32nd Casentino rally, Talla

Thomas's parents retired up the Apennine mountains so we go there quite often. Driving up and over them isn't particularly hard once you get the hang of where all the hairpin bends are and memorize which chunks aren't wide enough for two cars.

On Friday 13 July, we offered to drive mum from one side to the other for a nice ice cream in a wee shop we like to visit once a summer.

I set out in my beautiful hired Fiat 500 with Mum, Charlotte and Amaia. Thomas set out in his rather more boring Nissan Micra with Anna and the boys and we started on up the mountain. Surprisingly, we were overtaken by quite a few cars on our way over. You almost never meet other cars on those mountains roads. We didn't think about it and sat and had our ice cream. 

On the way home things were odder. Many more cars were coming towards us than I had seen on the way there. Again they were all going in the same direction. They were all fast little cars and they each had two males inside. It started to dawn on me that the annual Casentino rally was taking place the next afternoon so these cars were rally drivers out checking the route in their normal cars. I was no longer in any doubt when I rounded one tight bend to see a Lancia and an Alfa Romeo coming towards me at speed. The Alfa zoomed past me on the left (as it was meant to in Italy!) as the Lancia mounted the grass verge on my right on the very edge of the mountain, overtaking me on the wrong side simultaneously! I wasn't overly fazed... Italians drive wilder than us and I'm fairly used to it but mum look more than surprised!

So we took the kids on the Saturday to the rally. We had a great view point above a sharp bend in Brita's and Peter's village Pieve Pontenano. Some of the villagers had a programme and any thoughts I had about leaving before the end were dashed when I noticed the last car to go was a vintage Fiat 500 (pictured above). It came round the corner to rapturous applause and flag-waving, even if it didn't seem to be the fastest thing through the village!

Given there isn't much night life in Pieve, we headed down the mountain to watch the night rally at midnight too. It was much scarier and more impressive, though it probably took about ten years off my life. Sitting along a pavement okayed by the local Carabinieri, with Lots and Granny at the front, one car missed the bend and came hurtling towards us at full speed in the dark before coming to a stop less than a metre from Charlotte's feet! One of the people sitting beside us caught it on their phone.

And for any other vintage chuggy fans, once I'd stopped shaking enough to pick my camera up again, I caught it on the night leg too!

Worms

Thomas found this on facebook today. I think he's right when he suggests Léon might find it more than amusing when he gets back from visiting Oma in France! (It's jelly, by the way!)

The Coloseum from a 6 year old perspective

'Mum, do you have to pay to get into the Coloseum?'
'Yes Léon'
'Why, it's all broken and half of it is missing!'
'It is an important historical building Léon'
'Oh I know that mum, people used to fight in it. They were called... emmm... I think it was something that rhymed with alligators! Emm Gladiators?'

Mosquito-proof?

How do the wee buggers know who to bite? I could understand if some people got fewer bites than me but how can you get none? Lots and I are oozing yellow pus from open sores caused by an allergy to them. Marcel, Anna and Thomas have some red lumps but nothing more. However Amaia and Léon have none, not a single bite! How can they tell they don't want to taste them without tasting them? I don't get it.

As Léon announced yesterday looking at the state of my legs 'I'm so glad mummy that I am mosquito-proof!'

Amaia's lizards

It's awfully sweet when little kids almost get a word right, but not quite!
Today Amaia's been chasing lizards all over my mother-in-law's patio shouting 'a wizard, a wizard!' How cute! I half expect Harry Potter to turn up any minute... reminds me of our wizard photoshoot here last summer!

Chilis

If you are daft enough to do what I have just done, here's a wee piece of advice...

So Thomas baked fifty large round chilis in the oven and asked if I would peel them and pull out the seeds. They were only medium strength so I thought I'd be ok. After my hands and arms had swollen to double size and I'd tried cold water for half an hour, aftersun cream and anti-histamines, I decided googling a remedy before driving myself to casualty would be infinitely less embarrassing. Cleaning your hands thoroughly in white spirit brings the pain back from unbearable to just about livable with! Now I'm wondering what they are going to do to my insides once he's stuffed them with ricotta for tomorrow's starter?

Gammon steak

I just had a gammon steak for dinner. I don't have them often but when I do they always make me smile - more than thirty years on...

