Inspired by Amy Krouse Rosenthal  I have decided to make my own 5 item ****-it list. This is the antithesis of a “bucket list” (i.e. things you want to do before you kick it). The ****-it list is the list of things I never plan to do (or do again).

1. Camping. Or “glamping” for that matter. Whoever decided that sticking a string of fairy lights and some bunting up round a tent made camping glamorous wants their head testing. Nothing could make camping glamorous unless you pitch your tent over a Tempur bed with high thread count sheets in a five star hotel. Whichever way you try and dress it up, it’s communal showers and a walk to the loos in the dark wearing wellies.

2. Glastonbury. Or any other festival that involves watching a woman in a Princess Leia dress singing “you’ve got the love” from a mile away on a big screen, while wearing wellies. Also involves camping, see above.

3. Outward Bound course, especially in a corporate “bonding” context. Cold, wet and miserable. How that helps bonding I have no idea. Nothing is less conducive to putting me in a “bonding” frame of mind. And often involves camping. See above.

4. Run a marathon. I’ve walked one – the Playtex Moonwalk. Surely, if there is a Premier League of Karma points for marathons, that would be good enough to earn me a draw and a point. Run one?I don’t think so. Ditto triathlons = mid life crisis.

5. Gourmet cooking. As previously established, I am not a cook. A reasonable shepherd’s pie is the height of my ambition. I gave this one up at 40. Never going to happen.

Amy Krouse Rosenthal suggests tying the list to a balloon and letting it go. Not a bad idea….

From www.failblog.org

It was October, and a note came home from school. It had a sad clip art of an apple and carrot at the top and in that bendy WordArt writing it said “Harvest Festival”. Underneath it cheerily announced that we were “invited” to send in something, preferably home grown (mould?) for donation to the retired gentlepersons’ home. I looked around frantically and after 10 seconds of careful deliberation yanked half a dozen apples off the tree and bagged them up.

The next morning we performed the walk of shame up the school drive with our Tesco’s carrier. In front, Mrs Pushy struggled with the weight of her Fortnum’s hamper. Behind, Mrs Twee carried her carefully wrapped punnet of organic vegetables. Never again, I thought to myself.

The next year it was game on. Basket – check. Green gingham cloth – check. Carefully buffed apples – check. Home made lemon drizzle cake – check. No walk of shame for us this year, I thought smugly. And off we set.

As I rounded the bend on the country road, doing 60 mph, I was somewhat surprised to see a bloke in a white van parked at the side. But I was even more surprised when he reversed out onto the road right in front of me. Cue emergency braking. Followed instantaneously by an avalanche over my head of slices of lemon drizzle cake, buffed apples, one gingham cloth and one basket. In that order. They thumped into the windscreen (well, the cake more sort of squodged) and landed into the footwell.

We pulled into the queue for the school car park with me picking bits of cake and apple off the floor and ramming them back into the basket. At least the gingham cloth covered the worst of it.

I learnt 3 lessons that day. Firstly, I am not destined to be Martha Stewart. Secondly, if you are carrying a large basket of apples and cake, strap it in. And lastly, once I had confessed to the school staff (you didn’t think I’d make the retired gentlepersons’ eat it, did you?), that once all the baskets and hampers are delivered to school, they strip all the stuff out and stick it in a large cardboard box to take down to the home. Presentation isn’t everything.

The Boy had a friend over for a sleepover last night. In our family, we believe that guests should be welcomed in a warm and friendly way, brought into the heart of our home and treated as we would wish to be treated ourselves. Those welcoming touches like a soft cosy duvet and maybe a little welcome gift on the pillow are so important. So I stuck a tent up in the back garden and shoved the kids out there for the night. Cos it’s character building and stuff.

I say this in a blase “kids need more freedom” kind of a way, but of course the reality is that I then spent most of the evening fretting and eventually caved in and slept in the room next to the garden for the night. Did you know it gets light at 5.30am in a room with no curtains? I do, now. And the kids? Fine. It was a great adventure. Character building, see?