We had to go into school this morning for a daddy's reading day which entailed TW reading a book called Vesuvius Poovius which is all about poo and how to get rid of it. Not quite sure if that is what they had in mind when they asked my husband in to read but the children seemed to like it. I am, however, disowning responsibility if any of the other mothers start telling me little Johnny is stashing his number two's under the frontroom rug.
While I was there the baby crawled across the classroom to the doll's house. As she pulled out the dollies, each was revealed as more unfortunate than the next. Among the inhabitants were an old lady clutching a zimmer frame - fair enough, grannies do get that way. Granny had a lot on though, living there as she did with her middle-aged son on crutches, another bespectacled momma's boy with calipers and a blind daughter who could not move anywhere without her white stick. Infact she could not really move with it. Meanwhile a little granddaughter dominated the sitting room in an overly large wheelchair while a deaf black teenager, presumably a lovechild to the calipered one, sported an NHS hearing aid and learnt signlanguage. Two other elderly wooden dolls lay around on a bed upstairs, presumably dementing quietly while two child dolls, fresh into their 15th foster placement contemplated arson and the doll that looked closest to being a whole-bodied adult considered coming out as a moulded plastic lesbian. Talk about The Curse of the House of Usher. If there had been a cat, it would have had three legs. Apparently, local education authorities require schools to buy Caribbean and Asian dolls at the same time as Caucasian. Quite right too - the children up here never see a black face. But all things in moderation and that was more of a care-home than a doll's house. According to the classroom assistant, it is all about diversity and inclusion. Really? What about escapism and imagination?