We were on holiday down south - mum, dad, little Derek and I. Derek must have been about seven - just finding his feet reading. It was a typical wet UK summer day and we decided to go to the aquarium in Brixham to keep out of the rain. Derek was reading the names of the fish out loudly to everyone who was gathering round the tanks. Suddenly he got very excited. He was in front of a large tank containing a 'common skate'. 'Ooooooh I've always wondered what these look like!' he squealed in delight. A seven year old who's always wondered what a common skate looks like!? But he immediately clarified by reading it to us 'Look daddy! A gammon steak!' - The entire room erupted in awwhs and laughter!

Besançon

I spent a lot of time in Besançon in the 80s. I've been back a few times since I moved away but not since 2004. It's funny, I nearly ended up living there. My ex worked there and had I not got the job as a lexicographer for Collins, I would have moved there in 1991, so it where I would have lived my adult life in some parallel dimension. The really, really ironic thing is that it wasn't the place that was wrong for me, but the person I lived there with. I loved the colours of the stones there, the river running round the old town and the beautiful nature all around. It smelled beautiful - flowers, river, sunshine, French bakers... It feels very odd to me that I have not been there since Thomas and I got together. It seems strangely as if I haven't taken him home yet to see where I came from, if that makes any sense! Maybe one day I can take my husband and my kids to my other home town and show them around.

Drink driving in France - the dilemma!

This amusing new law is about to come into force in France. My nieces have been lamenting it on Facebook for weeks. I'm sure it was brought in with the best of intentions but one summed up the stupidity of the idea: Roughly translated she wrote 'I have to have an unused breathalyser test in my car or I am not allowed to drive it. So I leave my friend's house after a glass of wine. If I use the breathalyser to see if I am allowed to drive, then I have used it so I am not allowed to drive! If I don't use it, I might be over the limit so not allowed to drive! Best solution is probably just to stay at my friend's house and get drunk!'

An amusing take on the 'no' campaign

I enjoyed this little post very much. I wish dad could have read it.

Amaia

Amaia is more of an introvert than Anna. It isn't immediately obvious when she's surrounded by her family because she's the baby of the family so often plays cute and clowns about. When I take Anna into a stranger's house she often acts quite grown up - she asks questions, and she tries to engage them in conversation. Amaia used to be quiet but in the last month she's started covering her mouth whenever she's ill at ease or afraid. She doesn't do it momentarily though, she leaves her hands there until she's happy again!

I was recently invited to a Breast Cancer fund raiser at a friend's house. When I walked in she had approximately thirty friends in her kitchen eating cup cakes. Amaia was with me. She didn't cry or ask to be picked up, she simply clasped her mouth and remained motionless for the whole hour I was there. I had to laugh when one woman actually asked me 'Excuse me, is your baby going to be sick?'! I think I am going to have to work on her showing her introvert streak in a slightly less embarrassing manner!

A one-off

I had this great rucksack for a decade or so when I was younger. I think I got it at about 18 or 19 to go back-packing round Europe and it didn't die until BA accidentally sent it from Frankfurt to Osaka when I was 30... the problem was Marcel and I were going to Heathrow, so when my rucksack made it back from its world tour full of nappies and baby food, it was in several pieces. I took that as a sign I was finally meant to grow up and buy a boring suitcase! They did offer to pay for a replacement but it was irreplaceable. It had been everywhere with me and as you can see - it turned into a chair so you could always hang about comfortably between trains, even when the waiting time was hours. When trains turned out to be too full I always had a seat. I often took the Strasbourg-Marseilles train on a Sunday when I lived it France and was asked by countless strange young men if I would allow them to take a photo of me on my rucksack. At first I took it as a compliment, till one night a guy actually asked if I'd mind getting off it so he could see it better on his photo! I wasn't half as interesting as my trusty luggage! Anyway, looking through some old photos last night brought it all back - those were such special times. I can't help think Ryanair with their specified case size have killed off quirky things like my old bag! I don't think today's students will have the same to look back on!

Chocolate hand prints

How can you tell when someone's been in your bed while you were out shopping? Do I have psychic powers, or is it maybe the chocolate hand prints?

More of the aftermath

One by one we've been dropping like flies the last few days with a vomiting bug. Last night was Anna's turn. She vomited all over Léon's Kissy bear (my 36 year old teddy) during the night. The bear was stuck in the wash (and surprisingly didn't disintegrate!) and she came down to our bed for the rest of night vomiting on and off all night. Finally after about twelve hours she came through, stopped throwing up and started to feel a little hungry. Quite matter of fact, and with no emotion other than a little surprise, she stated 'I think I am starting to get better.' I didn't think about what she was saying until she added. 'I thought I was going to die. When Pumpa got sick he died.' When I think about it, she got a 100% attendance certificate at nursery last week so she probably doesn't remember the last time she was sick. Wee pet.

