freswith

The usual things; a jar of Sudocreme, a change, and a long 19th century French bayonet in case of uninvited guests.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-4649006/Britain-faces-potty-training-crisis.html.

I was always very worried about how "Phone Conversation" would be received, particularly as it originated with a pubescent girl making the transformation, so I took extra care, writing in the first person and the past perfect tense, and using euphemisms wherever necessary.

The Jig-Saw. It just wasn't the day for a family row, but I walked into one. It was, alas, the day of Granpa's funeral, and the whole family had gathered at Pembroke House to attend the service. The problem had boiled up with Caroline, Vickie's daughter, who was objecting to Pembroke Rules being applied to her. She was eight, no less, and was quite capable of going through the school day - and some nights as well - without wetting herself. To be subjected to wearing a nappy in the daytime was altogether too, too much. She had "forgotten" to stock the changing bag which her mother had brought all the way up from Cornwall, but had betrayed herself by wetting during the five- or six- hour journey on a broiling-hot summer's day. Fortunately she had had a nappy on, but Vickie was still furious with her. The shouts from the nursery were audible all the way down to the hallway of the great house, and I joined the task force of Mums as they set off up the stairs to support the beleaguered Vickie. My twin daughters, Katherine and Elizabeth, scenting blood, followed close behind me; after a long traffic-jam on the motorway, they were also in need of a change. We arrived at the scene and formed into line of battle. Caroline stood with her arms folded before the changing table, spitting defiance at all of us. It appeared that Vickie had perhaps been a little tactless. Yes, poor Caroline had had an accident, and needed a change, but there were no fresh nappies in the bag. It had been her job to pack the bag and bring it, and her omission was all too understandable. At the advanced age of eight, she was at last gaining some control over her treacherous bladder, and at home and school was out of nappies during the daytime. Unfortunately, this wasn't home or school, this was Pembroke, and Aunt Claire, the mistress of the house was jealous of her beautiful carpets and furnishings. Claire's contribution hadn't helped. Although she had no disposables in the house, the big trunk in the attic had yielded up some old terry nappies and pants carefully stored after her own daughters had managed to get themselves dry, and one lovely soft terry nappy was even now folded on the great changing-table in invitation of Caroline's most reluctant bottom. Not unnaturally, Caroline was refusing to put up with the indignity; disposables, discretely worn under a skirt were bad enough, but a huge terry-clad bottom was the preserve of a toddler, and Caroline had a strong sense of her own dignity. I could sympathise with her predicament, but at the same time I felt envious. I could remember those big nappies, how they had given me such a sense of security when I was lying in the cot, one leg bent and resting against the bars, and in this very room. I remembered looking down at the white heap of plastic pants over my groin and exulting in the slow release of my water into them, making it last as long as possible, but then of course, it was very private and I didn't have a host of people watching me. The impasse was broken by the arrival of Simon, Caroline's father, dressed in full uniform for the funeral of the admiral, and looking hugely impressive. He thanked us all, which was taken as a dismissal, and all the Mums left the room with the exception of me and my two daughters, whose nappies were now visibly sagging with wetness. Simon then turned to his daughter, and she promptly gave up the fight, submitting to being hoisted onto the changing table. My mind took me back to the times Peter had changed me on that table, and how I had played him up so gleefully; it was worth wetting my nappy in order to get him to do it. Poor Caroline didn't realise just how lucky she was. Then, horror of horrors, Simon secured her with the old seat belt strap, which had been fitted to restrain the ebullience of Hal, Claire's youngest. Caroline bit her lip, but said nothing as Vickie caught and held her hands well up and clear of her nappy area; her humiliation was complete Caroline responded by deploying her main armament; she burst into