Jolly Super!

Gwyneth Paltrow has received a lot of press recently for her ‘Day in the life’ Newsletter from her website Goop.  I have never visited said site until now, so I suppose she can comfort herself that there is no such thing as bad publicity and, if millions of other curious readers like moi are providing her with more hits, so much the better.  I visited, of course, because of her hilarious ideas of “normal motherhood” and the trials and tribulations involved in being a global superstar and, oh yes, I almost forgot, a mother of two kids.  In case you haven’t read her newsletter (and I urge you to if you need cheering up) you can find it here.  Just to prove how difficult it is “finding a good balance between having a career and being a mom” she also invites two of her mates to share their manic days with us too (gosh, thanks).  If you thought Gwyneth was well, extraordinary, you just have, HAVE to read a day in the life of Juliet de Baubigny (just her name makes me feel inadequate).  It is littered with super-events and yes! exclamation marks by the thousand! Stella McCartney also makes a contribution and comes across as endearingly normal (even if she does have friends like these two).  I love the bit about her 3 year old shouting that she needs a poo and Stella trying to put her off the idea in order to grab a few more minutes in bed.

Anyway, I reproduce below some of Gwyneth and Juliet’s traumas and nuggets of advice and contrast them all with the plebeian existence that is life at Crap Cottage:-

CHEZ  GWYNETH:  When I got downstairs this morning at the crack of whenever, the coffee machine said “ERROR 8” and wouldn’t let me make the cup I had been dreaming about.          

CHEZ  JULIET:  I'm an early bird—so I try to seize "Juliet time" first thing in the morning. I get up between 5:30am - 6am and quickly scan my email. Then my priority is exercise. 

CHEZ CRAP COTTAGE:   When I eventually shuffled downstairs this morning, the coffee machine said nothing because I don’t own one.  I own a kettle and some tea bags.  The exercise bike, however said “ride me, ride me!” but as it is an exercise bike and not George Clooney I ignored it.

CHEZ  GWYNETH:   ... I made him a quick breakfast of eggs and toast followed by a spoonful of lemon flavored flax oil that I try to remember to give them both every morning... The kids indulge in a super sugary cupcake before bed but I don’t feel too bad because they had a brown rice stir fry for dinner with baked sweet potato on the side. It’s all about balance! 

CHEZ  JULIET :  Breakfast: super important and always super-rushed .... I start the day with a protein smoothie, which can be made in minutes (a handful of organic berries, a large scoop of Greek yogurt, a squirt of flaxseed oil, 2 scoops of protein powder, organic pomegranate or cranberry juice and blend).

CHEZ CRAP COTTAGE:  (CQ makes smoothie as above and proffers large glassfuls to children) Children:  "Why are you giving us sick to drink?  We want Marmite toast."  In the evening, CQ creates a delicious dish of couscous with roasted vegetables, steamed salmon and a yoghurt dressing on the side.  Child1 (inspects dinner) "Bleurgh!  Woss this?"  Child2: "It’s puke mixed with puke, dressed with puke" *

CHEZ  GWYNETH:  Getting everyone into the car on time was a challenge; we’re going through a phase where no one seems to be responding to me... 

CHEZ  JULIET:  My Day: Is a blur from the minute that I arrive in the office...

CHEZ CRAP COTTAGE:   CQ: “GET UP!  NOW!  OKAY, STUFF IT – YOU CAN GET THE TRAIN, I DON'T CARE HOW MANY BOOKS/FILES/FOLDERS/SPORTS BAGS YOU HAVE TO CARRY...” (flings handful of coins for train fare onto kitchen table and stumbles out of door with odd shoes on and no eyeshadow on one eye).

CHEZ  GWYNETH:  Rehearsed with the band from 11:30 to 12:30 and then scooted back out to the car and had kind of a big interview on the phone while trying to subtly check/reply to well-overdue email.

CHEZ  JULIET ... I bring my iPad and use the Flipboard app to curate my social media...(eh?)

CHEZ CRAP COTTAGE  I may be able to grab 5 minutes to check my email on my steam-driven PC in the evening but it’s unlikely in between cooking for everyone, feeding animals because nobody else can be bothered and helping out with homework. (child: "Mum- I need help with my Maths."  Me: "er, um..."  child:  "Why are you so useless?")

