So this week has been cold, like flipping FREEZING cold as the boiler went bust and it took the boiler man 3 whole days (fair does, it was the weekend over 2 of those) to locate the part we needed to finally defrost.
After 2 oh-so-long nights of mini heaters, extra blankets and Peppa Pig hot water bottles, enough was enough and we fled to my brother Solos’ apartment nearby with 2 little kids and 3 BIG suitcases that might well have freaked him out a little bit as we invaded his place and made it our home for the night.
Now it has to be said my little brother Sol’s apartment is one luxury, shiny, tidy (thanks to his cleaner) bachelor pad- it’s the only set of apartments in Leeds designed by fashion designer Ben di Lisi, all stylish marble counter tops, cinema screen sized flatscreens and not forgetting a shiny expresso machine in his super cool kitchen…oh and let me tell you, by the time we left, it wasn’t quite so luxurious…
Whiles Sol worked (he owns an Italian restaurant), we managed to break the TV that’s quite frankly bigger than our whole TV room at home (now fixed, not sure the SKY box works in all honesty but all those extra channels are overrated aren’t they?), the remains of his cupboards and fridge consumed (particularly the drawer sponsored by Haribo-whoops-hello hyper kids who discovered it to start with) and a whole roll of toilet paper might well have found itself in the bath.
I’m actually not sure what happened to my kids, maybe it was the shock of being warm (we’d been surviving in 10 degree ‘heat’ for the last few days) or simply the excitement of being at Uncle ‘Sosho’s’ place, but they went flipping MENTAL and the husband, Peter and I were a little too tired (fighting cold at night is exhausting) and slighty fuzzy headed with being warm again to stop them.
We did of course clear up the debris (slowly) when the kids finally sugar-crashed themselves out and slept but they were so happy and we were so sleepy and these sorts of nights are rare…Arriving home from work, a huge chocolate cake in hand, we scoffed a slice each with hot chocolate before calling it a night.
…The next morning I naughtily woke poor Solos at 7am to see if he wanted to spend some ‘quality time’ with the kids aka to let Peter and I have an extra hour’s sleep!
Sol adores his nephews but a nappy-changer he is not and he’s never baby sat for us, yet surprisingly, he agreed.
What a trouper… Rising at 8.30 (thanks Sol for that much-needed hour and a half) I wandered into the lounge to Sol’s announcement he’d erm channeled Uncle Buck and was fine, as the kids and he watched the Simpsons over honey on toast (there was a considerable amount of weetos on the floor too) and I spied a slice or two of chocolate cake on the kitchen table. Quickly, seeing his disapproving mother’s face, Oliver, stuffed a slice in his mouth, declaring it was the best breakfast he’d ever had. I flipping bet it was…
Later on that day when the boiler was back on and cakey breakfasts were forgotten, Sol offered to babysit sometime…don’t call us Sol, we’ll call you!