I should have known that bad things come in threes

I should have known that after standing in the biggest dog poo of all time when out walking (and having it squelch into every single tread of my trainers) that things could only get worse.

And they did. I am not going to count getting lost in the rain and wandering an hour off route (but hey, with the sea on one side how lost can you ever be on the south coast?) as that would ruin my three bad things analogy.

The poo incident occurred on a countryside walk, which I’d driven to.

When I made it back to the car, dragging and twisting the offending foot in clumps of grass the whole way, that cuter than cute historical village of Titchfield had revealed its true colours as a metropolis of crime.

Yep, someone of age, gender and motive unknown had smashed the driver’s side window of my vehicle. How annoying is that?

Not only the fact that it was raining and the driver’s seat was wet, but also because it was covered with glass.

As was the footwell, the back seat, everywhere in fact.

Luckily for me nothing had been taken, not even my daughter’s Now 89 CD.

And number three? At home, I needed stuff from the shed to pull over the window until decent repairs could be undertaken. Then I discovered that some low life had broken into the shed and stolen two bikes.

What is it with people that their lives are so rubbish they have to steal from others?

Yes I’m insured, but I have excesses to pay and I worked hard to pay for the car and the bikes in the first place.

How I wish I’d worked a bit harder to buy a more substantial lock for the shed. But I suppose that whatever lock you put on sheds, they’re only one crowbar away from defeat.

Luckily, the 101 lady was great, Victim Support have been in touch (but I think I’ll manage without them) and my friends and family have rallied round with commiserations.

Sometimes good things come in threes as well.

I THOUGHT THEY WERE CALLED KIWIS BECAUSE OF THE FRUIT

Who knew that people from New Zealand are called Kiwis because of. . . the kiwi bird?

I was rather embarrassed to discover that fact last weekend as I’ve always assumed they were called Kiwis because of the fruit.

I blame that resolutely on my husband, who once had a job in New Zealand picking kiwis.

I’ve never been there myself, but his story has made that association stick, so it’s quite unfair that he should gloat about this one.

It’s made me wonder about how many other assumptions I have about nationalities and places and whether I should voice them or keep them to myself.

Possibly best not to delve into what I thought was on the Australian flag until I look it up.

WHY NOT LET OUR CHILDREN WEAR WHAT THEY’RE COMFORTABLE IN?

Back to school and back to massive amounts of money being dished out.

When it comes to new trousers (not too skinny), new shoes (must be work-like – but whose job?) and new jumpers (must have logo on), I start to wonder quite why British schools insist on the uniform model to such a degree. There is something airy fairy about a sense of pride in being smart.

But, honestly, most un-loved uniforms don’t look smart.

They look like a pile of rags walking around on a boiling child.

Why not let them wear what they are comfortable in – skinny or not, logoed or not?

At least that way they’ll have a few years to see what works and what doesn’t and develop some confident individuality.