The Leaky Cauldron

[Normally when I’m quiet, Knockers pipes up and and it’s a real job shutting her up again. However, you may have noticed that she’s been quiet too of late. You didn’t say anything, which is a bit rude, but whatever. Turns out she’s not been slacking off. Not like I have been slacking off. Turns out she’s actually got a proper, actual factual reason. Like I have a proper, actual factual reproduction 1:14 scale Millennium Falcon.]

The Leaky Cauldron has a new sister pub. It’s called The Leaky Nipple and it’s open for business. Despite the fact that it’s a place of exceptional comfort – large pillowy recliners and free drinks on tap – it currently only has two patrons.  Permanently intoxicated patrons judging by their lolloping heads, projectile vomiting and tendency to soil themselves.

Of course these individuals are babies and of course The Leaky Nipple is in my bra, somewhere beneath a breast pad sodden with Breasty Milk Cheese. The good news about having twins is that I’ve swerved being that old lady with a chaffinch living in her hair, but the bad news is I don’t get out to eat anymore. For now, The Leaky Nipple is a twenty-four hour operation and it needs an incontinent narcoleptic with shell-shock to run it.

As it goes, I don’t get to eat much at all anymore. I’m constantly starving. But here’s the thing I didn’t know about babies: People wang on about how lush they smell and, granted, they start the day all baths and baby powder. But by the end of it they smell like gradually decomposing lunch boxes. I can’t tell you how much it has taken me back to primary school and my crush on Mrs Hudson and her mohair sweaters.

In the wee small hours, when I’ve wrung every last breast pad from the bin into my mouth, I lay back and breathe in my stinky baby girls. As per my schooldays, Frazzles are ever-present with their delicious, bacon-like aura. A new one is ham sandwich poo. The health visitor said it was ‘the protein’, which of course just made me hungrier. And no packed lunch is complete without the obligatory Dairy Lee triangle, although nowadays its replaced with feta, and there’s a handful of nuts and for pudding, a very a particular type of baklava I had at a wedding once.

So please accept my apologies as I take a short sabbatical from improving Del Monte’s blog. Once all the scabs have dropped off and I’ve passed the HGV test for the buggy, I’ll be maternity-leaving the snot out food outlets with wide aisles and relaxed attitudes to breast-feeding. But in the meantime, it’s just one man and his foreign muck, but don’t worry. He’s had quite the reputation for being adept at doing things single-handed since prep school.

HAPPY DAYS!

The most difficult thing about having twins is deciding which of them should be gifted a lift of bounty and privilege and which should be the duffer. But parents of twins always manage to figure it out.

The most difficult thing about having twins is deciding which of them should be gifted a life of bounty and privilege and which should be the duffer. But parents of twins always manage to figure it out.

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