Room 101

As soon as I realised that this is blog number 101, it made me think about Room 101 from the novel 'Nineteen Eighty-Four' by George Orwell. If you haven't read it, then basically Room 101 is a torture chamber in the fictitious Ministry Of Love (Newspeak: Miniluv), in which prisoners are subjected to their own worst nightmare, such as spiders or heights or Katie Price.

Room 101 has become a popular name for a place where unpleasant things are done. On Big Brother it was the room where housemates were sent to do nasty tasks, like sorting maggots. The TV show 'Room 101' sees celebrities list their pet peeves which are then sent to the condemned room.

Okay, so in the real life Ministry Of Mum (Newspeak: Minimum), Room 101 is a place where I am put daily to atone for bad parenting and thoughtcrimes against my offspring. It is my land of nightmares - where every fear and phobia I have ever had is presented to me. I am put here to be punished for mistakes I make because I am too lazy or too busy thinking about where my next coffee is coming from. My Room 101 is every tantrum, stress, negotiation and cleanup I have to endure whilst being a mother of three. My children are the modern day equivalent of '1984's' Thought Police, they know everything I think, dream, fear and use it against me. Here are a few examples:

1) I often leave The Toddler to play outside in the garden while I sit in the kitchen on Facebook. However I forgot that a ladder is leaning against the shed. Fast forward to Room 101 and me discovering that not only has The Toddler climbed the ladder, but he is sat precariously on top of the shed roof eating leaves.

2) My order from the Next catalogue comes to about 300quid but I figure that it's on account so it's free, right? I am plunged into Room 101 when my bill arrives and all I have is 15quid left from my child benefit.

3) The Tweenager decides that it's warm enough to wear shorts for school. The Tomboy, of course, wants everything that Big Brother has. So I am back again in Room 101 when The Tomboy realises that I have no shorts for her, only a summer dress from two years ago, and she throws the mother of all tantrums 30 seconds before we have to leave for school.

4) Room 101 is full of pooey nappies and dog poo in the garden.

5) The pond is lush and lovely, bursting with frog spawn. Room 101 presents itself again by leaving a dead frog at my back door.
6) I have had a rubbish day - the children have been demanding, The Dog has been hyperactive, the washing machine is broken - all I want to do is watch crap telly and go to bed. Out of Room 101 appears The Husband, full of frisky ideas and in search of the special love.

Yes indeed, the thing that is Room 101 is the very worst thing in the world. And no amount of retail therapy or Starbucks can save me from it. George Orwell is the most truthful parenting guru I have ever read.