WEDNESDAY 11TH AUGUST 2010 - EYE DAY
I mentioned in my previous post that my mum & I were taking the kids up to London for the day, so we could go on the Eye. Harvey was bursting with excitement about this planned event, and I was rudely awoken early on Wednesday morning by him literally jumping all over me and shouting that "Eye day" was here at last - he made it sound like he was due to have a horrific eye operation but fortunately it was a slightly more pleasant experience.
My darling mother had planned the outing with military precision and I was as always in awe of her organisational skills. Despite being very wary of the internet (she points out regularly that when I innocently use thetrainline.com to find out train times, etc. I might actually be chatting to a raging serial killer intent on hunting me down, slicing me open from top to bottom and boiling my vital organs up in a pan for his lunch, to give her credit I don't know for certain that the site in question wasn't created by a serial killer. The mere mention of Facebook makes my mother visibly shudder, I'm too frightened to tell her I've lied about my daughters age in order to create an account for her.) Mum managed to arm herself with a home made information sheet outlining various times and prices for our journey, all the info was acquired using those ancient methods of telephone and speaking to breathing people face to face.
After several phone conversations and heated discussion, mum and I had settled on a day and time for our trip. When she came over last Saturday we booked the tickets (in a real life ticket office, how retro) and had the day planned in minute detail, her determination and fierce expression left me too scared to confess that I was already exhausted despite Eye day still being 4 days away.
Tuesday evening saw me & my mum engaged in a final discussion phone call, she assured me that she had everything organised and so all I had to do was board the 10.20am train to London Victoria with my children in tow on Wednesday morning. Mum instructed me to position myself in the second carriage down (she never travels in the first or last carriages because apparently if you're in one of those and the train crashes then you're more likely to die, I suspect that her career as a teacher was a lie and she secretly devoted her entire working life to proving this fact) phone her on her mobile and confirm that everything was going to plan, then welcome her on board the train twenty minutes later at Chichester. She'd made herself a special bag especially for the occasion, and had food, drink, entertainment, first aid equipment and everything we would possibly need already packed. My mum finally hung up and spent the rest of her evening happily watching telly and drinking wine before curling up in her bed complete with ironed duvet covers (who the hell irons duvet covers?) and sleeping soundly. I however, spent the evening frantically rushing around tidying my tip of a flat and packing the bag that I had repeatedly assured my mum was already packed.
So, Harvey woke up full of beans on Eye day, in our bed as usual (I've given up even attempting to put him in his own bed, let's face it the kid will still be sleeping next to me when he's 13) Just as I was enjoying a few minutes with my book, I heard the devastated cries of my daughter coming from her bedroom, complete with wretched sobbing "I feeeel siiiiiick!" the words struck terror into my heart. It was like a nightmare, after developing chickenpox a week before the summer holidays started, Darcie had woken up on the one day I'd arranged something which couldn't easily be altered, ill. The little boy who lives opposite us, Lloyd, came over for tea on Sunday and promptly announced he was ill and had been sick the previous day, we were annoyed with his mum for letting him come around when he was poorly to be honest. I had a hunch he'd share his germs with our two, and it looked like my hunch was right.
It was one of those frequent times when I simply didn't know what to do. Simon desperately spooned calpol into Darcie's mouth while she sobbed, thrashed around and made suicide threats, once Harvey realise Eye day was jepordised he dissolved into tears and clung to me in sheer desperation. It wasn't much past 7am and we were faced with two sobbing children. Darcie informed me that my mum had set her alarm for 7.30am and I suspected she was already awake, but still felt it was just too early to phone (my dad isn't a morning person, a trait I've inherited along with his surprisingly short arms) Darcie looked awful and I was torn between being sympathetic and cursing her for being ill. Finally it got passed 8am and I phoned my parents, predictably my dad was groggy and less than helpful, doing what he always does in a crisis and letting my mum deal with it. Mum struggled to hide the irritation in her voice but did seem genuinely sympathetic and concerned, easier over the phone than in person I suppose. She advised waiting an hour and then seeing how Darcie was, if she wasn't fit to go then either I'd just take the sobbing red blob that was Harvey or we'd cancel completely. An endless hour later Darcie had perked up although she had a meltdown when Simon made her plain toast in an attempt to calm her stomach - plain toast is apparently more lethal than poison, cheaper too so I'm left wondering why more people don't use it to knock off their victims. She managed a couple of slices of cheese and wanted to come with us, after plenty of deliberation, screaming and insult hurling we decided to take our chances and let her go. I rapidly packed a full change of clothes for Darcie though (ha ha mother, see I can be organised!) just in case.
