I'm a Beaver now

I'm a Beaver now, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

I've been a Beaver now for three weeks. I have the uniform and they've been letting me try archery. It's fun. I can't wait till I make my promise, so I can get a necktie and woggle like my best friend Fraser.

Big Brother

I know it'll do nothing (or perhaps everything?!) for my street cred but I have to admit that until last week I had never seen Big Brother. I have no interest in what Class E celebs get up to when locked up in a large plastic Wendy House but we only have one TV and I happened to be working in that room when the teenagers stuck it on one night last week. I won't give you a two page rant about how appalling the experience was - I will simply leave that at 'life's too short...' but I was taken aback by one thing, maybe I am getting old...

Two young women (twin American Barbie dolls) and an older (perhaps 30 year old) Nicola somebody have been discussing plastic surgery and Botox the twice I have been present. They talk about it in such a nonchalant fashion, you'd think they were talking about the most natural thing in the world for girls that age - like going out clothes shopping or the likes. One was suggesting which cup size the other should get next time, swapping their current implants in the way I would have talked about swapping a dress that didn't fit me at that age. Maybe I'm an old fool but what kind of message is this giving young women? You need plastic boobs and Botox before 30? I am completely appalled.

I hope I will somehow, despite the media, manage to instil in my daughters a self-belief that will allow them at twenty to look in the mirror and see that they are truly beautiful, the way I made them.

Schooling

76 Derek starting p1, me in p5, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

Thomas has been out delivering fliers all over Crookfur recently (at the request of a local politician). His findings are very interesting from a schooling point of view.

He's chosen mainly to do it between 1 and 2 pm, given that is when Amaia takes her nap, so it's easiest to leave me home working and jog around. He says many of the houses he visits seem to contain two pensioners in their early to mid 70s watching TV. This, of course, stands to reason - these houses and the local school were built around 1970 so many couples with kids moved here and didn't get round to leaving once the kids left home... my own parents are in that category (though a little younger).

Presumably some time in the next fifteen years many of these houses will become empty and retired couples will not be snapping up the overpriced (because of the catchment) housing. Families will move in because of that. I wonder if capacity has been built into Crookfur, St Cadocs and Mearns primaries for a sudden explosion of 30% in the next decade.

Having the Barbapapas to tea

Having the Barbapapas to tea, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

I'm sure this table says something about Amaia. She was pottering about the other day with her tea set and Barbapapas. Next time I looked she'd sat them at the table, served them each an egg (though only the female had been given a spoon) and given Barbamama the Economist to read!

Have I been moaning too much about the economy recently?!

What are the chances?

My old uni friend was helping out at an animal shelter in Vienna last week (she lives there), when someone brought in two lemmings asking for them to be rehoused. Taking down their details, she was told their names were Leon and Lots! Unable to believe the coincidence (I'd seen her just the week before), she decided it was fate, so took them home herself! She describes them as little fighting machines, rarely being gentle with each other! Although my own Léon and Lots do know how to wind each other up like all siblings, they are also inseparable, so lets hope Leon and Lots turn out to be the same. The only question remaining is when Linda is nipping back to the shelter to pick up Marcel, Bits and Bopster? ;-)

Another issue with never going to Denmark!

Birthday cake for a one year old, a photo by PhylB on Flickr.

As I mentioned last month, Léon hasn't been to Denmark since he was two (because Thomas's parents usually meet us here or in their Tuscan home since they retired.) Last month I realized Léon had started to believe Danish was one of the dialects of Italy.

Today I noticed another issue. Any non-Dane who visits Denmark a lot notices their obsession with flags. They have them in their gardens, on their wrapping paper, birthday cards, and stuck to little cocktail sticks so you can stick them in cakes or whatever takes your fancy. Thomas's cousin even had dummies for his babies with flags on. The equivalent of ASDA sells 10 metre tall flag poles for your garden flag and they don't just fly them on special occasions, they have them up all year round. Therefore, anyone who spends more than ten minutes in Denmark knows the Danish flag!

Today I saw wrapping paper that was red with a big white cross on it. Oh look Léon, I said, That looks just like a flag, doesn't it? Do you remember which flag looks like that? I was 100% sure he'd instantly reply Denmark - he speaks Danish half the day after all! His reply... It's the birthday cake flag, mummy!