There’s a role in my bucket

A bucket. With eyes. Naturally.

Last year, I wrote a post about a bucket. It wasn’t an ordinary bucket; it was a bucket with a great destiny ahead, which I was excited about helping it achieve. Unfortunately, it was robbed of its intended role of homebirth companion by Amelie deciding that a 40-minute rush to the second nearest hospital accompanied by operating theatre dramatics was a grander way of making her entrance. Poor bucket!

For the remainder of 2015 and the first week or two of this year, it tried to find a niche in life. It attempted to carve out a living as a tripping hazard by the back door and also suffered the ignominy of being pushed into action as a receptacle for the kids’ toys when we needed to tidy the front room in a hurry. Frankly, I was embarrassed for it and wondered why it was actually still there. It was a little like Dr Kelso in the last two seasons of Scrubs.

It seems I underestimated this plucky bucket, however, as it has suddenly found a new lease of life. Yes, we have been hit by wave after wave of stomach bugs, viruses and high temperatures and it is now full of life – among other things. Its cup runneth over. I’m happy for the bucket, I really am, but I can’t help but feel that its sudden immense good fortune has been balanced by a distinct lack of luck on our part.

The bugs are now on their third lap of the family. Dylan has had his school term bookended by them, missing a trip to a castle on the first day and getting star of the week today. Xander has missed several days at pre school too and I’m not convinced that he’s going to be well on his birthday next week.

We’ve gone through more Carex than Lady Macbeth would have done – other liquid soap brands and regicidal characters are available – our washing line is permanently three sheets to the wind and our washing machine is, I understand, contemplating a transfer request.

Furthermore, thanks to an episode of Bubble Guppies that the boys insist on watching ad nauseam, they refuse to believe my explanations and insist that the cause of their cyclical sickness is an anthropomorphic green insect. Bollocks to that – the cause is an anthropomorphic grey bucket.

Like the aforementioned fictional Queen of Scotland, I think I might be losing the plot…


  1. John Adams

    Buckets. They are strange things. Never have a long life in our household. Bottom always seems to get smashed out of them…..after they’ve been used as a toy receptical.

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