Another anecdote from 'J'!

'J' has been round for another coffee - or rather glass of wine with mother. After her last story, I had to share this with you!

J's husband's parents are buried in a little cemetery in a village somewhere in England. J and her husband don't visit it very often. After a break of ten years they went to visit. They found the headstone was somewhat grubby and in need of a little tlc. J's husband knew a local undertaker so went round to offer him the job of taking care of it. He tried to explain where plot was. The undertaker wasn't 100% sure where he meant so asked him to show him. They jumped into his  hearse together to drive across town to the graveyard. There wasn't a seat for J so the undertaker suggested to J that she sit in the back as it was a quick trip. J has a wicked sense of humour. J thought it'd be fun to lie in the back of the hearse as if she was simply missing her coffin! That was disconcerting enough for passing cars, she said, but to cap it all she thought it might be fun at traffic lights to sit up slowly and wave to passers-by!

I guess you can choose to be dignified in your older years, or on the other hand, choose to have the time of your life! I think I'm going to have her round for coffee once a week!

Last day of primary

It's a sweet custom. I don't know when it started but they didn't do it in my day! I'd have been hung out to dry if I'd come home from school in that state! But nowadays the last day of primary school is spent having the kids and teachers in your school sign your t-shirt, then proudly walking through town in it (even in the rain!) Lots decided to have two signed and given Anna left nursery yesterday, she got to wear the other one to signify she too was moving onwards and upwards.

Anna was particularly thrilled to be asked to sign Lots's t-shirt too - it definitely made her feel quite grown-up. They were as thick as thieves today, the two of them.

It is hard though to watch them both move onto the next stage of their lives without their beloved Pumpa there to see them. I so hoped he'd hang on long enough to see Lots's dance last week. It would have given him an insight into the woman she will one day become. Life will be filled with these bitter-sweet moments from now on.

Blink and you'll miss it

If my children ask me for advice when they are older, things I would have ideally done differently, I think I would advise them to have their children younger than I did. Obviously, I couldn't have had Anna and Amaia any earlier because I had them within a couple of years of getting together with Thomas, but Marcel was born after André and I had been together 12 years, Charlotte, nearly 15. Time speeds up with age, as we all find out too late. I feel Marcel's primary years just about took a reasonable amount of time, but Lots's seem to have passed by in a flash. Didn't I take this photo (left) yesterday? And yet here we are graduating from Kirkhill already.


I was recently discussing this with Marcel - saying I wished I'd had my kids earlier. He asked 'Why, is it a bit tiring dealing with small kids and sleepless nights at 44?' Not at all, I'd do it again in a second but at 44, with a baby you are painfully aware of your own life-expectancy, of the chances you have of seeing your grandchildren grow up and that hurts in a way I could never have imagined in my early twenties.

Whitebait

I used to get whitebait a lot in the south of France, but I'd never seen it in Scotland till Saturday when I happened to be in Makro bulk-buying loo roll as you have to in this big a household - you know 64 for the price of 48! Anyway, a bag containing four adult-sized portions was only £1.75! And the whole thing took three minutes to cook! That made me a happy bunny!

Absolute genius!

Every so often you come across an idea so simple you wonder why it hasn't been done before, so genius you wish you'd had it first. I came across it in Tesco at the weekend. When you have four school-age kids all wearing grey socks as part of their uniform but in (UK) sizes small 9, small 12.5, adult 3 and adult 9, you become absolutely demented after a wash trying to pair socks and then work out whose are whose. I had even taken to only washing one child's clothes at a time as the only way of getting round this issue. Tesco - I love you! Tesco has started printing the size of its school socks on the inside of the elastic at the tops of the socks. Genius! I take my hat off to them! Praise the restoration of my sanity!

Fiat Scudo

I'd quite like a Fiat Scudo. Unlike most people carriers with their 2-3-2 set-up, Scudos come in a 2-3-3 format, despite not being physically much bigger. We used one in Paris at Easter and it was just perfect for a family like ours. Strangely though, they don't seem to be on sale in the UK. You can buy a Scudo van easily but not a Scudo people carrier. How frustrating!

