My three biggest boys are footballers. They climb trees. They make dens. They play in mud. They wrestle just for the hell of it. They practice their football kicks by scraping the toes of their shoes along the road. They go through trouser knees and shoes like I go through chocolate (although they don’t show anything like the same level of guilt).
On the last Bank Holiday you would have found me in the car at 6am winding my way along the country roads to the local annual mammoth car boot sale, the lynchpin in our frugal lifestyle. Every year here I buy the children’s smaller Christmas presents, books for me and the children, football trading cards (latest obsession) and any boys clothes I can find. But, despite racks and racks of clothes, there are very few older boys clothes, because they rarely survive well enough to be sold on. [click to continue…]
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