tears. Simon was nonplussed, and started to turn red. It was time to intervene. I offered him a nappy from our changing bag - I had bought some spares in anticipation of a long day of Pembroke Rules, and he accepted gratefully. Caroline sniffed her tears, and the operation was concluded without further delay. Caroline murmured her thanks, which surprised me, and waddled off towards the door, hand in hand with Vickie, as Simon admonished her not to dare to take her nappy off on pain of a spanking. I turned towards my twins, who had watched the whole proceedings with fascination. "Right, who's first?" I uttered, intending to divide and rule. To my surprise, Katherine stepped forward and climbed the steps to the changing table with something like enthusiasm, pulled up her dress and allowed me to untape her nappy and wipe her down. Then she laid herself down, and to my astonishment she picked up the strap and offered the end to me. I demurred, as I didn't agree with that approach, and she wasn't wriggling. As I turned to take a fresh nappy out of our changing bag, Elizabeth stepped forward, took the end of the strap and fastened it into the buckle before strapping her sister down tightly. She then went to the head of the table and held her sister's hands carefully out of the way. I didn't argue - there were two of them and I often lost, so I got on with my daughter's nappy and asked no questions. I was, however, very unhappy. I knew they were playing a game, but I didn't like the implications. As I was taping up Katherine, Juliet came in with Sally, her younger daughter, bent on a similar mission, and took in the whole picture in one sweep. "Great idea," said Juliet, grinning, "I'll have to get one of those installed at home for Sally!" Sally made no remark, but her outraged expression made any reply unnecessary. I released Katherine from the strap and the table, and Elizabeth actually ran to the steps to take her place. I played along with the new game, removed her wet nappy and strapped her down. "I must say it makes things easier," I said to Juliet, " They can't wriggle so much and it keeps them quiet" as Elizabeth gave her arms up to be held by her sister. I unfolded another nappy. "How's Sally getting on?" I noted Sally beginning to blush. Elizabeth raised her knees to her chest to allow me to slide the fresh nappy under her bottom. I noted she was smiling, which caused me further misgivings. Juliet replied: "So-so. She's dry all day, but soaks herself at night, and on long car journeys. We kept her in nappies for the trip to Switzerland, and had to change her only once in a rest area on the autoroute. She was as good as gold!" I nodded. It had been a fight when we tried to do that with the twins, and the solution had been that, for long journeys, we simply nappied them in their thick night-nappies, and risked the nappy-rash - we just used plenty of cream. I cast off Elizabeth, and vacated the changing table for Juliet - it was obvious that she hadn't just come in here to admire the wallpaper - and she gently pushed Sally towards it. Sally was going as red as a beetroot, and I decided it was time to give them some privacy, so I moved towards the door, gesturing to my twins to follow me. They held back. "Can we stay and play with Sally and Caroline, please?" and I could hardly refuse. Sally's wet nappy thumped into the basket, and Juliet turned to the changing bag she had brought with her. Caroline emerged from her corner; Caroline and Sally had been born on the same day, had largely been brought up together, and always supported each other in a crisis. As Juliet turned back with a fresh nappy in her hand, Sally sat up and said "Can I do it myself, please Mum?" and Juliet paused before acquiescing. She opened the nappy and passed it to Sally, who laid down again and arched her back to centre the nappy underneath her bottom. Juliet leaned forward and pulled the front of it up between her daughter's legs, and Sally taped it down very carefully. It was an altogether different process to that which Caroline had suffered, and it reflected their different personalities; Katherine was quick and impulsive, Sally more calm and patient. Sally's elder sister, Holly, arrived in the nursery. Juliet looked up; "What? Not you too?" which went down very well with the younger children, but not with Holly, who was eighteen now and very conscious of her maturity. As the laughter died down she told us that the cars had arrived and it was time to go. As it was thought inappropriate for young children to