10.20am saw me on the correct train, in the correct carriage with the kids, feeling utterly exhausted. They ignored the expensive magazines I'd bought them for the journey, the toys on the front did keep them occupied for nearly 5 minutes though which wasn't too bad (£5 for 2 kids magazines, I remember the days when a family of four could buy a years grocery shopping for that and have a fortnights holiday in Spain with the change) Mother duly boarded the train at Chichester and all was well. Darcie had recovered well enough to scoff a packet of bacon crisps and half a packet of love hearts, Harvey refused to eat anything which is about right for him. The journey went okay, it's one I've made hundreds of times, first as student then as a mother. It took me back to my carefree student days; going home to Croydon for the holidays with a holdall stuffed full of dirty washing and a gigantic hangover, excited at the prospect of proper food and a clean bed and desperately trying to remember who I'd snogged the previous night. Ah, happy days....I'm certain they're happier in my memory than they were at the time though!
Darcie and Harvey went for several walks up and down the train and at long last we were in London. Going through East Croydon was weird, all the times I got off there, all the memories that will always be contained in that place. It was a bit like opening a memory box and then closing it again quickly, very odd. Right from being little I've always been completely fascinated with Battersea Power Station, it's so powerful (literally, being a power station) and imposing, there's something incredible about the place. It hasn't been functional in god knows how long, but I still love it - when I was a kid my mum would always be attempting to get me to look at the Thames or the bridges but I'd just stare at Battersea Power Station. Disappointingly, neither Darcie or Harvey shared my love for it, although they were very animated when they spotted an Asda out of the window.
I haven't been to Victoria train station in almost a decade, but it hasn't really changed. It was like slipping into an old coat or something, so familiar and comforting. Harvey was overjoyed to spot a Lush shop on the concourse and after paying 30p each to use the loo (next time the kids are going on the train, I don't care how disgusting the toilets are or how hard Harvey finds it to wee standing up while the train is at full speed) we headed upstairs to Macdonalds. It was heaving but we managed to somehow acquire some grub which was welcomed by my grumbling stomach (of course I didn't have the time to eat breakfast, I can't eat and get out of the flat at a reasonable time, it's impossible) My mum has a Thing about escalators going down, she refuses to use them because her eyes go weird - tedious but understandable I guess. I didn't want to be responsible for her falling and fracturing another bone, so we searched in vain for a lift, wasting valuable time. Finally a random person agreed to take mum down in a staff lift hidden behind a door while I took the kids on the escalator. After waiting for my mum for an eternity in the agreed meeting place, she appeared from a totally different direction to the one I was looking in and off we went.
Harvey was amazed to see pigeons walking around on the concourse, this is something so normal to me, they've always done that, and I didn't find it weird. He couldn't get over it though and it really tickled him, I think he genuinely believes that pigeons travel by train now, bless him. We trailed after my mum as she boarded a bus which was heading in the general direction of the Eye, and after an worryingly easy journey we were there. As we walked towards the Eye, past St Thomas' hospital (I think that's the one anyway, if you've got to be ill it must be the best hospital to be stuck in, fantastic views) the reality of just how busy London is hit me. I grew up very close to London, I was always used to being there, but I've never been anywhere as intense. I live in a fairly hectic city now, but Portsmouth is nothing in comparison. It's just indescribably frantic and everyone and everything is constantly moving. You can't stand still, it's scary and you feel kind of helpless, but at the same time it's incredible. As we admired the buses, the taxis, the proper phone boxes, the houses of parliament and Big Ben, I realised just what a fantastic place London is. Literally everywhere you look there's something else to see, and I was so excited to be showing my kids. You have to keep moving quickly though, Darcie and I frantically snapped pictures while my mum and Harvey disappeared into the distance - for once she was totally fine with me and we enjoyed taking photos of Big Ben.
