The Ballpool

There's only two things worse than cockroaches crawling across the kitchen floor; cockroaches in the fridge and cockroaches on the bedside table. How it got into the fridge I'll never know, and how it survived is a bigger mystery still. It must have been wearing Ugg boots. Anyway, this was the final straw. The estate agent has finally been forced to take us seriously about the problem, they're sendng someone out to zap them when we get back from Brisbane.

I took Ella to the ballpool at Marickville today after we'd been into Randwick to activate my credit card at the NAB. One of my jobs today is to book the dolphin thing at seaworld. I can only do it with the credit card. I had my passport this time, which I handed over the counter with the card.

"Do you have your driver's licence as well? This is only 70 points, you need 100"

I handed him the driving licence. He studied it.

"Do you have a medicare card as well?"

"I thought you only needed 100 points"

"But your driver's licence is British. I need something Australian"

"My husband didn't have the same problem activating his credit card. I have the medicare card, not him. He can't have presented it to you"

"sorry, I need something else"

"Okay, I'll tell you what" I said more loudly, attracting attention. "You can have my medicare card, my Telstra bill, my British NI card, my British credit card, my current account card, my library card, my membership card for the British Royal College of Speech and Language Therapists, my Sainsbury's points card and my entry tag for the gym. Oh and hang on, yes, you can have my membership for Blockbusters video round the corner".

I laid the lot on the counter and waited.

"That will be fine". He tapped away at the screen.

"Er...this card has already been activated. You can use it".

"No, the woman on the counter said I needed my passport. She said it was inactive until I brought it in"

"I'm afraid you've had a wasted journey".

Again.

At the ballpool, the little girl under the counter has graduated to sitting at the desk and being carted around on a trolley by the delivery man. As far as I can see, this is how she spends every day of her life.

My tolerance for other people's children is sorely tested today. At Ella's age they need close supervision, but once they get a bit older, their mothers let them loose and sit reading "Woman's Day" in the corner, hardly ever looking up. This doesn't mean they don't still want attention and don't still want you to watch them bouncing, climbing and sliding. In the absence of their own mothers, they turn to me to watch them. Some of them are pretty vocal about it, yelling "Waaaatch me!" and "look what I can do!". One little boy sat beside me and put his legs across mine. I looked around in panic. Someone, somewhere will accuse me of something if he continues to make actual bodily contact.

"Look at my legs"

"Oh yes"

"They're longer than my brother's and he's older than me"

"Oh I see"

"So I can jump higher"

He climbed onto the trampoline and started leaping up, drawing his knees up under his chin.

"Waaaaaatch me!"

I did watch him. I was just relieved he'd taken his legs off my lap so I was off the hook on the molestation charges. I even shouted encouragment. He was cute. Then another, older girl started jumping in my face yelling the same. She was wearing a kilt and jumper. I felt hot just looking at her. "Look at me, look at me, look at me". She jumped in front of Ella, pushing her out of the way in an effort to get closer to me. Ella fell over onto her face and started crying, real upset tears.

"I'll tell you what, go and find your Mummy, prise the magaazine off her and yell at her instead" I said.

Just because I work with them, doesn't mean I have to like them.