Vodka, in a sachet!

My mother has a close friend. Let's call her 'J'. J likes to travel a lot. J also likes vodka quite a lot. When I mentioned mum would be going on holiday this year using Ryanair, J rolled her eyes in her head, in a way many people do, in fact when the world's favourite budget airline is mentioned. She went on to offer mum some Ryanair advice. Given how often they've cropped up on my own rants, I fully expected J would warn mum about their hidden charges, their fines for checking in in the airport, their pedantic measuring and weighing of hand luggage and the likes but no, J had discovered a much worse crime. 'You have to order the wine, Ann!' she implored, 'Isn't that right Phyl?' I pointed out that I am always either flying towards picking up a hire car or back to pick up my own in the long-stay car park so don't buy alcohol on Ryanair. I thought J was going to pass out on the spot 'You fly without alcohol?' she said completely in disbelief! Anyway, not deterred J carried on. 'Ann, you just have to go for the wine - it comes in bottles, I once bought a vodka on a Ryanair flight and it came in a ... oh I can hardly bring myself to say it, it came in a sachet! And when I ripped the top, the pressure of holding it made it all pour down me and I had to spend the flight sucking it out of my t-shirt. Can you imagine? - oh the waste!' She sat shaking her head and finally muttered - 'And to cap it all, it contained less than a miniature!'

I have to say, J's view of the world always brings a smile to my face!

The dance

I had been apprehensive about the primary school leavers' dance for about two years! Lots doesn't really do feminine. To give her her due, she has come a mile from where she was two years ago, still in football strips and only talking to boys. She now only talks to girls and wears girlie jeans and pink hoodies - still a dress, shoes, hair and make-up was a bit further to go. When the topic of limos came up a year ago, I figured paying the ten quid to book a place, would at least guarantee Lots going, so I coughed up.

About six weeks ago I started thinking of how to get her into a dress. Obviously spending fifty (or more) quid on a dress for someone to never look at it again isn't ideal but luckily I have some wonderful friends with older daughters who offered to lend me several options for her. As they arrived one by one and I hung them in a row, she simply stared them out in horror. I was slowly expecting the meltdown but it never came. I asked her over and over to try them, getting nowhere until the weekend before the dance. Finally all except one turned up on my bed one night. I assumed a decision had been taken. I turned my attention to hair. I asked her again and again what she was planning to do and was met by a wall of 'I don't know'. With just hours to go, she pointed at a wavy haired model on Facebook and said 'that'll do'.

Not reckoning on her having three times as much hair as me meant it took from she got home from school on Thursday till ten minutes before we were due to leave to do her hair. ( Ninety minutes) So we were left with ten minutes to change into her dress and shoes, put on some make-up and leg it under a huge brolly in the torrential rain.

We managed to get to Sara's without any tears or snapping. 

I know a lot of pressure is put on the kids to grow up now and go off to high school but I definitely think that although Lots may be ready intellectually, I needn't worry she'll be fighting me about being allowed to go out partying wearing tight skirts and too much make-up for a wee while yet - phew! Amazingly, after looking at her hair like that, she concluded she preferred how it usually looks! 

She definitely has a way to go yet!

Anna on the other hand is a whole other kettle of fish. On finding the discarded dresses on my bed, she announced (at the ripe old age of 4) 'Don't bother sending that pink one back, I'll be needing it for my p7 dance (in 7 years!) and I'll also need tall, pointy shoes, sparkly earrings, a hairdresser's appointment, a tiara and lots and lots of of make-up!' - Gulp!

Scotch bonnets

I have to admit to having a wee problem with scotch bonnets. You see they are just so much more attractive that Asda or Tesco mixed medium strength chilis that whenever they have them I buy them and of course, once they are in my fridge, I can't stop myself from tossing one, two or more into my dinner. They just don't look that much more fierce than the normal ones! They are so shiny and I love their shapes. I have had to bulk-buy coconut milk and cream to calm down dinners I accidentally, out of love for their beauty, over-chili. I feel sorry for my poor babies!

Pink Fiat 500s

Utrecht: Pink Fiats 500, a photo by harry_nl on Flickr.

I was talking to a friend today about my ideal car. I was sure I had blogged it before, but it turns out I haven't! How cute is this wonderful photo I found on Flickr?!

