9 things I learned yesterday.

Yesterday I was back at the Burgeramt. (You can read the first part here) It was a 'valuable learning experience' for me. That's the nicest way I can put it. This is what I learned:

1. You can arrive as early as you like, but there will always be 80 people to be seen before you. 


2. You are there to undertake a task. Do not try and be *nice*.

I made the mistake of when someone on their way out passed the handle of the glass door to me of asking the woman behind the counter if she would like the door closed. She replied with a sentence I didn't understand. I said 'Sorry, would you like the door closed?'  again, and she said very sternly "WHAT DO YOU WANT??"

3. You will be punished for your bad German. 

I asked for the form for the parking permit and answered all the questions which she fired at me in what was obviously much more *fancy* German that she was patently getting a kick out of watching me not entirely understand. Except having been through this before I knew what the questions were and managed to get the answers right*.

4. Do not proceed to the waiting room with your numbered ticket. Stay. Move to the side a little, but stay. Ask the next person served what number their ticket is. 

Not doing this may result in the following. I was given a ticket which at the time would have sworn did not come directly from the machine. But, I didn't query it, because why wouldn't they give me the next number? Anyway, I went into the room and the number on the board was at 5 or something. I counted the number of people in the room and there were 43. I couldn't quite work out how I could be number 80, but it was a nice day and I thought that perhaps some people were waiting outside on the grass. So I waited 4 and a half hours. I waited until everyone who had arrived before me had been seen, and nearly everyone who had arrived after me had been seen. I waited until people who arrived 2 hours after me were complaining to other people in the room how long they had been waiting and how awful it was to have to wait longer because it was taking so long to get to 64. 64? 64?

5. It will do you no good to complain. You cannot win. They know you can't prove a thing. So go back to number 4 and check the next person's ticket. You probably will be told that they have some kind of special circumstance or something, who knows, but you will NEVER win. 


6. I will not be staying in Germany beyond June 2014 unless I have underground parking.


7. When you think things can't get worse: they can. Finding out you have booked the return flight from your holiday for the DAY AFTER you leave the hotel while waiting in the Burgeramt will see to that.


8. Drinking a whole bottle of cava while making dinner does actually cheer you up.


9. As does going to bed at 8pm.




*The questions never vary. It's like the questions you get at the airport.



1 thing I learned 8 minutes ago


1. You can renew your parking permit on the internet.

The social conscience

Both kids had a big long sleep yesterday afternoon, more than likely because of the heat, so we were able to go out last night for some after-dinner fun. A trip to the park on the bikes, some ping-pong for me and Stevie (though we were battling through that fluffy pollen which was coming down like snow), and some climbing and swinging, and zip-wiring and so on for the kids. Afterwards we stopped by the ice-cream cafe, and it was all very nice. We were just heading back home with Hamish beginning to drag behind on his balance bike, and Orla scooting on ahead on her proper bike, when she turned around and shouted back along the street (quite concerned) "Mum! Dad! There's a little boy out walking on his own! You need to get help!!", except it wasn't a little boy, it was a dwarf, who rather confirmed he was at least 25 years old when he turned round to look at us.

Normally, I can only hack one cringe-worthy experience a weekend, but this weekend we've decided to spoil ourselves rotten and have two. This morning we had the Stolpersteine ceremony in front of the house with all the neighbours. We gathered at 11am and Stevie's big plan was to take the kids bikes with us so that they wouldn't get all restless, noisy, and annoying, and instead could have a little cycle around in the background.  Anyway, the thing went off without a hitch. Our neighbour spoke eloquently about her research over the past 2 years, and told us how difficult it had been to find information about the residents who had been taken away. The stories of the former residents lives were moving and the whole thing was quite emotional. At the end, our neighbour laid 8 roses out on the pavement beside the Stolpersteine; a rose for each one. I was surprised and quite chuffed at how well our two had behaved throughout, it struck me that they recognised that it was a solemn occasion, and they behaved accordingly.

Well, at least until Orla came cycling out of the building as we were all stood around chatting, and in everyone's full gaze, cycled right over the freshly laid roses. I kid you not. Roll on tomorrow. It's a bank holiday, and I'm hoping for a hat trick.

