It was almost a year ago when Gail had the feeling that she was failing at being a wholesome magazine type of mother. In fact, it was exactly the time she had loudly bollocked The Teenager who was playing a video game and communicating only through coded grunts and sour facial expressions that she reached her limit and exploded in a froth of spit and ‘spicy words’, only to discover The Teenager was broadcasting across the internet via headphones and that the whole world now knew Gail was seriously unhinged.
Gail felt she needed to inject some family 2.4 picket fence-ness into the Grisham household so on a whim joined The Royal Horticultural Society. Gail had visions of bumble bees and gingham picnic rugs where wifi was never mentioned and everyone laughed and played with a big red ball or chased butterflies and sketched little birdies. No one would peel back a sandwich and sneer at its contents, nor would they moan about needing wees or being bored. No, in RHS world everything was dewy and soft.
So eleven months on and the RHS card still hasn’t been used. Until today…
Today Gail is making them go to an RHS garden because she is going to use the membership even if it’s only once and they are going to have a very nice time. Gail has instructed them all to be jolly and fun between 1 and 3pm as she will not tolerate any sourness and she expects them to outdo themselves being bloody brilliant… ‘do you hear me, we are going to have a very very nice time, got it?’
Even The Husband is reluctant to go out claiming he has things to do but Gail has told him if he ‘turn coats’ on her now he can expect bugger all in every department for the foreseeable.
So wish Gail luck as she heads out to uncharted waters where posh folks dwell and their children know what quinoa is.