is stunned. i think you need casually to slip ibs or diverticulitus into the next conversation.

Irene said...

I think this Kate woman is off her rocker and needs to come and join the real world. Sorry, that sounds kind of harsh. So, the ducks are very healthy and her children are chronically constipated? And they can't whistle because they don't eat the crusts of their bread? She sounds like a neurotic character in a Woody Allen movie. A very sad woman indeed.

Working mum said...

Priceless! Also a bit bonkers. Does she know it's nearly £1.40 a loaf now and she's feeding the good stuff to the ducks?!

Millennium Housewife said...

Mud, paranoid, definitely paranoid

Essex, is that what you do? Impressive!

Earnest, slip was a good word for that comment LOL

Irene a bit of artistic licence is allowed don't you think?!

WM it's only 20p or something for no frills white sliced, the savings from that probably pay for it.

Mom/Mum said...

Did I read that right??? Gerraloife-Kate
So glad I found you blog. I'll deffo keep reading.

Millennium Housewife said...

Thanks Mom/mum, coming over to yours

Samurai Beetle said...

Hey I grew up on homemade white bread so I'm all for it! I did manage to switch to wheat 1 year before having baby so that's one less "bad" carb to worry about! Sounds like you have an interesting friend.

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