go to a funeral, they were handed over to Holly to look after while the grown-ups observed the necessary rites. The funeral itself was very impressive and dignified, with a large turnout of Granpa's old Navy friends and protégés in their uniforms - enough gold braid for a coronation, after which everybody returned to Pembroke for a buffet meal. After the guests had departed I retrieved the changing bag and went to look for the children , finding them at the bottom of the garden by the old pond, lying in the grass sunbathing, with the exception of my two, who were sitting on the bathing-step dabbling their feet in the water. I recognised the danger signals and asked them if they were still dry. "No," they replied in unison, and Katherine added: "Just had a little accident." I groaned. Dabbling feet in cold water always had that effect. I was amazed they admitted it in front of Sally, Caroline, and the boys, but that was the way it was in our family, and the boys knew it was more than their lives were worth to jeer. "Well, come on then, there's no point in getting a rash, and in this heat it's a real danger." I said, and reluctantly they began to climb off the stone steps. I looked round at the other girls. Sally looked back at me, shrugged, and said she'd been to the toilet. I congratulated her. She was a sensible child and could manage school without accidents, and Pembroke Rules were a bit unnecessary for her, but when the children were hard at play it was all too easy to leave it too late. It was a long way up the garden to the house and nursery, but there was the little grassy bower close at hand which was fairly private, so I decided to change them there. Unfortunately it was occupied. Gran was sitting on the bench watching the children at play, basking in their youth and exuberance. She was smiling - the first time I had seen her so since Granpa's first stroke, and I didn't want to disturb her. I asked her if she minded me changing my daughters on the lawn. The two girls froze with embarrassment. "Never mind me, my dears, I've seen it all before." she replied, "So many times. I've even changed you here in the old days, Amelia." My daughters were suddenly all ears. "Did you really, Great Gran?" they chorused. Little so-and-sos - I couldn't deny it. In fact I had rather enjoyed it, lying in the cool sweet grass, particularly when Peter had done it, as he had done once or twice. I had better not go into that. My childhood crush on Peter was now firmly tucked away in the back of my mind, listed under the heading of "Precious Memories". Worse, it brought back the time Matt had done it, but that was when I was much older and was to be kept very, very private. "Well, I tried to," she continued, "but she would wriggle so much." The children burst out laughing, and I felt myself begin to redden. That wasn't the example I wanted to set my two; they were inclined to play up at the best of times. I had wriggled for Matt, too, but not in the same way. "Was that long ago?" asked Katherine, gently pushing the issue. Gran demurred. "Not so very long ago," she replied, "but she was a bit older than you are now." "And still in nappies?" asked Elizabeth joyfully. They were delighting in this, but I was looking for a hole I could crawl into. "Oh yes!" continued Gran, "Wet every night until she was eleven, and quite often in the daytime too. We had to keep her in nappies because we didn't want accidents in the house. Sometimes she used to play down here without one, but it was important to put one on her before we went back up the garden. She used to hate it, but it was very necessary." Yes, I used to hate the indignity, but I quite liked the nappies. They made me walk a bit funny, but the sense of security was worth it - I knew I wouldn't be scolded if I had a little accident, and those accidents would come so swiftly and without much warning. They made me feel a bit special, and I liked the attention I got from the family; I was the only small child in the family at that time, and tended to get overlooked otherwise. I liked the smooth pillow between my legs, and the feeling of being held tightly there. I didn't have to worry about using my nappy, because it was accepted I was in them, and it was sometimes easier than breaking off my game and going all the way to the lavatory. It made me think for a moment; perhaps I should be stricter with my two, but I knew it would have had little effect, apart from requiring endless fruitless nagging. I had been forgiven my many little accidents in exchange