Kanninchen paella won't make me a better person (pt1)

I was reading Mwa's post earlier about her buying Elizabeth Gilbert's 'Committed' - the sequel to Eat, Pray, Love'. It's about a couple who decide to list their respective flaws to each other prior to their wedding. Is this ever a good idea? There's always the risk that while you list 6 A4 sides of terrible flaws, your boyfriend can only think of maybe 1 or 2 things about himself that he considers negatives. Depending on how long you'd been 'dating', and for me & Stevie that's 10 whole, long, flawless years, I reckon I know most of his flaws and would find it hard not to help him out with a few suggestions. Still, I reckon I'd still have a longer list than him, and that would be enough to make me hate him.

Over the years vague, fuzzy notions I've had about myself have begun to cement themselves in my head as flaws. Maybe it's just as you get older you become more self-aware, and start to realise there are things that you wish were different, but either can't, or can't be bothered to. And then there are the things that you don't consider flaws, but other people do. I'd count my refusal to eat kanninchen paella as one of those. When we were out for our 'one year in Berlin' anniversary, we stopped to get something to eat and Stevie bemoaned my lack-of-adventure-in-food flaw. Stupid paella. Why do they have to be for a minimum of two people anyway? Find me two people who want to eat rabbit paella, and I'll... well, I don't know, probably have a much lower opinion of them. That's bunnies! You can't go eating bunnies! It's just not right. I would have been far more comfortable eating pigs eyelids and god knows what all ground down lovingly into a nice big sausage. And anyway, cast your mind back to Fatal Attraction. Exactly! Bunnies in a pot - never a good thing.

In actual fact the kanninchen paella was just a little follow up to the main event of our anniversary weekend. I'll write about that in part 2. My trip to paradise. Or where more of my flaws (moaning, and my utter hatred of swimming and it's related activities - which absolutely is a flaw (according to Stevie)) are explored.

Find me some plumbing to crawl into.

God, I hate us. At this particular moment in time I think my level of dislike for myself and my little family is probably on a par with our landlord’s.

The plumber has just been. The same plumber who was meant to come about a month ago because I reported that we had no hot water in the shower room. But then when he phoned and said he was on his way, I checked the water again and all of a sudden we had hot water, and I thought I better not waste the landlords money by calling the guy out for nothing so I phoned up and cancelled him.

And then the next day we had no hot water again. Felt a bit of a fool then, but today took it a wee bit further. Given our recent falling out with the letting agent and the landlord, things have been a bit tense, so when they agreed to get the plumber back out to look at the hot water, I made sure I was available as soon as the guy could fit us in.

So he’s just been. I told him about the lack of hot water, and also mentioned that the water pressure was down and then yesterday the washing machine decided to start flashing error codes at me which I “gegoogled” (incidentally, that is one of my favourite German words – it’s the past tense of the verb ‘to Google (something)’. Great, isn’t it?). I found out that it meant that there wasn’t enough water getting into the machine.

So he looked, and he went “uh-hmm” and then he stepped into the shower cubicle and turned this big knob a bit.

Ta-crappy-da! All of a sudden we had oodles of roasty-toasty water flowing out of the tap, and I could hear the water-heating box clicking away (which it does as you turn the tap to get hotter) like there was never a problem. Clickety-clickety click. I felt like a total fool. I summed it up with a good “Ach Manno!”, and a bit of a “I bet that was those pesky kids”, and then I felt a little scared about what the landlord and the letting agent were going to say, and I may have let out a rather large groan.

Stevie had told me to watch out for the plumber and to make sure there were absolutely no drying clothes on the radiators causing havoc to the windows, just in case the plumber was a spy for the landlord and would report back on us. As all the wet washing was stuck in the error-flashing washing machine he didn’t have to worry. (plus I think he was being a little paranoid, and it’s put me off giving him any Stasi books to read).
Anyway, as much as I hate us and our general crappness when it comes to plumbing; I do love our plumber. He said (without me asking) that he would lie on the paperwork. He’s going to say that the pipes were ‘constipated’. I know he was saying ‘blockage’, but it’s the same word in German for constipation (=verstopfung). What a relief. And what a perfect tagline for a constipation remedy too.

