Pumpkin-picking? In a field? FGS, just go to Asda!

‘They’re just pumpkins chucked in a field and you just go and pick one up. How is that exciting? I got mine from Marks and Sparks…far more civilised and infinitely cleaner,’ J typed. The distaste seeped through the screen.

She hails from sunny Salford, has a deeply questionable taste in music and her house has more bathrooms than it does people, but I love her more than life itself and in this case, I reckon she is bang on.

Phucking Pumpkin what?

Ahhh yes. Pumpkin-picking. The new, shiny and, most crucially, highly instagrammable family day out. You wrap up your darling little ones in their shining winter finery ( in an autumnal palette remember; you don’t want to ruin the photos) and watch proudly as they skip excitedly through resplendent fields of orange and gold (very Blytonesque), their hair blowing behind them, their sweet breath dancing on the autumn breeze as their eyes hungrily devour the beauty of nature in front of them. An expanse of opportunity; of treasure. They finally discover their autumn jewel and, cradling it lovingly in their innocent arms, turn to you with fire in their eyes, aglow with the promise of what is to come and breathe, ‘This is the one, Mummy’.

Later, in the cosy warmth of the kitchen, with winter’s healthy flush still evident in their ruddy cheeks, the family get together to carve the chosen Jack o’ Lanterns, laughing joyfully as they gently tease each other’s efforts while Granny serves the hot chocolate and marshmallows.

The evening ends with a row of intricately-designed, joyful faces flickering gently in the living room window and a warming pumpkin pie baking in the oven; a testament to another enriching, loving family day #blessed.

However, in my world...

Hmmmm…let’s see how that would play out with my motley crew. You dress them in the shitest clothes you can get your hands on (you know the ones-reserved only for mud wrestling in the garden and vomiting bugs) and watch with sweat-inducing trepidation from behind your hands as they career like rabid animals into a rancid sea of sludge. The rain is smashing down (it is Manchester after all), you can’t feel your left big toe and you’re becoming acutely aware you bear a frighteningly close resemblance to that weird, creepy girl in The Ring, crawling out of the waterhole thing.

Perfect.

Meanwhile, their hands are mauling every manky pumpkin they come across (bit of Covid-sharing anyone?) until they inevitably decide they want the same one and settle it in the only way they know how. Clearly not used to observing a bit of Kray-on-Kray combat, you then troop back through the shocked throng of fellow pumpkin-patchers to the till where you pay through the nose for the bloody things and go home.

Later, in the not-wholly-unexpected freezing cold kitchen (bastard boiler again!), Kray 1 is digging his way though the kitchen drawers in search of a ruler to make sure the eyes are the correct distance apart, Kray 2 is waving around his carving implement in a fashion that is beginning to, understandably, slightly unnerve the dogs, while I protest loudly that the carving is meant to be the fucking fun bit but everyone is doing it so shitly that Mummy is going to have to do it all on her own AND clear up the rank mess left at the end.

The evening ends with the disfigured, disturbingly off-centre-eyed pumpkins being unceremoniously relegated to the damp kitchen windowsill before spending two weeks on the back step slowly rotting away because no-one can be arsed moving them.

It can’t just be me…can it?

It can’t just be me. I can’t be the only seasonal activity-challenged mum, surely? There must be other mums out there who appreciate first hand that the picture-perfect fantasy of these wholesome ventures is rarely reflective of the grim reality? However, I fear my Instagram and FB newsfeeds would beg to differ; namely due to the permanent proffering of image after image of happy, smiling families, living their best lives and #makingmemories while partaking in a wide variety of fun, outdoorsy adventures, ultimately separating the enthusiastic can-do Mums and Dads from indifferent can’t-be-arsed-to-do ones. 

And I am completely, utterly and indifferently not arsed.

Just one more thing…

And while I’m on a roll and I can see you still have the rotting innards from your desecrated-in-the-name-of-halloween pumpkins to enthusiastically hurl in my direction, like Elizabethan paupers on punishment day, here are a few of the other pre-Christmas palavars I reckon I could live without.

1 Woodland walks. The customary forage for the wellies you haven’t seen since 1996, the Krays’ initial irksome enthusiasm rapidly disintegrating into whiny torment and worryingly-long dog shits masquerading as sticks. What’s not to love?

2. Apple-picking. Ahhhh, I get it. So you wander round, pick up some apples, put them in a bag and pay for them. Right. A bit like Tesco then?

3. Halloween Crafts. Just the word ‘crafts’ makes my blood run cold. That. Stuff. Gets. Everywhere. Just another excuse for Kray 2 to wave something shiny and sharp around and the dogs to shit glitter for a week. Na. I’ll leave it to the childminder.

4. Elf-On-The-Shelf. No way. Not today. Not now. That smug little bastard gets a post all of his own.

Something for you all to look forward to.