for wearing nappies with minimal protest, so I could hardly deny my semi-continent daughters the same privilege. I took advantage of the twin's bemusement with Gran's disclosures, and undid the tapes on Elizabeth's nappy. I well knew that once the nappy was down, there was no turning back, and the change proceeded normally. I wiped her down, plonked her into the middle of a fresh dry nappy and taped her up, finally smoothing her sundress down so that it covered almost all of it. She made no objection. Just then I heard Peter's voice from behind me. "Oh, a nappy change on the lawn. Lucky thing! I remember when I used to change your mother here in the old days, just like that!" "Did you really, Uncle Peter?" came the chorused response as my hackles rose. "Well, I tried to, but she was such a wriggler. It was like putting nappies on an eel." Both girls shrieked with laughter. I let go of Elizabeth and made a grab for Katherine but missed. Both the girls trotted over to Peter and I recognised the signs - they were getting a crush on him, and I couldn't blame them. I had done exactly the same when I was small - in fact when I was not quite so small. "Was that long ago?" they asked. I began to recognise the technique, the kids were enjoying my embarrassment. "Not so very long ago," Replied Peter, winking at me, "But she was even older than you are now." "And still in nappies?" said Elizabeth gleefully. I scowled at Peter and unfolded a fresh nappy., waved it at him and pointed at Katherine. It was here that Katherine made her big mistake. She had, as usual, become overconfident and thought she could handle Peter as easily as she handled her doting great-grandmother. "Did you do it the same way?" she said, hoping to spin the issue out to my greater embarrassment. "Oh, yes," said Peter, "Just like this!" and he up-ended Katherine and dropped her neatly onto the dry nappy. She screamed, she wriggled, but it was too late - he had her wet nappy off in a moment. I moved forward with the wipes, but he simply took a handful and wiped Katherine down. She stopped wriggling and lay still, obviously enjoying the unusual sensation, and Peter duly pulled the nappy up between her legs and taped her in. I looked on, and I actually envied her. It was exactly like the way he used to change me, and my body responded accordingly. Just then Matt's voice interrupted. "Oh! Nappy change on the lawn! Lucky thing! I remember when..." - I gave him my Kilowatt scowl, but he went on - "I used to change..." - a soggy nappy flew past his head - " ...your mother just there." I reached for the other wet nappy but it was too late, he had got his line out and the damage was done; the twins were hooting with laughter and my dignity was in tatters. I chased Matt out of the bower with the nappy in my hand, but he was too fast for me and escaped into the vastness of the lawns. I went back into the bower to recover my changing bag, and saw Gran shaking with laughter. It was the first time I had seen her laugh in the long year while Granpa had been so ill. "You didn't really play babies with Matt did you?" the said, "I'm amazed how he could ever put up with it!" "He loved it! It was just a game." Gran shook her head, tears of laughter running down her cheeks. "I used to play the fool with Nurse." She said, " I would even wet deliberately, but I certainly never dared to try it with Granpa. Bit too late now!" For a moment a cloud passed over her face. I had to think of something. "I played it with Peter, too. But that was a bit more genuine.. I had to tease him into changing me." Gran's eyes narrowed. "I always thought there was more to Peter than met the eye." she said, "It was always quite surprising how he accepted Juliet's problem, even though we had briefed him before." My jaw dropped. It had always been one of Juliet's great stories, how Peter had looked over the garden wall, seen Juliet sitting there in her nappy, and still climbed over to meet her. The last piece of the jigsaw had fallen into place. Gran, always the arch-schemer, had set it all up. I looked across to where Peter and Juliet were sitting with their three children. Plainly it had been a successful plot, and nicely handled. She had hit Juliet at exactly the moment when she was turning into a woman, and was desperately depressed about her mother's illness, and by good fortune had got it exactly right. She had brought out the protector side of a teenage boy, and that took quite a bit of doing. If I had still had my hat on, I would have taken it off to her.

