Amanda has cleared off to Centre Parcs for the weekend with a bunch of chums leaving me, the hooligans, and the fuckwit spaniel to fend for ourselves.
I must say, she and her friends are very organised. This is the third year on the trot they've done this little jaunt, and every year the spouses involved go into mad panic and forget, hence I'll be collecting numerous kids from school today as I am ace and on top of stuff, so the disorganised toe rags get me looking after their offspring. They will pay in beer.
Tonight is sorted, basket meal in the pub and home by half seven. Tomorrow, Josh is off to a mate's for a sleepover, Charlie and I will cook paella together. Sunday, rugby for both, and I'll do a late afternoon roast when we get back.
I honestly don't know why some men get all stressy and useless about being on their own with their kids. I will admit to one big failing. I am crap with clothes and am banned from using the washing machine after a colour run incident. Amanda has sent me a text explaining where the kids rugby kit is. Sad I know. One things for sure, the hooligans and the fuckwit spaniel will be well fed and exercised, but there will be one mighty pile of laundry.