The following ramblings are dedicated to those of us Hampshire Mums (HMs), who despite trying so hard seemed doomed to failure on a daily basis.

Someone once told me there are more Macaroni penguins on the planet than there are humans. This led me to ponder, if indeed it is true, why haven't they tried to take over?  Would a Macaroni government be infinitely better than what's in place currently?  How would it affect the price of fish?

Anyway, suffice it to say, there are as many variants in the HM species as there are in the penguin.  I count myself as one of the humble said Macaronis, but boy oh boy there are plenty of Emperors out there!!!

The scourge of this HM is homework.

The latest gorgeous creature (24, no kids, no fat, no idea) to be teaching my darling boy obviously has not the slightest notion that homework is simply not compatible with boys aged between 7 and 10 (I will no doubt be increasing the upper age limit), and certainly not when in  combination with a pre-menopausal woman.  Who can't spell.

Picture the scene if you will....... Sunday, "Yes I know it's a gale force eight but the walk will do us good"...... which indeed it did.  HM at her very best, two friends and their kids various with mine up to their waists, virtually, in mud, mud, glorious mud.  Much happiness and home for a hearty lunch.  Great!  Success!!

Pride comes before a fall........

Looming large, much like a Dementor, over the whole weekend had been not only the long-running saga of the 'Thank You' notes, (do I HAVE to?..), and cello practice (had it been the violin I would have supported the 'I can't be arsed' policy) - but Friday's Tudor Project homework........

"Mum, I (meaning me), want to make a life-size model of Henry VIII."  Bugger.

The words "Your child works very visually Mrs Pagan," come flooding back.

"By Monday, as in tomorrow?"

"Yep"

In my role as Saturdays' supreme HM I had gathered together a large selection of Tudor-ish trappings, and gone in the pouring rain to the art shop for a large sheet of card - "Sorry we haven't got a big bag madam" - honey you're looking at one - hoping that dear Henry was in fact only two feet tall.

Sunday afternoon, I suggested that it might be a good idea to press on with homework, or at least make a start, which is met with the same enthusiasm as the thought of a two day course on the art of sucking up peas with a straw.

THEN.......AT 3.15.......HE CHANGES HIS MIND!!!!!!!!!!!!!

At this point the HM has four options: 1) open another bottle of the HM stress-buster, Pinot Gri-whatever;  2) panic/lose it;  3) relating to 2 - kill child, or 4) spend a short time with the Earl (Grey) and two Kalms. Obviously (3) is not an option so go for (4).

By now darling boy has gone into the attic determined  to recreate one of Henry's battles - exactly which one seems to be of no importance - utilizing his fort and 500 plastic soldiers and copious amounts of Sellotape.  At this point I gently point out that the fort is in fact of Norman origin as is the army now amassing in a sticky heap inside.  He assures me it's fine because he will label everything..........OK.

The Kalms now kicking in, I decide  the important  thing is, this is  his homework, not mine, and put away the pictures of Hampton Court.  Aaaah peace, perfect peace.........

Then, with a good walk clearly not ruined, the husband returns, triumphant, from the 19th, blissfully unaware of all that has gone before.  In a vain pre-emptive strike, with eyes as big as saucers, head nodding in direction of the child, I say, pathetically, “Damien's doing his Tudor homework Dad.....”

Fathers are, in my experience, crap at picking up the subtle innuendos of such gesturing, so husband launches into, "Well that's no good, it's Norman not Tudor - you can't hand that in"..........

To say  it hit the fan would be a gross understatement of what followed. The Kalms had now lost their potency - may I suggest doubling up on the dose - this HM was nearly hysterical as was darling boy, leaving husband looking like a rabbit in headlights wishing he was back on the 1st!

Monday evening, Damien returns clutching a Gold Certificate for his model of Henry VIII, you see, husband came up trumps and with a little help from the boy produced a beautiful cardboard Henry, whilst I took deep breaths into a brown paper bag.

Well done Dad.    Bugger.