Used car dealers

Whenever I've been looking for a used car, whether that is on Arnold Clark, Machargs or Evans Halshaw's websites, I am left puzzled as to why they don't cater for larger families. When you have one or two kids, you can choose any car you fancy, so you often want to put in a specific make or model that takes your fancy. When you have five kids, you want to see what they have with seven seats or more. I can fill in make, model, age, transmission, fuel type, number of doors, mileage, colour etc but I can't specify the number of seats, so I have to google makes and models to find out what has seven seats then look at each make separately. It must be a no-brainer to add a box where you simply tick six seats, seven seats etc.

Frustrated!

Thinking of you today, and every day

Happy Father's Day, dad.

In life I loved you dearly
In death I love you still
In my heart you hold a place
That no one else can fill
You left behind my broken heart
And happy memories too
But I never wanted memories, dad
I only wanted you.

Lots's new favourite hat!

Mum was throwing out some of her old clothes last week when she came across an old hat she'd bought in Turkey in the 90s. It was rather colourful to say the least and a rather odd shape too. I thought the little ones might like to use it when they were dressing up so put it in their clothes box.

Today Charlotte was helping Amaia put on a tutu when she came across it. She couldn't believe I hadn't given her first refusal. She took it and kept it on all day. She then asked me to take photos of her in it and finally suggested I colorize them as it was just perfect for that.

When bedtime finally came, she left saying she intended to sleep in it.

Charlotte can be painfully shy at times, not brave enough to stand out from the crowd in any way but just when you are least expecting it she goes to the other extreme. She is such a complex individual.

(I have to say the hat and long straight hair also reminded me of Barbra Streisand in What's up doc? - It has such a 70s look!)

Awwwh

I love this photo my brother took of my beautiful baby earlier this month. It really captures what a soft, gentle little soul she is. It also shows her fluffy, wispy baby hair and her lovely green/hazel eyes. She's my special little girl.

Happy boy

DSC_0159, a photo by derek1971 on Flickr.

I tried over and over the other week to get a good photo of my nephew heading a ball. My brother must have thrown it at him fifty times before we actually got a decent shot! But he enjoyed the fun anyway.

A black and white world

I was discussing 70s wallpaper today with my niece in France. I remembered some of the horrors we'd had in my home as a childhood so went looking for a picture. Unfortunately, it being the 70s, all my photos were in black and white. I uploaded it anyway to show her the pattern. Anna and Léon noticed it on facebook and  it caused amusing questions from both... First came Anna's take on it 'Mummy, didn't they have coloured-in photos when you were little?' I thought this was an awfully sweet way to describe the concept of colour photography. Léon was a bit deeper... 'Mummy the bear in that photo is blue nowadays, I know because it is mine. So when this photo was taken was it still blue or was it grey back then? In fact was colour added to the world after these photos were taken or did it just not show up on photos back then but the world was actually colourful, even when you were wee?' Good questions, though I have to say they make me feel somewhat old!

Dad's Peugeot

After a month of financial juggling and the selling of Thomas's car, we finally got together enough to buy dad's car yesterday.

The big kids marvelled at the leg room - at nearly 1m80, Marcel hasn't been the greatest fan of the Nissan Micra's back seat of late... The sound system is so good, I'm trying to work out where I can go unnecessarily, just because it is so much better than my ipod dock in the house. Léon was happy to show it off too at school this morning.

But Anna summed it up for all of us on the way home from nursery - I wish we still had the red car and our Pumpa, rather than a lovely new car and no Pumpa.

In the bath

I love to capture language around this age, as they try to explain the world around them using their limited vocabulary but vast imagination.

I have to share tonight's classic with you. In the bath this evening Amaia farted. 'Wow Mummy, bum bubbles!' she announced proudly! I imagine farts will henceforth be known as bum bubbles in this house!

Oops - how was I to know?

So there I was pottering around the kitchen when the theme from Harry Potter began to play on my mobile.
Hello? I asked - it was marked 'withheld'. A half Indian, half Scottish accent replied 'I am looking to speak with Mr Phyllis Buchanan'. He sounded young - 15ish, he sounded like a Scottish kid trying to pretend to be foreign... So I replied 'Ok - are you Marcel's friend or Charlotte's?' He replied again 'I am looking to speak with Mr Phyllis Buchanan'. I replied 'Sure you are, I don't have time for this!' and hung up. It rang again. The same voice replied 'This is Fred again, from ebay support!' 'Fred?' I replied 'Gimme a break, goodbye Fred!' 