So Sorry

For your amusement - they were less prudish in the Seventies.

I suggest using Euroflex (polyurethane) pants which can breathe and hence run cooler.

I have met some of these characters in my life.

A truly awful man who contaminated everything he touched.

Because it is simply the best ABDL site!

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-4073926/I-came-close-needing-one-James-McAvoy-reveals-wore-nappy-avoid-accident-gym-bulking-role-Split.html

From Christian Bloom, Norway, courtesy of Editorial & Political Cartoons on facebook.

After a rant about a world-wide network of paedophiles, Anonymous tries to present Miley Cyrus's "BB Talk"

The idea that a vote for the thiird party is a wasted vote is quite wrong.

Nanny's Day Off. I leaned back in my chair and took stock. It was rare for me to be out of the limelight, and even rarer to be behind the camera rather than in front of it, and I was enjoying the chance to reflect. Little Elizabeth was sitting beside me, and all her attention was on her twin sister Katherine who was in front of the camera. I had been dead against the idea, but for once I had lost the argument. My manager, Julian, had been approached by John, the producer of a soap opera with an offer he could not refuse - but then Julian could never refuse an offer as long as enough money was attached to it. The producer had wanted not me but my daughters for a starring role in his series. It was not just that they were famous - we had to drive the paparazzi off with fire hoses - but because they were identical twins, and as the producer was keen to point out, working with children was a major headache for him. The hours that four-year-old children could work were strictly limited, and by having two interchangeable actresses a much higher rate of filming could be achieved, targets met, blah, blah, blah. My initial objections were the same as any mother would have; I didn't want my children exploited, over-worked, rushed into adulthood etcetera, but Julian knew my worries. One was the cost of their future education, I wanted them to have at least as good a chance as Matt and I had had and that would now cost a fortune, and our resources were a bit stretched at the moment. While Matt was on a course in London we were living in a rented house in the country nearby, and it was costing. I was still making plenty of money modelling, but the rent was horrendous. I still had my little mews house in Hampstead, but it was too small for us now, and besides it was now rented out to Elke, once Uncle Percy's au-pair girl, but now a successful model in her own right thanks to Julian spotting her. Even so, I was expected to keep up appearances, and that can cost - especially in London. I stuck to my guns and played what I thought was my trump card; I told the producer that the children had not been toilet trained, and that they still had to wear nappies day and night. I folded my hands to show the matter was settled, but John was not dismayed at all. He told me that that was a huge advantage. He said that the director would be livid if, after all the trouble he had gone to set up a scene, the child star would demand to go to the lavatory and everything had to hold for ten minutes while the little darling had a wee-wee. He said that, if he had his way, all child actors would be in nappies and some of the adult stars as well. I was defeated, outflanked, and my trump card had been trumped in its turn. I had to agree. My mind was still boggling at the sudden idea of my actor friends in nappies, and being changed on the back of the set. I tried to focus on the contract in front of me to stop myself from laughing. After I had regained control, I asked John whether any actors actually did this, and he just smiled and said, "well, some of those costumes make it very difficult to get to the loo." and he left it at that. My daughters were delighted at their new game. Ever since I had taken them on a shoot - the sitter had not turned up - and they had seen me posing and posturing in front of the camera they had decided that it was the finest thing since sliced bread, and they spent hours twisting and posing to emulate Mummy doing her job. It had one huge advantage; whenever they were being naughty and not doing as Mummy told them, all Mummy had to do was imitate a cameraman, and they would immediately strike a pose - sometimes falling over in the process. They soon picked up the game of let's pretend - the big, grown-up game of Let's Pretend which was played out in front of the cameras, and actually enjoyed being made up and costumed for the part; they always thrived on attention - I suppose they got that from me. I recalled how I had not found it easy being the little child on the periphery, ten years my sister's junior, and how I had done so many things to get attention. Wetting my own nappy had been an overworked favourite at one time; it served to assert myself, an act of defiance. Fortunately in all other respects, the production team was marvellous. We had our own dressing room, well stocked with colouring books and crayons - and nappies. We could retire there between takes and make any changes that might be necessary. The costume department was in on the secret, and made sure the costumes they wore were tailored accordingly - no very short skirts or too-tight trousers, and I watched closely to see that no trace of their nappies would show on screen. I had a bit of fun myself from time to time, joining the extras in a crowd scene, carefully grunging myself up, rounding my shoulders and stooping to fit in with all the rest. And I wore flat-heeled shoes as well - it's difficult to be part of a crowd when you are five-foot ten with a huge mane of hair, but I did my best. Word got out, of course, and "Spot Amelia" became a great hobby amongst the fans. The producers certainly didn't mind that, but I was careful to limit my appearances so as not to make any professional actor on the cast envious. When thinking of envy I had my own moments, when one of my daughters was picked up and fussed by her screen mother, and I was worried that my child was getting too fond of them, but I had underestimated the acting ability of my daughters, who could get in and out of character with an ease which many other experienced actors could barely manage; they had a natural talent for the job, and