It was my birthday & I'll nearly cry if I want to.

And at last we're back. We had a lovely time thank you, all 10 days of it, in lovely Scotland, and it was just utterly marvellous. Ryanair really helped me out with my 'how-will-I-manage-2-toddlers-3-items-of-hand-luggage-a-pushchair-a-buggy-board-and-a-big-bag-on-wheels' dilemma at the other end by losing the big bag on wheels.

It turned out they despite it being correctly labelled, they just couldn't be bothered putting it on the flight, and claimed they would put it on the next flight and courier it to the door. I now suspect that Ryanair may be making further savings for the customer by employing little snails for these tasks. "Take this bag to Ayr and I'll give you a leaf!". Our clothes and toiletries and pretty much everything else arrived on the Wednesday, a week after we arrived minus a day. By that point I had re-bought make-up, clothes and pyjamas for me and both the kids, a make-up bag, um...a Cath Kidston messenger bag and floral oven glove, a big box of Lego, assorted princess items from the Disney Store, 4 interiors magazines, an Orla Kiely reusable bag from Tesco, 8 DVD's, 2 easter eggs, 2 boxes of chicken stock cubes, 2 packets of biscuits, quite a few big bags of chocolate buttons, 2 sets of childrens cutlery, 2 pairs of sandals, and if the shop hadn't closed down, a new lens for my camera.

Then my mother-in-law arrived on the Friday and took the big bag away again back to her house in preparation for our return journey. I was so sad to see it disappear, in my spiral of grief I rushed out and bought a tub of chicken gravy granules with 20% extra free.

And some sticker books.

And the DVD of Atonement for only £4, because I never seem to have the time to read the book.

In actual fact we had a nice week. We continued to celebrate Orla's birthday, with more parties, presents, cake, and general excitement, and that was great fun. Hamish picked up some new phrases: "Shut it" which I'm hoping will fade into obscurity before too long, and "You're hurting me!!" for those moments when people dare to hold his hand to cross the road/stop him from killing himself or others. He also decided to choose this week to become super-clingy and when ever I wasn't within eyesight would use his brand new 'It-Sounds-Like-You're-Being-Murdered' (tm) scream. I know she would never admit it, but I am sure that even my mum was starting to come round to the idea that Hamish in nursery for a few hours a day is no bad thing.

Even his other Granny who basically never has a bad word to say of any of her grandchildren found herself struggling. Maybe it was when he battered her 8 times over with a roll of wrapping paper in the shoe shop, but I've never heard her describe any of the others as "hard work". He also found a nice new independent streak (clearly only clingy when it suited him) and learned all by himself how to climb the loft ladder, the ladder leaning against the garage, and insert an upturned broom into the centre hole of the garden table.

My dad thought he wouldn't be able to get it back out, and went forward to help him. He got a brrom handle across the face for his troubles. It was just that sort of week really. I dreaded the return journey. Believe me, flying from Berlin to Edinburgh on my own with the two of them was no picnic, but even I knew that it could be worse. And that worse came just in time for the return journey. Lack of sleep and the excitement of cousins do not make for an easy to handle Hamish.

My parents-in-law took us to Glasgow airport and stayed with us all the way to the departure area. By this point Hamish had already run away from Papa Frank twice. I'd (possibly stupidly) checked in the buggy and buggy board, so it was just me, all the hand luggage, and the kids. Everything went reasonably ok until the very last moment. We had sttod in the really long queue at the gate for ages, inwardly begging Easyjet to hurry up and make the announcement for "all passengers travelling with young children to come forward". When it finally came, up we went and I was starting to feel relief at the thought of just getting the kids on to the plane and into seats that I could strap them down in.

Unfortunately though, what with all my hand luggage and a firm grip on a squirming, screaming, Hamish, I couldn't get my passports and boarding passes out without easing my grip on the child of evil. The Easyjet woman didn't seem particularly interested in helping me out either, so I had to let go to give her the boarding passes, and vwoom!

