Sunday, 12 June 2011

Poor Little Rich Girls

Just watched that BBC documentary 'Poor Kids'. Obviously, given the mood I'm in, I cried quite a lot. I wish I could show it to the kids I look after. On Friday I was talking to the eleven year old and she was telling me about her 'rich friend' who has a leather jacket from Mango. She told me that this friend's uncle is the director of Hermès and then she said, in these exact words: "She has a lot of thing from Hermès, I only have this bracelet." Then she showed me this little bracelet she has and did a sad face.

"Maybe when my dad's business is big, we will be rich!"

Will be rich?

Her and her eight year old sister have Marc Jacobs bags and they wear Raybans, they have Nintendos and a computer, they go on holiday at least three times a year, they have a house in the countryside and their apartment in Paris must be at least two million...

But I guess they do have me for an au pair, so maybe they are pretty hard done by. While we were having this conversation by the way, the eight year old was sat with us at the kitchen table, eating her dinner naked. I know it's probably one of those things you should stop kids from doing, but she was in such a nice mood I didn't want to spoil it. When I first started she didn't want me to see her naked, and now she is happy to sit next to me and eat her dinner wearing not a stitch. I'd call that progress.

Hmm. Maybe I do let the kids do what they want too much, but I am trying to be more authoritive... A few days ago I said that the five year old could watch television if he had his shower quickly. I went out of the room for two seconds and when I came back he was completely naked, as if someone had sucked them off with a hoover, eating a chocolate bunny. (STILL left over from Easter, who saves their Easter eggs until June?) A bit fell onto his little boy parts and he picked it off and ate it absentmindedly.

"Don't eat chocolate off your willy!" I said.

He didn't listen to me, but at least I tried. We had a bit of an argument when he tried to get me to eat the chocolate that had fallen on his unwashed nether-regions.

"I'm not going to eat chocolate that has been on your willy," I said in my stern voice. "And I don't think you should either."

He shrugged and carried on eating it, but at least I tried to do the responsible thing.

Oh those lucky, lucky kids. And I'm lucky too, so, so lucky. I feel terrible for being such a Bad Nobhead with money, I had twenty five euros to last me this month and I spent it all on Friday night, dancing on tables at Favela Chic.

OH MY GOD. Portugese Man, formerly of Portugese Couple, is wailing. Like proper, mournful, heavy sobs and cries. Oh my god, shut up. His girlfriend has been away for a while and then yesterday morning I woke up to hear them SCREAMING at each other, and it went on for ages and ages and I could them slapping each other about. I hope she's left him. Oh SHUT UP WIFE-BEATER. I know, I might play Adele's Someone Like You to help his melancholy.

Sometimes it LASTS IN LOVE and sometimes it HURTS INSTEAD...

Get the hint mate...

Oh shit. I think I preferred it when they were yelling at each other.


  1. At least my kids know they are rich and only talk about poor people and things poor people do and places poor people live. And I'm in the same boat, I have 50 euros for the rest of the month, and charged 30 euros to my almost-maxed out credit card last night. Why do I only start budgeting AFTER I've been all irresponsible with my money?

  2. I wish I knew the answer to that, I do it every month... Paris isn't the best city to live in on a budget either is it?? We need to go to Tribal Cafe one day soon and take advantage of the free food, I've still not had the cous cous!