I came back to my computer. Five minutes later an email message popped up in my inbox from 'Fred' at ebay customer support!

OMG! I am embarrassed!

John Travolta?

I was taking photos of Amaia the other day when she suddenly started posing and acting cute. I couldn't help but remember the old John Travola Saturday Night Fever Poster when she struck this pose!

Scotland

I couldn't have put it better myself...

I think dad would have liked this.

Anna and her Pumpa

I'm not sure if having kids makes the aftermath of a death easier or harder...

I've spent the last few days helping mum bag up dad's clothes and bringing them here to show Thomas and Marcel before packing them off. I've just walked into the living room in time to see Anna hugging a black bin bag with her head almost inside casually announcing - This smells lovely mummy - it's all Pumpa-y!

Gulp.

Ray Bradbury

I see Ray Bradbury has died at the age of 91.

I have had a curious love-hate relationship with Ray Bradbury since 3rd year at high school.

I was a late starter really in English - never really enjoying the subject until high school. I was just coming around to it in 3rd year, despite a rather fierce 6 foot tall English teacher who frightened me half to death. She was the much-feared Mrs Findlay, I can still hear her today yelling at us "That's Findlay with a 'D'!" As if we'd ever forget! She was a great hater of nail varnish and I remember the girls, and sometimes even the boys daring each other to come in wearing paler shades in an attempt to get through a whole 40 minute period without being dragged physically into her cupboard to have it removed with the nail varnish remover she kept in there!

Anyway, enough about Mrs Findlay's hatred of nail varnish, and back to Ray Bradbury... We had been asked to write a short essay on a subject of our choice. I wrote mine, re-wrote it and was feeling very pleased with myself. I thought I had finally got the hang of essay-writing. I handed it in and waited smugly for a nice fat 'A' on the paper when it was returned. A week later she threw it at me and spat 'I've given this a zero because I refuse to mark plagiarized work!'  I hadn't the foggiest idea what she was talking about. I wanted to cry. What have I plagiarized? I asked. This is almost a verbatim copy of Ray Bradbury's Pedestrian and well you know it girl! she accused. I had never heard of Ray Bradbury! I had never read the Pedestrian and I felt aggrieved that she was accusing me. I felt it was somehow Ray Bradbury's fault for stealing my idea and causing me public humiliation and I couldn't quite work out who I hated more - Ray Bradbury or Mrs Findlay!

Anyway, I should probably finally give up the grudge and allow myself to read The Pedestrian at long last!

Through four-year-old eyes

Tonight the kids and I went up to help mum bag up a lot of dad's clothes and shoes for charity. I can't say it's the easiest thing I've ever been involved in, but the effect on Anna was quite curious...

In a fairly carefree manner she folded many of his shirts and t-shirts and put them into black bags as mum held them open. (I had no idea my dad had more clothes than you can buy in Silverburn :-\) Meanwhile, downstairs, Marcel had put all of his shoes in pairs across the hall floor. He was the only one tall enough to reach the shelf he kept his shoes on. I knew dad was a shoe lover so was less surprised to find more than twenty pairs up there. Anna, again, didn't seem overly worried.

But as we got into the car to leave, she had a complete meltdown, sobbing hysterically all the way home. When I had finally hugged her calm again, she explained: Pumpa loved shoes. He told me he loved my red shoes when I got them at Xmas. I got new sandals last week and if he was alive he'd probably love them too but he died and now he can't see my sandals or tell me how beautiful they are. And there's no way he'll ever come back to life to see my sandals and that's not fair because he'd like my sandals!

Poor baby.

(Addendum: This morning she'd obviously been mulling it over still as she woke up sobbing that he didn't get to see her new flip flops either :-( )

Caramel pecan cheesecake

How is a girl ever meant to lose any weight when living with a guy whose ambition is to make the perfect cheesecake, and who keeps experimenting and deciding it just isn't good enough!?

The Jubilee

I've been wanting to blog my opinion of the weekend's royal shenanigans but I see Polly seems to have read my thoughts in every detail and written them down already. So I'll save my time and simply point you in that direction.

I presume that unless she shuffles off her mortal coil any time soon, we'll have to put up with this every five or ten years from now on - God help us if she lives as long as her mother.

Freedom!

Designer wear

I know I have ranted till I am blue in the face about designer labels - but I still don't get them. Maybe it's my Scottish blood but why would anyone pay ten times the price for a label?

