Life with the twins is simply a rather long list of disasters surprises
It was the idea of unlimited sausages for breakfast at our hotel, which captivated the twins, rather than a trip to Peppa Pig World.
I’d explained a hotel breakfast buffet and it occurred to me we could have saved the expense and hassle of a trip and simply bought a massive pack of sausages from the supermarket.
It was a nice example of how you can’t really predict anything and echoed the familiar times when you buy them a toy and watch as they play endlessly with the cardboard box.
Once at the hotel the second revelation emerged – our rooms were connected by a door, so they had their own space and a bathroom, which brought out the territorial side in
Emma, who shouted at me for filling up the kettle from her tap then informed me I wasn’t allowed to use her toilet.
As they hid in cupboards, jumped from beds, and tried out the shower, I queried the last-minute cost of a single room at the other side of a hotel. Then the third revelation emerged – sharing a space with two four-year-olds involved sitting in darkened silence for hours waiting for them to sleep, as any noise or movement started them up again.
As a result, I offered to retrieve shoes from the car, via the hotel bar where there was light and conversation which ended awkwardly, when I left my key at the bar, next to a woman and took a room key, left by an earlier customer.
I innocently attempted a joke involving swapping rooms with my twin children, but the humour was lost amid the confusion, as the businesswoman thought I was suggesting something entirely inappropriate.
I returned to what looked like a warzone, but they were asleep and It
wasn’t long before Emma signalled the morning’s arrival by falling out of bed and screaming for 20 minutes.
And then we raced to the wonder of the breakfast buffet. Thomas selected melon, four sausages and a croissant as a starter before he spotted Coco Pops.
I got him a bowl and watched as he stumbled towards a giant milk urn with a tap at the bottom.
He pulled forcefully and the entire urn moved dangerously, so I made a grab for it, providing the vital shove it needed for about 10 or 15 litres of milk to spill over the fresh fruit, cereal, cold meats, and Thomas.
As I surveyed the carnage and a kind fellow diner tried to console Thomas drenched in semiskimmed, while staff scrambled for cloths, I realised life with children was just one endless surprise and I’d better get used to it.