Toy Story's Glory a door. A nice, white, clean and straightforward wooden door.

Nice eh?? what lies BEHIND the nice, white, clean and straightforward wooden door...

Now, I ain't too bothered about the sight of millions of toys slung all over a child's bedroom floor. On the contrary, I think it's a sign that my little men are having fun and enjoying their lives playing with mounds of coloured plastic artefacts.

I do however, have a problem when the very same millions of toys join forces and spread across EVERY room of the house like a wild, uncontrollable infection turning my beautiful home into a dangerous war zone.

They're against me. They outnumber me. They are out to get me. No where is safe, not even.....


Picture this. It's been a long, stressful day. You've done the hideous school run, taught 15 kids how to play the cello, sat for two hours in traffic and have cooked and served three different dinners to three different sized humans. You've changed nappies and dealt with a toddler screaming with the conviction of world class opera singer as you've attempted to wash his hair. You've read your kids 3 books and sang them 4 songs and FINALLY, they are unconscious. 

You pour yourself a massive pint of wine and drop down into a hot,bubbly bath tub and land on these boys:

NO hard working mother of two deserves to end her busy day removing plastic divers weilding sharp, pointy weapons from her butt cheeks. NO MOTHER!

Next, you limp out of the bath, get a mirror to check the area ( to see if you need stitches), feel relieved that the injury isn't critical, and then make your way to:


You just want to collapse in front of the telly and let your mind unravel for an hour...but you can't sit down, oh no.....because you're met with......

... Peppa Pig and her entire family chilling on the sofa. You'd better find somewhere else to sit....those Pigs may look cute but you fear they may put another massive dent in your behind- perhaps even draw blood! And NO mother deserves to end up in A&E having stitches in her buttocks at the end of a long hard day. NO MOTHER!

You eventually find a small clear patch to park yourself down on to watch some mindless, cheesy telly. You sit and unwind, hoover up all the wine and a maxi pack of Walker's (ok, two packets) and then decide to head to:


You turn off the light and fall down onto the soft pillows and ARGHHHHH....!"!"@****!?! land on THIS savage little monster.

Yes, this mischievous looking little fiend is waiting under the duvet to have a sneaky grab of your bum with his naughty little pincers. No woman deserves to be molested by a tiny, plastic monster in her own bed....NO WOMAN!!!

After suffering multiple injuries to my posterior, I decided to take control of the situation and have a CLEAR OUT!!! It was either this, or eventually end up being carted into hospital on a stretcher and having to explain to a doctor why I had a  purple, plastic monster wedged in my buttocks that needed to be surgically removed. It would be humiliating and I doubt he would believe the pure innocence of my tale.

My reputation was at stake!!

So, I grabbed a massive bin bag and filled it FULL of ALL the toys that have hurt and injured me, ALL of the toys that clog up the doorways and block the emergency exits and ALL of the toys that spontaneously burst into song at 4 am on a school night.

I had 3 bags full!!!

Next stop was the local nursery, or the charity shop....or in the worst case scenario....the dump.

And then I remembered Woody. And Buzz. And Mr Potato Head and the goofy little dinosaur that were bagged up and sent off to a nursery filled with wild children in Toy Story 3. I remembered their sad little faces and how rejected they felt by Andy, their beloved owner. They were discarded, abandoned...they felt meaningless. 

I looked down into the black bag and saw this little face peering up at me....

....and I couldn't do it. I couldn't pack him off to a charity shop. I couldn't split all the toys up after being together for so long. I couldn't be responsible for tearing relationships apart, wrecking families, isolating them and destroying everything that they had ever known and loved. I couldn't be responsible for such a heartless act.

So, I found them a place out of the a box, in the spare room. This way, they will stay together and will still be able to have their midnight parties. They can still pop out in the evening to visit their pals in the kid's room which is just next door. 

If they are tucked away in their box, I am not sitting on them or tripping over them and my tortured posterior is spared any further trauma. They are also much happier and are not being torn to shreds in a nursery somewhere in West London. 

See....look how joyous they are now:

I'm happy, they're happy. Everything is just dandy. Thanks Woody for inspiring me to do the right thing. This is the glory of your wonderful Toy Story.

And we all lived happily ever after.

For now at least.