Make mine a triple...

When my boss said she was taking a day’s annual leave yesterday, I was looking forward to a relaxing day of checking Facebook at my leisure. But oh no, I was to accompany her on her day off and take her children to have their fringes cut at Daisy & Tom’s on King’s Road, while she went off on a mysterious trip to Reigate

Well, I thought, at least it’s a day out of the office, it should fly by and I’m pretty sure that I have watched enough Supernanny to keep the kids under control.

Not quite how it worked out.

The fringe cutting episode was thankfully evaded in the most part, as I left the poor hairdresser to deal with Freya’s demand for a Pob and chuckled behind my copy of Vogue. The hairdresser obviously had never heard of the naughty step. Max was as good as gold for the haircut, but then spotted a clownfish in the fish tank that he was convinced was Nemo from Finding Nemo. He had hysterics when I explained we couldn’t embark on a rescue mission to send him back to the Great Barrier Reef.

When I finally left managed to drag away a tear stained Max, I noticed with horror that Freya had a smug beam on her face, and a Victoria Beckham bob. My heart literally stopped for a moment as the colour drained from my face, how was I ever going to explain this to my boss?

I had also been given £50 to take the children to lunch, the two requisites being a) healthy and b) organic. However, the idea of MacDonald’s went down a treat, and there seemed to be a tacit understanding that it would be better for both parties not to mention this to mummy. Luckily, their precocious discretion didn’t stretch to the concept of money, and they seemed satisfied that £50 would just about cover two Happy Meals. I saved the remainder for a triple gin and tonic at the next available opportunity.

Frisking the kids for evidence, I confiscated two miniature Shreks that came with the Happy Meals and now nervously awaited my boss as we sat in Starbucks. At least the hairdresser had stopped short of the highlights. When she finally arrived, I awaited her shocked and outraged expression, but her face remained completely composed. In fact, not a single muscle in her face moved – so that was what she was doing in Reigate. Somehow her remark of ‘what has happened to my poor baby?!’ didn’t seem half as bad with the fixed smile on her face.

Thank heavens for fast food, Supernanny and Botox.