I expected the area near the Eye to be packed, I've been there before, but it was tremendously busy. We fought our way to the booking hall, certain that one of the kids would end up getting lost, but miraculously the four of us all made it. Queues were snaking everywhere and time was ticking, after a mild panic my mum and I realised that the queues were in fact moving fast (of course, everything moves fast in London) and within twenty minutes or so we were £50 worse off and had four tickets in our hot little hands. My mum shunned the idea of pretending Harvey was 3 as kids under 4 go free, not sure we could have got away with it but I thought it would be worth a shot (more proof that I am indeed my fathers daughter)
More queues awaited us, and suddenly all was not well with Darcie. She went all flushed and moody (well more moody than usual) and Harvey also started flagging, mid-afternoon being his usual down time. The waiting was endless, the sun was beating down and the kids alternately whined and sulked. I tried to persuade Darcie to have some calpol but she refused point blank (mum, stop it, you are sooooo embarrassing! is she 8 or in fact a hormonal teenager?) my mum paid hideous amounts of money for bottles of coke hoping that would cool Darcie down, despite me instructing her not to as my precious daughter had refused the juice we had with us, thus demonstrating that she couldn't truly be thirsty) even that treat didn't produce happiness, only more sulking and accusations. Sensing imminent disaster I turned my attention to my tired little boy who immediately announced that he needed the toilet. We were fast approaching the end of the line, gearing up to get into our pod where we would be suspended in mid-air for at least 30 minutes with no toilet facilities. I was faced with a dilemma; wander off in search of the toilets and risk not being able to locate my mum and Darcie again, or ignore Harvey's pleas and risk him wetting himself in the pod in front of total strangers. My mum remained unusually silent so I made the decision myself, I dashed off with Harvey in search of a bush. Usually he's willing to having a wee behind or against anything (in fact he prefers going against a green electricity box than in the nursery toilets) but there were too many people around, he was too hot, weary and ratty to help me out. I ended up tearing back to the booking hall, dashing down a long flight of stairs to the ladies loos, where I suspect I bypassed the queue. I refused to even let him wash his hands (don't worry, usually I insist on the kids washing their hands, skipping it once won't kill anyone, hopefully not anyway) and instead dragged him back towards the line, ignoring desperate cries for an ice lolly. My mum had meanwhile accosted a lovely young man and explained the situation, he'd let her and Darcie step out of the queue while they awaited our return, without actually losing our place forever. Within minutes we were in our pod and I had the beginnings of a headache that would persist for the rest of the afternoon.
To be honest, the kids didn't enjoy the Eye experience as much as I'd hoped. Harvey had been utterly convinced it was some kind of fairground ride, despite us showing him photos online. Darcie was still rejecting medicine and neither child was in a particularly pleasant mood. I made up for their lack of enthusiasm by listening intently to my mums commentary and making appropriate comments, secretly wishing I was at home with an enormous bottle of wine. It was stifling in the pod and eventually the kids settled near the lone ineffective fan with a little girl they'd befriended. I enjoyed the experience and noticed that they were actually peering out of the window and taking something in, despite Harvey being initially convinced he'd plummet to his death. My mum found some unfortunate tourists to chat to, so I admired the greatest city in the world while enjoying a few minutes peace.
When we disembarked from our pod I felt a mixture of relief but disappointment that Darcie and Harvey hadn't been overly thrilled. My mum convinced Darcie to take some calpol, and then we headed to the little park a few steps away that Harvey had been desperate to go to. I treated everyone to ice lollies (well everyone except Darcie who refused one, confirming my suspicions that she felt terrible) the park was really too crowded but Harvey was satisfied with a blue sword constructed out of modelling balloons which my mum bought him. He had a terrific time attacking pigeons with the sword while eating his lolly - as soon as it started melting though he hurled it into the Thames. The kids had money burning holes in their pockets, so we went into a little gift shop, selling traditionally tacky souvenirs. Darcie made a beeline for a teddy wearing some kind of pink cape, costing £14. I immediately informed her that ill or not, there was absolutely no way I was coughing up that amount of money for a souvenir. I at once became Meanest Mum ever known to man, while my own mum desperately searched for an alternative in order to placate her precious granddaughter. The alternative smaller bear dressed in an "I love London" jumper was a mere £6, Darcie enraged me by hurling it back on the shelf in a spoilt temper tantrum. I told her off while my mum bought the bear for me and Simon as a souvenir, angering Darcie further - she was rapidly escorted out of the shop and my blood boiled with rage.
