It’s hard work being a Mother!

Ahoy there! Now, me hearties, here is an interesting fact for you, which I discovered purely by chance this very morn. Yesterday was actually “International Talk Like a Pirate Day”! I Captain Kidd you not – how amazing is that? If only I had known – now I have to wait a whole year until the next one.

Which reminds me … I was attending a dinner party a few years ago, oddly enough dressed as Long John Silver (not really, just checking to make sure you are paying attention) when the topic of conversation turned to children – who had what, how many, ages etc.

I was just about to say actually I don’t have any children but, before I could, the lady seated opposite me piped up “Oh, I think there’s something very strange about a woman who doesn’t have children – there must be something wrong with her surely”.

She then immediately turned to me and asked “How many children do you have Elizabeth?” and I heard someone answer “Two” and then realised it was in fact me that had said that. Phew, that was close, I thought I had swerved what could have been an awkward moment rather nicely.

I really should have paid more attention to the potential ramifications of my reply though because then came a barrage of questions, thus:

“What are their names?”

“Hugo and Pandora” I replied, having quickly plucked from thin air the names of my two beloved cats from years ago. Lucky they weren’t called Puss and Ginger!

“How old are they?” Blah blah blah …

By the end of the evening I was the unintentional mother of two children, my aforementioned incredibly talented son Hugo and my beautiful daughter Pandora, affectionately known as Pandy. Perhaps a little over the top, I hear you say? No, that was just the beginning.


Hugo is a very successful architect, living with his partner (Antonio) in the most scrumptious loft apartment in Manhattan. As a trendy gay man about town I don’t expect he will be giving me grandchildren anytime soon. Thank goodness! No way do I want some sticky toddlers anywhere near my dogs, my Afghan war rug or my cashmere throws thankyou.

Ooh, I started to get a bit anxious then at the thought of it, completely forgetting for a moment that that particular nightmare scenario exists only in my mind. Phew, what a relief!

Back to Pandora … Pandy is a very successful (naturellement) interior designer, living with her husband Sebastian in Primrose Hill on the northern side of Regent’s Park in London.  Pandy is very similar to me in many ways and she and her husband (whom I simply adore) have decided they are not particularly fussed about having children for they too have some beautiful soft furnishings. That, and they have a shared love of long haul travel destinations. They have the most gorgeous home, as one would expect, but unfortunately have very loud neighbours to the left of them – some kind of musician, apparently quite famous, playing an electric guitar and wailing at all hours. I can’t recall his name off hand but I imagine he sounds rather like this:


So, with my maternal instinct on full alert, I advised darling Pandy to pop next door and ever so politely ask if they would be kind enough to keep the noise down after 10pm in the evening, which she did. But she then informed me a greasy wild haired beatnik type of fellow had greeted her with some hostility, shouting “I’m not going to be told what to do by a woman with a face like a pickled onion”!

Outrageous!! The child is beyond beautiful – she looks just like me for heavens sake!

Anyway, must dash for now dahlings as I’m expecting a long distance call from Hugo … I’ll send him your best wishes. And then I really must plank.

Elizabeth x