He was off. And I mean off. I had started to open the back pages of the passports before I realised he really had made a run for it, but as my neck whipped round I saw he'd already managed to get a fair distance away and I dropped everything, told Orla to STAY! and ran like the clappers after him as he headed back into the airport with me screaming after him. I wrestled him back to the desk in that way, you know, where you are trying to carry them but they do that thing where they make their body limp and you can't carry them properly, and so I ended up looking like the frantic evil mother dragging her child along the filthy carpet by a single limb. I was so close to tears my voice was breaking as I asked the woman to just help me out and take the boarding passes.

I won't go into the actual journey. It was a joy. Let's just leave it at that.

Did I mention it was also my birthday. Yup. Viel Gluck zum Geburtstag to me.

The time I confused bronchitis for a hernia

'Sister' checks the the patients 'vitals' (dummy, blanket, DVD on loop) and dispenses with the use of sterile gloves. "A nice cup of tea and you'll be right as rain in no time!"

Here's the thing. Hamish has a hernia. A teeny tiny umbilical hernia, that was diagnosed the minute we moved to Germany and had our first appointment with our Kinderarzt (paediatrician). I had always thought that there was something 'not quite right' (I won't go into details - it would embarrass him too much) and had asked our GP in Derby what was going on. They always said they weren't sure and told me to come back every six months when they would tell me again that they weren't sure.

Our Kinderarzt is really good. He's friendly (not always the case with German doctors who can quite often lack "bedside manner"), he's excellent at his job, and he's happy to see you at any time. To the point whereby he gave us his mobile number so we can call him anytime. Yeah, yeah, I know that's because it's all private insurance here so technically we're paying for that, but I just can't get my head round a doctor giving us his number so we could call at 3 am on a Sunday morning if we wanted (or should that be 'needed'?). The only way you'd get the mobile number of a GP in the UK is if you had had a particularly successful date with one (and you weren't their patient).

In the last couple of days Hamish has been complaining that his 'booby hurts'. His 'booby' is what he calls his tummy. In the main it's been when he's climbing stairs or when he's running, and he's been putting a hand to his tummy and crying 'Ow!'. I kept my eye on things for a couple of days and then made the appointment with the doctor. My view (and God knows, us Gray's do quite like to self-diagnose) was that his hernia had perhaps got worse and it was this giving him pain.

So, I tell the doctor what I think and he has a little feel and asks if there is anything else wrong with Hamish. "No", I say, "not really". I mention that he has a cough and a cold, but you know...

He asks, "Have you given him anything for it?". "Well, no". Of course I haven't given him anything. Because in the UK you're not allowed to buy or give cough medicine to a child of Hamish's age. You used to be able to, but they decided that 'suppressing a cough' should be illegal. It's better for you to suffer and cough all through the night keeping your parents up. And in all seriousness I do agree with the NHS on their decision. That's not to say I haven't gone to a Tesco (alone) before and pretended I had an 8 year old in dire need of some children's Benylin.

In Germany though you can buy children's cough medicines. But strangely, I didn't rush out and buy a crate-load as soon as I arrived in this country. Though I may take some back when I return to the UK. (In the same way I stock-piled Calpol, buying it 2 bottles at a time before I came here)

Then right on cue, Hamish started wheezing. Ach Manno! as they say. There are times when I would have given either of my children a mountain of chocolate buttons if they had just displayed half the symptoms they had 10 minutes earlier in the house, instead of making a miraculous recovery the moment I walked into the surgery, thus rendering me a fool in front of the doctor. Anyway, this time the total opposite. I swear I had never heard him wheeze before.

The doctor asks "Why didn't you bring him in with this cough?" (Might I add, with a scowl). I tried to explain that I hadn't even thought about it. "What? This boy has bronchitis!". And here we can see the difference between the NHS and private healthcare. In the UK, if you take your child to a doctor because they have a cough and a cold you are 'essentially' told you are wasting the doctors time. There is nothing they can do. There is nothing they can prescribe. These things are normal, especially at this time of the year. Or even as a friend reminded me today the famous line every mother has heard "It's just a virus, it'll get better in a few days". I've heard this so often that I just would NEVER take my children to see a doctor with a cough and a cold unless they were doing something odd like whooping or making some other unusual cough-y noises. You are made to feel like a time-wasting fool if you even try.

