I’m delighted the kids are back at school. If only I didn’t still have to feed them …
I hate people who complain about schools. I spend all week reading blogs by anonymous headteachers talking about the constant blast of whining, half of it that they’re not doing enough about Covid, the other half that they’re doing too much, and I think: who are these people, whose parental solipsism is so all-obliterating that they can’t take one second to recognise the phenomenal work these professionals do in getting our children out of our houses and keeping them in a totally separate building, often more than a mile away, for the entire day?
But a tiny bit of my busy, home-alone, Aah, Blissto schedule I reserve for just pointing out, in the most neutral possible terms, that school dinners have gone off a cliff. The kids used to come home asking why I couldn’t cook gammon and why our sausages were the wrong shape, and now they stagger in like poorly prepared explorers, starving, with multiple disciplinary actions against them, having used their sole-option pizza for the only thing it was good for, a food fight.
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