I’m not sure what the form is for starting these pages. Formal introduction by a suitably-aged mutual friend of good standing in the local community? Casually sidling over, glass in hand to see if we are both people who won’t be offended by excessive swearing and think their children are mostly horrid? Or do we start like a soap – just crack on with it and hope the back stories emerge as we press on? I think they did that in Eldorado.
Middle ground. Let’s try that. I am 39. I live in what can just about be called London because we are on the tube and we used to have a London phone number until we realised didn’t know what it was any more and got rid of the phone. London-ish. I have a job in Proper London which means I live on the Central Line which is good because I can do my online shopping on the way to work. I have a husband who likes twatting about with cable and is the only man I know who was thrilled to go bald because he had terrible hair.
I also own two small boys. Which is probably the point of this page. They are three and six. The Big One talks too much (possibly genetic), is obsessed with Pokemon and might turn out alright. The Little One is a dick. He’s cunningly disguised as adorable but he’s not. He’s a dick.
I also have a cat. She is called Chablis. Which probably tells you pretty much everything else you need to know about me. I like wine. Also beer and gin. And fizzy wine. And Campari and port and Cointreau (not together, I’m not a fucking animal). I am suspicious of sober people and very thin people and vegans. If I can’t share a vat of Sauvignon Blanc and a sausage platter with you, we probably won’t get on.
So, there we have it. What’s next?
Sons Over the Yardarm 