In Germany though I was made to feel like a neglectful, bad British mother. It was the slow shake of the head that said it all. So Hamish is now medicated and we have another appointment on Monday morning to check on his improvement. I had a look on NHS Direct's website to see what they said about bronchitis. They say things like this:

"Bronchitis is usually a mild and self-limiting condition. Self-limiting means that it usually clears up by itself, usually within a couple of weeks. This is known as acute bronchitis as it lasts for only a short period of time."

It doesn't seem so bad. Not as bad as I was led to believe. But who do I believe?

I also spoke to the doctor about Hamish's hernia. He said that as it has not closed up by age 2 then it's not going to. He needs the operation but he could have it any time - either now, or when he's 24 if he likes. But it could cause problems later. And it could get bigger. He wants me to see another specialist about it. I'm happy to do that.

I also checked on umbilical hernias on NHS Direct. They say that:

"9 out 10 umbilical hernias heal without treatment by the time that the child reaches 3 or 4 years of age. Your surgeon will usually advise you to wait until your child reaches this age before considering having an operation."

So, I've decided to go British with this one. I'll wait until he's at least a year older and have it re-checked, and then if it's still not healed we can take advantage of the marvellous German healthcare through our insurance.

I am happy to misdiagnose your symptoms in the comments section below. In fact I would get real pleasure from just being *that* nosey.

Booking a guilt-trip through Easyjet

How can mothers make you feel guilty so easily? It's a life skill I really must learn.... probably should ask my mum, really.

I phoned her the other night and happened to mention that I was planning a trip back to Derby in April. Just Friday evening until Sunday lunchtime - nothing excessive. But of course I mentioned also that I am going without the kids. Not good, in my mother's opinion. According to her it would be wrong to "leave the children in a foreign country" (eh, with their father). She would "feel terribly funny" doing such a thing, and says she never left me and my sister ever.

I'm not entirely sure I believe that. I must check with my sister, but I do remember there were always 'dinner dances' throughout my childhood, and when I say I remember them, I don't mean because I recall my sister and I looking lovely in our long dresses sipping cocktails by the bar.

The reason I gave for going on my own is that I feel like I just want/need some time on my own. And also because if I took them we'd be sleeping in one room together, and to date my children have never been able to sleep in the same room, so I'd be awake most of the night and then I'd be even more shattered than usual and it wouldn't really be a break at all.

I had the option of going back last week when Stevie was heading back for a couple of days with work. But he was staying in a hotel, and we were going to be staying with a friend, and I weighed up no sleep plus constantly worrying about my children ruining this friend's child-free lovely house, and I just thought it wasn't worth it.

I don't think I lead a necessarily 'typical' life. I am never without the kids. I am a full-time mum in the fullest sense of the word. I live in another country from my family and even when I lived in the UK, I've always lived far away from them. So it's not like I'm working full-time and my only quality time with them is at the weekend and early evening, and it's not like I can drop the kids off at their granny's when I fancy going to the shops or have a doctors appointment. Nope, everywhere I go, they go. So I find it pretty unrelenting. Gruelling even at times.

In fact last night is the first time I have ever used a babysitter. Apart from once when I went to a wedding and they stayed at their granny's house. But with this trip, I feel like I am being perceived as doing the wrong thing and well, definetly it's like I am being really selfish. But really, am I? Doesn't everyone need a little time to themselves?

Of course my mother is somewhat fickle. Recently she (ok well, maybe not just recently. She has always thought it was wrong for me to put the kids in nursery, but recently) she has been saying that it's not really fair to have Hamish in Kita as he doesn't like it, and how my sister and I never wanted to go so she didn't send us. Of course I don't like that he's hating going but I need to learn German and so if we have any problem when I finish my course then I'll take him out. My mum has suggested that I maybe just do the evening course, but then you learn very little at any great speed and really, with hospital appointments and other things of importance I really feel like I need to know what's being said and so it's important that I learn as quickly as I can.


I don't think she agrees. I can tell she's thinking "JUST CHUCK IT!", and I too have my moments of thinking maybe I should. But then the next time I speak to my mum she'll have done a complete u-turn and will say that she thinks it would be a very good idea if I stick at my German and do the exams at B2 level because then that gives me further career options when I return to the UK as maybe I could "teach German to retired folk". Well, that's only another 24 weeks away, and while I would like to do it, in all honesty teaching German to retired folk is lingering somewhere around fairground ride attendant in my list of career aspirations.