It is also vital in such essays to ensure that you name-drop zealously.  For example; it is not good enough for Juliet to say “My great friend, Sheryl Sandberg,” she has to go one step further and say “My great friend, Sheryl Sandberg, COO of Facebook”.  Gwyneth gets in on the act with”voice lessons with my teacher, Carrie Grant,” and even Stella finds it necessary to mention “Artist Dinos Chapman is my taxi date...” and “...my advertising campaign too with Kate Moss and Ryan McGinley. “

As for moi, I did once see Trevor McDonald in the Toy Department of John Lewis.  I didn’t recognise him until the Shah said something insightful like “that black geezer looks familiar,” and it took a good three minutes of discussion along the lines of “It is!  No it isn't!  Oh whatever, who cares?” before we gave up on the whole thing and left.

I may be taking the mick here, but any woman who can run her life on spreadsheets and ask herself “did I spend my time in the right places, right meetings, impacting the highest upside situations?” with a straight face at the end of every day earns my respect. I would try it if only I knew what an upside situation was, which one was the highest and how to impact it.  I am inadequate and a total failure and remain in awe of people whose children "arise from slumber" when the fruit of mine and the Shah's loins stumble out of stinking pits sometime after midday.

*this is a genuine transcript of an actual event – my children are ingrates.

Saffy Syndrome

Poor old Stella McCartney.  Not contented with living a gilded and privileged life, revered and worshipped by fashionistas around the globe, she is tortured with guilt because she sends her children to private schools.  Oh dear!  She is quoted as saying that the minute they come home “talking posh” rather than being “their awful selves” she will have to “knock it on the head.”  That’s quite an interesting statement there – let us dissect it, knowing a little about Ms McCartney as we do.

First of all, define posh.  At one time it meant being of high birth.  Nowadays it just means wealthy and consequently able to buy a veneer of poshness.  Your children probably will end up talking “posh” if you send them to private schools.  At least they will be able to do so when it matters.  For example in job interviews or when trying to relate to other posh people.  Day to day, they will drop their h’s, make full use of the glottal stop and that irritating interrogative lilt at the end of every sentence imported from Australia?  They will also say ‘like’ like a lot.  I actually overheard two girls recently discussing why one of them wasn’t having school dinners any more.  The reason was “because I, like, don’t like, like them...” 

You could try sending them to St Asbo’s Comprehensive; plenty of kids come out of Comps speaking perfectly normally.  However your children, Stella, have several handicaps imposed upon them before they start.  Number one – they have a famous mum and (somewhat less famous) dad.  Number two they live in a large and expensive house in a posh, sorry, trendy part of town, not at the top of a high-rise.  Number three; they all have idiotic names which firmly mark them out as progeny of a Notting HillBilly.  I’m sorry, but if you insist on adopting the ludicrous American habit of using surnames as forenames and calling your children Miller, Bailey and Beckett, you are stuffed from the off.  You should have thought this through properly and gone for Leroy, Jamil and Lee-anne.

It entertains me that she declares she will “knock it on the head” or should that be “knock it on the ‘ead” because surely you would have to drop the leading ‘h’ in order to sound cool?  True Ms McCartney and her siblings went through the state system but I seem to recall that she has said in the past that she hated every minute of it.  But did her famous surname open any doors?  You betcha!  How many teenage girls would like to intern on Savile Row and at Christian Lacroix?  And how many do?  And it's not every fashion student who can call on Kate Moss and Naomi Campbell to model her graduation collection...

Now let us consider why Ms McCartney would prefer her children to be “their awful selves”.  There seems to be a feeling amongst the creative community that their children should be portrayed as free spirits who are quite untameable.  Viz Jade Jagger’s declaration that she doesn't really parent her two daughters, they bring themselves up and she just kind of oversees it all from a distance.  Call me old fashioned but I don't really rate the sight of a thirteen year old girl posing in a plunging neckline and a provocative manner.  There’s something about the “I’m mad, me and my kids are out of control” declarations of the rich and famous that strikes me as quite sad.  Don’t they think their children need or want any guidance at all?  I have come across plenty of kids of rich families in my working life who have been brought up by the help and allowed to do pretty much as they pleased with every whim indulged by largely absent parents.  I wouldn’t say one of them was happy.

However, for every free spirit, there is the one that breaks the mould.  And here is where you get Saffy Syndrome, named after the long suffering daughter of Edina in Absolutely Fabulous.  Every so often, a child of famous parents decides to keep their head down and live a relatively quiet life – for example Fifi Geldof.  Anyone any idea what Bob and Paula’s eldest looks like?  Me neither.  Or Aimee Osbourne, eldest daughter of Sharon and Ozzy, sometimes referred to as the “missing Osbourne child”.

Wouldn’t it be kind of poetic justice if Miller, Bailey or Beckett decided to become a civil servant and live in a semi in Pinner...?  Stella - you're havin' a larf.