I was out shopping today separately (because of football commitments) with my oldest two kids. Marcel the designer man, and Lots the sensible. For £27 Lots bought herself a pair of jeans, three t-shirts, a jumper, five pairs of pants and five pairs of socks. She was extremely happy and I dropped her at the park with a friend then picked Marcel up. He was given money and told to buy himself clothes too. He first tried Bank, the Jack&Jones, Foot Asylum and then stood longingly outside Schuh for a while but concluded that he could not actually afford even a pair of shoes!

While he looked more and more depressed I looked into Schuh's window to get an idea of the price range inside. I noticed a pair of rubber flipflops - not unlike the ones Marcel is wearing in this holiday photo from last summer - except I bought his in ASDA on the eve of our departure for Tuscany at £2.50 and these ones in Schuh seemed to cost £35! I must be missing a decimal place, surely? Nope - on closer inspection there was a tiny disc on the strap marked UGG. It was less than 50mm across!

I can see the time has come again to go through my two hour rant to Marcel about designer labels - I know it will fall on deaf ears, but I can try yet again (with Charlotte giggling on the sidelines!)

Mini-protester?

Nursery was holding a Queen's Jubilee celebration today. As I arrived at nursery it was draped in Union Jacks, I suddenly remembered the kids were meant to come dressed appropriately for a garden party with the Queen. They were to be served cucumber sandwiches and the likes and wave Union Jacks. I get so many memos from schools and nurseries, I find it hard to always remember who is meant to wear what, bring what etc. I looked down. Anna had chosen her Saltire t-shirt - not as a republican, separatist statement but simply because her big sister had bought the same t-shirt yesterday in ASDA and she wanted to be like her! I am sure, given she has never worn it before, most of the teachers thought it was a silent protest!

I'm sure Thomas is proud of our daughter today but I have to admit it was completely accidental!

I guess this would have made my dad smile too...

Union Jacks

I was in Tesco buying my usual shopping. As I put it up at the checkout, I slowly became aware of how absurd it looked. Everything, more or less, had a Union Jack on it - I am sure that is meant to fill us with pride and enthusiasm - sorry I'm a republican (not in the American sense I hasten to add!) But if I was a monarchist - why do I want Union Jacks on my loaf packaging, my cornflakes, my potato scones, and crazier still on my toilet roll? Am I really meant to feel pride, wiping my bum with some proud, patriotic toilet paper? I mean they even had Pampers nappies with Union Jacks printed on them! So it is ok to shit on it! I am so pleased Amaia is already potty-trained because I wouldn't be indulging them in this nonsense.

It got me to thinking about why I don't feel as at ease with the flag as say Danes do with their flag, and similar. Then I realized it could be a Scottish thing - and I don't mean an Independence versus Unionist thing, I mean unlike my English counterparts, I grew up in Glasgow in the 70s. The Union Jack and the Irish flag represented the two sides of the sectarian issue. It doesn't make me feel all warm and patriotic, it feels vaguely sinister and to be avoided.

Thanks, Hazeldene!

Anna goes to Hazeldene nursery in East Renfrewshire. She absolutely loves it, with reason - it has won all Scotland's top awards.

Over the last few weeks they have had chicken eggs hatching in an incubator. The kids have all been fixated by the eggs opening and thrilled as expectant parents when Fluffy, Sporty, Minnie, Spiderman, Chook and Sunshine "cracked out" as Anna put it!

Today I needed eggs. I was in ASDA. As I handed the box of 15 over at the check-out, Anna rubbed her hands together with excitement. Oooooh pets! What are we going to call them, mummy?!


Thanks Hazeldene!

Pumpa and Amaia

For the last nearly two years of dad's life, as a result of his cancer, he always had a bottle of lucozade in his hand, wherever he went. As long as I live, I will probably associate the small lucozade bottles with dad.

Last night mum turned up with dad's golf clubs. Marcel had been taught golf by dad so was getting his clubs.

Dad's final illness, the perforated ulcer, was fairly sudden and took hold only two weeks after his last game of golf. As Marcel emptied the bags to see what they contained, he found a half-drunk bottle of lucozade. It seemed quite poignant when he took it out, but we got on with looking through them and once he had repacked the bags, he left the bottle on my patio in front of the garden chairs as dad had often done himself last summer and even this year in March. We then followed the sun round to the front garden for dinner and afterwards weren't round the back so forgot about it.