So I can't win. And selfish old me is still planning to get on a plane alone and see her friends. Feel free to side with my mother and share your criticisms below. Go on, I'd enjoy it!

What your toddler may be doing now:

Following on from my last post, Mwa suggested I find a book to resolve my Hamish-hating-Kita problem. I cannot remember the last time I looked in a baby/child development book. The pages of my 'toddler' ones have barely been opened. I used to really love these books, especially after having Orla and you could see what she might be up to in the forthcoming months and think what a smart baby she was when she was doing things advanced for her age and curse her for not being able to do half the things she should be able to do for her age.

Before the move I got rid of all my baby ones and on checking just now I have found 3 'toddler' ones: What to Expect: the toddler years; The Best Friends Guide to toddlers; and god knows how, but 'The Contented Toddler Years' by Gina Ford. (I must have been having a really bad day with Orla when I bought that. In fact when I flick it to see where it wants most to open (cause it looks pretty much untouched) I see what was going on...'sleep problems'. Desperate times and all that.

So, back to my Hamish problem. According to 'What to Expect' my 30 month old toddler should be able to put on an article of clothing, identify 1 picture by naming, jump up, name 6 body parts, and identify 4 pictures by pointing. I think we have pretty much got those covered except perhaps the jumping part. Hamish is dreadful at jumping. Problem-wise, the best I can see that they have is 'Separation Anxiety at Preschool'. They suggest that the transition between home and school can be tough for a toddler and it can take some children up to a year to get used to it. Eek.They suggest that if your childs separation anxiety is 'unexplained' to read another passage at the back of the book. There's talk there of "unexplained bruises and other signs of abuse". This does not make for good pre-bedtime reading for someone like myself.

On to 'the Best Friends Guide'- I've always liked these books. They're humourous and make you feel ok about being generally crap at parenting. On this occasion it has precisely.. eh, no advice to give on my Hamish situation. Ah well, can't have everything.

Lastly, let's see what Gina has to say: "a firm goodbye, a kiss and a hug, follwed by a prompt departure is easiest for a child to deal with". She also says "Some children develop a fear of certain people and places... . Role playing can be an effective and fun way of helping them conquer these fears.... . Read him books that involve happy stories of a child visiting [Kita]". At least her approach is consistent. I will try a firm goodbye tomorrow and advise Hamish to keep a stiff upper lip even if his bottom one is wobbling. Wish me luck!

'hamisch' Hamish

Do you believe in karma? Today was Hamish's first day back at Kita after quite an extended break with a week-long illness following on from Christmas and New Year. To say he hasn't been looking forward to his return is an understatement. To say I haven't been looking forward to dropping him off and seeing him cry and wail, and scream and cling to my leg, and beg to go home with me is also an understatement. So much so that really he could have gone back at the end of last week, but I just couldn't face it.

But there was no more putting it off. This morning we just had to do it, through gritted teeth and false smiles. The whinging started not long after we left the house, quietened for a while on the U-bahn, especially after the driver waved at him (do they know that they are complete superstars in the eyes of toddlers (along with postmen)?). As soon as we reached the vicinity of the building he started screaming and built up to a nice crescendo by the time we reached the 4th floor. Cue: more wailing, screaming, leg-clinging, & begging.

The only reason I was able to drag myself away without him was because I had to go to German class. I've already missed a week and was dreading my return and the insurmountable catch-up that I'd need to do. Anyway German class turned out to be fine, and I returned to pick up the kids afterwards. Hamish had in his own words "cried for a long time", and according to the staff this was correct and he hadn't played with anyone, just on his own, and wouldn't eat his lunch (never a good sign in a boy like Hamish). Talk about feeling guilty about leaving him somewhere that he wasn't happy? Yuck. I hate it.

So we went down to collect Orla from the 2nd floor, and as we always have a wait until she has finished lunch, brushed teeth, washed hands, etc etc, I took the opportunity to go to the toilet, taking Hamish with me to keep him out of trouble. Though it turned out that that is exactly what he was planning. My head was full of thoughts about whether I'd need to look for another Kita-solution for Hamish, or whether this might be temporary, although he's felt more or less this way since before Christmas. Anyway, my eye just wasn't on the ball.

