God, I hate these bloody places.
I'm in a wacky warehouse type place again. You remember that I don't like them much.
Every so often our good nature gets the better of us and we cave in to Molly's continual requests for a trip to the local play barn.
Of course, being in Yorkshire and being out of the inner city urban experience that was Birmingham we're frequenting a nicer standard of play barn now.
No longer do we have parents getting slowly pissed next to us at the Wacky Warehouse.
No, instead of this we have about a hundred sets of parents whose concept of parenting seems to have been developed in some ecologically aware, capitalist frendly, proto hippy state somewhere.
We're surrounded by bloody Tarquins and Tarquinas here.
As we walked in we almost tripped over the crowd of parents playing the party arms race game and cooing over whatever stupid award Tarquin had just picked up -
(Most impressive use of an inbred aristocratic genetic defect by a minor? GCSE in latin at age 3? Yoga for cattle, sheep and toddlers stage 1?)
It's the sheer annoying nature of these people that I find so difficult to tolerate. They just live and breathe specifically to annoy me. These people always be found standing in the narrowest section of the play barn type thingy. They always stand up for some reason, possibly because that's what one does when one is having guests round for an official engagement. They then always insist on talking in that horribly loud and annoying voice so that we can all hear exactly how much money Phillip earnt for his last bonus and how they're all so tired of the usual holidays at mustique and they've decided to save the planet this year by helping out the Nepalese Yak Farmers with their annual harvest. But they'll of course be flying Club Class because to go economy is taking this whole green thing just a little too far.
And I fully expect to have one of the little Tarquins trying to kill Molly at some point because she couldn't be bothered playing croquet with the inflatable mallets and wanted to play Power Rangers instead.
Only kidding, they don't really have inflatable Croquet mallets.
People did request them, saying that the existing football pitch for the children merely fostered feelings of competitition and encouraged children to try to win things which as we all know merely fosters competitive feelings and may actually introduce the dreaded concept of losing and failing at something.
Luckily someone told these idiots to sit down and shut the fuck up.
......... and breathe.
More coffee needed I think.
Because that will calm me down I'm sure.
