The Staycation with Quentin Wilson – not my finest moment

So, the summer holidays are going swimmingly well. The children are loving holiday club, which means that I actually manage to get a little bit of work done every day. The washing and ironing are mounting up though as the kids are only in holiday club for half a day so I’m contracting a whole day’s work into four hours and the housework is going completely out of the window.

This has been a pretty positive week. My son toddled off to Camp Bestival to do ‘boy’s things’ with his dad, leaving just me and the girls to our girlie weekend. This meant that we went out for a meal – one of those spontaneous decisions that could go either way, but in this case worked out brilliantly.

They didn’t eat of course, unless you count tomato ketchup and the odd chip, but they were completely entranced by the idea of being out so late at night – I know, sheltered lives. As we sat in the restaurant we witnessed a fire alarm at the local museum and a hoard of fireman who turned up in their truck – high excitement indeed, and then a shop assistant went flying as he tripped up trying to chase down a shoplifter. You can understand why the girls were keen to repeat the experience.

The best part of the meal was the fact that it cost me next to nothing as I’d been so good and converted my Tesco vouchers. Paying out £10 in cash is absolutely fine for a fun night out with my littlies.

The weekend plans were also meant to be fun filled. We’d been invited to a PR event with Shell at the Manchester Museum of Science and Industry. I love driving and the promise of a driving masterclass with Quentin Wilson was enough to secure my presence there. The day was also meant to be filled with handy hints on how to save money on fuel by driving economically, as well as ideas for keeping the kids happy on long journeys.

Sadly, directions really aren’t my forte and neither, it would appear, is the ability to judge time and distance. This would be why I ended up leaving at 9.30am for a meet at 11am, in Manchester, 160 miles away. Not a good start.

Even as I left I knew that at best I would arrive by 12pm. That was assuming that I went the M6 toll (more cash) and that the rest of the motorways were clear. Of course this wasn’t the case, and not only did I sit in traffic for an hour, I somehow overshot Manchester altogether, ending up somewhere near Warrington before I realised and turned around.

We finally arrived at the venue at 3pm. Quentin had left – no master-class for me, unless you count the lesson that I’m better off to save my money and go scooting around the park rather than go ANYWHERE in the car – oh well…

Tuesday, 2nd August 2011

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