I wondered what we were going to do if the series ended, or they were written out. I would have to bring them down to earth somehow. I really quite liked the idea; Tuesday was a shooting day, and coincided with the nanny's day off, so I had the job of looking after the girls on that day. As long as I could fit my other commitments around it, it worked quite well, and Julian was careful to keep me free on Tuesdays. Fortunately this Tuesday went well, and we had an early wrap. I changed the girls back into their day clothes, and noted that both were dry so that was easy; I simply left them nappied for the drive home. On the way out of the studios I passed a couple of actresses who were dressed up for the classical drama that was being filmed on an adjacent lot; huge crinolines filled the corridor. I looked at them and I wondered, and I wondered; how did they do it? You could never get those skirts into the average toilet and it must take about ten minutes to get out of them. Perhaps what John said was true - they took the necessary precautions. I strapped the girls into their car seats and thanked heaven for them; it kept them under control and stopped the chances of a play fight developing in the back seat. I could see them in the rear-view mirror too - and they could see me, two pairs of pale blue eyes - they got their eyes from me and the red hair from Matt - watching every move I made. It was only a short drive home, but the rush hour traffic was quite heavy, and I could never be sure of when we would arrive. For once I was glad the girls were still nappied as there would be no emergency stops for a wee-wee, they could just do it in their nappies and we would change them when we got home. I chided myself for this failure of parenting convention, but I had tried to toilet-train them, their nanny had tried, and Matt had tried, but without much success. I was just hoping we could get them dry enough to send them to school in the next year or so. The traffic stopped completely, and flashing blue lights appeared in the distance. I groaned inwardly. That meant an accident ahead and an incalculable delay. I checked on my charges using the rear-view mirror; Katherine was quietly looking out of the window, and Elizabeth had her eyes closed, probably asleep. I tilted the mirror downwards to inspect the pillows of the nappies between their legs, and it looked like Elizabeth had made good use of hers. That usually meant Katherine would also do so in the next few minutes. Once again I groaned, and tried to think of sandy beaches and hot sun, far, far away; anywhere other than the grey and dismal outskirts of London. We made it eventually and I woke the girls up; they were now too big and heavy to contemplate carrying them both indoors. As they walked up to the front door I noticed that Katherine was also doing the penguin walk that implied a wet and swollen nappy, but I made no comment. I was busting for a visit myself, and not for the first time I found myself envying the girls their self-contained convenience, and their ability to relieve themselves with complete insouciance in the knowledge that the worst they would have to face would be a visit to the changing table and a fresh nappy; I made a point of never scolding them for wetting as it would have made it difficult to get them to accept the need to wear nappies in the daytime at all. I had tried desperately to toilet train them, but the only result had been accidents, damage to carpets and soft furnishings, and painful scenes with tearful children. Finally, in desperation, and in view of the fact we were living in a rented house, I applied "Pembroke Rules" and put them back in nappies day and night. They actually seemed happier that way, and we had no accidents and very few rows even though, according to Gran, they had inherited their strong personalities from me. We got inside and I noted that Matt was not yet home, so I felt thankful we would not have to explain our lateness. The girls waddled off in the direction of the television set, and as they lay on the rug in front of it I was able to check their nappies properly with a finger poked up the leg elastics and a cautious pat underneath. They were both wet , but not excessively, and I could spare a few minutes to sort myself out, feed the cat, and make the tea. Then I returned to the lounge and summoned them for a change. Overriding their protests I shooed them upstairs to their bedroom, closed the door behind us, (a trick I had learned to stop one running off while I changed the other) and hoisted Elizabeth onto the changing table. It was not as large as the one at Pembroke, which could probably have held both girls at once, and Elizabeth's legs now reached over the end. Never mind, I lifted her legs, put a fresh nappy under her and untaped the wet one. I know I should have asked her if she wanted the toilet, but frankly I was tired out myself, and I wanted to get the job done as quickly as possible. Elizabeth objected to the "baby change", and she reached down to try to push away the front of the new nappy as I pulled it up over her tummy, and wriggled and kicked out with her legs. I wasn't having it and spoke sharply to her while I taped the sides down as quickly as I could before helping the slightly sullen child off the table and smoothing her skirt back down. She exchanged glances with her twin sister as she left, as if to say "Mother's in a temper today!" and Katherine obviously took the hint, making no objection as I repeated the exercise with her; she even lifted her own legs and kept her arms well up and out of the way. With them both changed I let them return to the lounge and television as I spent a few minutes on my own appearance, bearing in mind Gran's advice that even harassed wives and mothers should also be lovers too. Thank heaven that Nanny would be back tomorrow and I could get on with things!

Thank you for reminding me - I have been so busy.

" just a comic" is a quote from Rupert Murdoch about the Sun.

Also in the "Daily Mirror" for those of higher IQ (at least 11) than the "Sun". http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/world-news/jess-dresses-up-adult-baby-8519674 This is the "Silly Season" in the UK press when hard news is scarce, and they will fill the pages with anything.

Thank you for that!

I remember standing in my bed in the morning.