Somehow my daughter made it back to Victoria train station alive, and we realised we had a mere 15 minutes before our train home departed. Both children ended up in floods of tears at the thought of no souvenirs, and in a mad moment of kindness I remembered the over-priced souvenir shop we'd walked past earlier at the top of the escalator. My mum hurled some extra cash at her grandchildren and waited with the bags, desperate to escape them for a few minutes I suspected. We had 10 minutes to chose and purchase something and be on the train. The indian man running the shop watched with amusement as I desperately tried to persuade my kids to pick something appropriate, cheap and long lasting in about two minutes. It was clearly an impossible task; Harvey ended up with a red london bus and taxi set costing £4.50 and Darcie got a fan (which is actually really nice) costing £6. Absolute rip off of course (I bought Harv a very similar red bus for £1 recently) but they'll hopefully keep the things they chose and they won't fall apart. Mad dash down the escalator, sprint to the barriers and then disaster struck. Put out by not having his own ticket, Harvey begged to put mine through the automatic barrier, wearily I agreed, he pushed it in and the little doors opened. He went through slowly, I tried to push through with him and the barrier closed on me. It must have been amusing but it was very painful for me - my side and bag got trapped and in a fit of anger and embarrassment I wrenched myself free, resulting in yet more pain. My mum & Darcie stiffled their giggles as I held back the tears, the only person who showed me any concern was Harvey, probably feeling guilty as he was the cause of the whole thing. He did smile gingerly at me as we boarded the train and said "beautiful you" in a typically male attempt to placate me. It worked.
The train was heaving, a final insult after a stressful day. Despite being slightly before the main rush hour, it was full of commuters, fortunately Harvey and I found two seats together when a couple of blokes got off at Clapham Junction. My mum and Darcie were sitting across the aisle in a set of six seats, squashed with four strangers, all of them suited and years younger than me. My mother proceeded to produce food, lovingly arranged in an assortment of old ice-cream tubs and tupperware boxes. The commuters glanced up from their iphones in vague amusement as mum dished out sausage rolls, crisps, ham, cheese and quiche to Darcie, motioning to the poor child to pass it across to Harvey and I. My attempts to ignore her failed, and I smiled weakly at the other passengers who returned sympathetic glances. The young bloke who had the misfortune to be sitting next to my mum mentioned that the food was making him hungry, for a horrible moment I seriously thought she was going to hand him a napkin and pile picnic food into his hands. He was the kind of guy I'd have seriously fancied a decade ago, but found myself thinking what on earth have you done to your hair? It doesn't look like it's seen a brush for a week! He was friendly enough though and happily chatted to my mum and Darcie until he escaped at East Croydon.
Harvey innocently scoffed the middle of sausage rolls and savoury eggs, and was thrilled at the tiny pot of branston pickle his granny had lovingly packed and carried around with her all day. He also gulped back my coke, and then screamed that he felt sick for a good half hour, thankfully by then most people had got off the train - for some reason our carriage was particularly empty. Darcie dozed and clearly didn't feel well, I had a burst of happiness when city turned slowly into countryside and I realised that it was nearly over, I'd survived! We left mum at Chichester, after stuffing the remaining picnic food into my bag so we'd have something to eat later on (there are times when I seriously think she believes the kids only eat when she's around) and playing a strange game in the ladies waiting room with Harvey, which I'll point out was all his idea although I suspect she enjoyed herself, she loaded us onto our train. I swear relief poured off her as we disappeared and I reckon she headed straight for the nearest off licence.
So that was London. One day when my strength has finally returned, I'll take them back, but I suspect I'll wait until they're both adults.
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