26 Feb

They do say it takes a village to raise a child …. well this morning I had a visit from one of the doyennes of village life. She is a smart, plummy-voiced, really scary octogenarian who appears to single-handedly run the village and, to her immense credit, is involved in most of the voluntary organisations. When we first moved to the country I thought, in my lippy London way, that she would be one of the running-everything, interfering, no-one-makes-Jam-like-me, Victorian-era types that I would avoid like the plague. Actually, she is, but I love her. In a sense she probably symbolises my conversion to village life more than anything else. Or maybe I’m just mellowing as I get older. Although time does seem to have stalled for her in about 1930, and she always looks at me in my jeans as though gels really shouldn’t be wearing slacks, she is one of the kindest and most genuine people I’ve ever met. When both my children were poorly with chicken pox a few months ago and I had a chest infection (and felt desperately sorry for myself – husband, naturellement, was in Paris) she, at the age of 83, was the first on the phone to see if she could do some shopping for me or help out in any way! I got to know her well as she does a huge amount for the local pre-school and primary school, both of which I’m involved with, and she adores children. The only trouble is, she has never actually had any of her own, and whilst this obviously does not preclude you from being great with children and having views on to their welfare and education, it does make it a bit difficult if you have, dare I say it, draconian and inflexible views on their upbringing!

Anyway, she was due this morning for coffee later this morning to discuss an issue we’d come up against at school (we’re both governors). The lovely, lovely boiler/Aga people had turned up first thing to sort out the oil pipe so we’re back in the land of warmth. I’d planned well – the best china tea set, flapjacks baking, (but not on the Aga, obviously, as it’s still warming up),the house relatively clean and tidy (i.e. toys and various detritus swept under the sofa) my daughter, deliberately dressed in a smock dress (I know, I’m a pathetic people-pleaser!) playing beautifully with her dolls’ tea set. About fifteen minutes into the conversation, we get started on the subject of children’s diets. It’s obviously been a fairly hot topic for some time now, and I should think that most people with any common sense broadly agree on what sort of diet children should have. I should point out that my own children eat pretty well on the whole. They do have treats though, and my husband did once make the great mistake of stopping at a garage and introducing my 3 year old daughter to the delights of a packet of Quavers. She, my child who will eat pretty much anything I put in front of her and probably eats more healthily than I do, reacted as if she’d been given manna from heaven. She probably dreams of Quavers, and certainly salivates if they’re mentioned. Anyway, village octogenarian was in full flow about the iniquities of modern parenting, highlighting in particular the fact that some children are given crisps by their parents. I weakly nodded and smiled, paralysed as ever by this woman’s sheer force of personality (I’m really not a complete wuss in real life, at least not all the time!). Anyway, you guessed it, on cue in runs my daughter: “CRISPS? Can I have some? My favourite!” I tried my best to cough loudly over her, when that didn’t work I laughed lightly and said nonchalantly, ‘‘Yes, you’ve had them occasionally.” My girl is nothing if not a stickler for the truth, and corrected me by pointing out that Daddy gets them for her at the garage every time they go there. I felt my halo slipping, but I have to say said octogenarian coped magnificently, chatting away to my daughter and changing the subject as she was obviously brought up to do when someone makes a gaffe! I was less composed, however, having been outed, in her eyes at least, as yet another cr*p parent. She will probably be keeping a close eye on the welfare of my children from now on.

My daughter has fallen asleep on the sofa after the ridiculously healthy lunch I made her eat as a penance for earlier. And what did I have, after I’d finished explaining to her the importance of fruit and vegetables and she’d fallen asleep? Why, a packet of crisps, of course.