No sooner had I started peeing when there were people trying to break the door down and shouting German 'stuff' through the door. Quick as a flash the door was opened on me (still peeing) and there are the Kita Manager and the handy man. It was only at this point that I realised that the very quiet (and I mean REALLY quiet) buzzing noise was Hamish pressing the emergency call button repeatedly. Crap. I'd say he got his own back on me for leaving him there.

BTW: My teacher told me before Christmas that 'hamisch' means 'malicious' in German. Wunderbar!

Saturday-Shoplifter Stevie

So at the end of my last post I mentioned that I had thought I'd had my purse stolen and then I tried as I thought, unsuccessfully, to cancel my Commerzbank card, and got the neighbours upstairs involved in the cancelling before Stevie came up holding the purse that had been sitting on the sofa.

As things turned out I had quite a lot on my mind the next day what with people poking about with my eyes and then an afternoon split between entertaining the kids and mulling over the prospect of needles in my eye every 8 weeks. Apparently what I should have been doing is going down to the Commerzbank and checking whether I had actually managed to cancel my card. But I didn't. I reasoned that I either had done it, or I hadn't. If I hadn't then, great, next time I used my card all would be fine. If I had cancelleed it then my card wouldn't work and no doubt a new one and a new PIN would be making their way to me some time around Christmas. Or New Year, knowing the Commerzbank.

Am I too casual about things like this? We had cash and I wasn't in any immediate need to take money out. I didn't really give it much thought, and to be honest by Friday I'd forgotten about it. So by today, it was a near distant memory.

Until we went to IKEA. (Why is it that when you combine IKEA, me, and the Commerzbank things go hideously wrong?? Should I change my bank to get out of this horrid cycle?) We had gone sledging nearby and the kids were starving afterwards so as IKEA was handy we stopped off there for some meatballs and I managed to pick up a few storage boxes for the growing Playmobil collection which (note: I handily stacked so they were easier to carry). Oh and they had the kids basket of fabric vegetables back in so I got one of those, and then as we were passing I also thought I should get a new storage jar for my risotto rice. And then because Stevie was getting impatient to the point of not coping with IKEA on a Saturday and because the vegetables were for Orla, he went to the express checkout to pay with his card and I wandered over to the meatball freezer with the kids.

The first thing that really pissed off Stevie was getting accused of shoplifting. It's easy done when you only listen to the first half of your dear girlfriend's conversation regarding toy storage. "Should I get 2 of these? Would you be opposed to me buying another of these storage units in the New Year? Do you even care? Ok, I'm getting 3! Because I am definetly buying that when the car isn't full of sledges and crates of empty bottles.". So he scanned 1 crate twice, and then he got collared and the first I knew about it was him screaming across at me "What? 3??? You never told me you were getting 3? Moan, moan, moan". At this point I could tell that Stevie was getting to the point where he can easily be tipped over the edge of reasonableness into a foul mood not because he was now being classed as a shoplifter, but because the transaction was taking too long.

So I shouted back, "Just forget it then, just get 2. It really doesn't matter", you know as you do, because even though you really want something you'd rather just have an easy life. And then we got to payment. If I had known better I would have walked out of the shop with my children and run for the hills and never returned. But you see, I'd forgotten all about Wednesday night. But I remembered as quick as a flash when his card got rejected and he got directed over to a 'colleague'. Shoplifter and card stealer!

Well, what can I say? I forgot it was a joint account and that he might be affected. Curse the Commerzbank! Curse my successful telephone cancelling!

I am going to end up with a terrible guilt complex. Not only do I feel bad about cancelling Stevie's card, but when we got home I put on the washing machine (with a final big bag of Playmobil in it) and now the washing machine is broken. It isn't able to drain, and we can't find the blockage, and even though there is no substantiating evidence, I think we all know that there is a high probability that a pride of lions are more than likely the cause of our soaking wet floor. Has anyone got a dark hole I can crawl into before the downstairs neighbours come round to complain about the massive costly damp patch on their ceiling?