I have just spent the most ghastly three hours of my life, running the sweet stall at my daughter's school fayre.
Never again.
Why the hell do I volunteer for these things? Not only is it generally noted by pretty much everyone that I can't stand kids, I also loathe maths. So the last one hundred and eighty minutes have been spent dealing with repellant little brats who want 7 penny sweets, a 35 pence carton of drink, 4 strawberry laces, two Wham bars, 3 five penny sweets, six cola bottles, a giant snake and a white chocolate partridge in an effing pear tree.
I think I was just making prices up in the end. It's certainly interesting how much more expensive the bill turned out for the kids who failed to say please or thank you. Ah well. All in a good cause. Perhaps the PTA could fund a Learn Some Bloody Manners course for the little bast...erm, darlings.
My irritability was slightly softened by the news that I had yet again won the raffle (seriously, people are going to start thinking it's fixed.) My good humour was cruelly dashed however, when I discovered that I had not won £100 like last year, but a family ticket to see any Bradford Bulls home game.
Talk about pouring salt on a wound.
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