 This morning I found Amaia practically dancing in the living room, singing Pumpa's here! Pumpa's here! Pumpa where are you? I followed her eyes - she was looking out the patio door - of course fixated by the bottle. She's only two - all her life, Pumpa had lucozade. She's too old not to be aware of his absence but too young to have any concept of where he is. She's in a strange limbo that would truly break your heart sometimes.

Make a robot night at Beavers

Sometimes I have to smile about the direction life takes us. When I first shared an office with the young, 30 year old single Danish bloke, I never in my wildest dreams imagined he would one day be taking my son to Beavers and making 'Darth Robot' with him. Léon is a very lucky boy to have such a great dad.

The Takeaway Secret by Kenny McGovern

It isn't really realistic to buy takeaway food when you are self-employed (=no financial visibility) and you have five kids to feed. We bulk buy and Thomas, a brilliant cook, rustles up Indian and Chinese better than you get from the local takeaway anyway. When we were in Paris recently, we decided to let the kids have a treat and bought them kebabs for probably the first time in five years. They really enjoyed the experience. Amaia was particularly impressed, eating her own then the leftovers of both Léon and Anna. We realized after that, that although Thomas is great at the fancier end of the cooking scale, we had no recipes for the sorts of things kids love as a special treat, but in our house never get - kebabs, fish and chip shop fish, pakora, burgers, etc. Then he came across this little gem.

So, first up on Sunday night, was the doner kebab. I wasn't sure how we were going to manage that without the rotating grill but I left him to it and was more than surprised to find it tasted almost identical to the kebab I had in Paris a month ago! The kids were all extremely impressed too. I am not sure this discovery is going to be great for our waistlines...

A wee update

For anyone who was wondering what the inside of the nappy poppies look like, they opened today! Aren't they pretty? (This wee bee thought so anyway!)

Amaia

I know she's filthy in this photo - from a day at the beach, playing with sand and stones, eating ice cream but I love they way it captures her odd eyes. In photos they often just look dark, but they aren't at all - they mix yellows, and cappuccino tones with olive, light blue and more. I love my baby's eyes.

Paper poppies

And still on a horticultural note, our poppies started to come out today too. We have some new white ones I had forgotten about at the back of the garden. I had to laugh though. Anna announced 'Have you seen the new flowers at the back of the garden mummy, they are made out of Pampers nappy material!' And true enough they do feel like that kind of soft nappy paper, I remember so well from before Amaia was potty-trained.

Tulips

We have these rather odd tulips in our garden at the moment. When they first appeared - each with three or four heads per stem, I thought they were quite special but as they've gone further through their flowering cycle, they have become even more bizarre. After each of the heads has spent a three to four weeks beautifully in bloom with yellow and white striped petals, they suddenly turn pink for the last couple of weeks before they die. How fascinating! I know I planted them, but have no idea what type they are so I can't even order some more!

How vain are spiders?

I love the logic of small kids. Our Nissan Micra had a spider's web on the wing mirror today when I turned up at school to pick Léon up (don't worry Linda, I'll dust it ;-))
Léon took one look at it and concluded 'It probably built it there because it likes to look at itself in the mirror!'

Scottish is not English

I was in B&Q today. I think they've somewhat overestimated the Glaswegian enthusiasm for the Queen's Diamond Jubilee. They had untouched boxes of bunting, union jack covers for your car wing mirrors and little flags you might want to wave, or might not, as the case may be - typical chain store mentality. Hell mend them!

Cycling

I said it with Léon and I am reiterating it with Anna. Balance bikes are a godsend to 40-somethings who need to teach their kids to cycle! No more back-breaking hours pushing junior round the park. Think about it logically - learning to cycle isn't about learning to pedal, it is about learning to balance. I put Anna at the top of a hill with a pedal-less bike and let her roll down it over and over till she became confident. Two days later she's on a proper pedal bike rolling down the hill, hours away from pedalling back up it under her own steam. If I was a mini-dictator I think I'd ban the sale of bikes with stabilisers as a cycle-training device - they really are much more hassle than they are worth.

Through fourteen-year-old eyes

Marcel decided to write about dad about four weeks ago. He then gave it to his English teacher to read, planning, if the teacher liked it, to let Pumpa read it himself. I can only imagine his feelings today, when it was returned to him, full of praise. 


In the last two years, and more importantly in the last ten days, I have watched this childhood ebb away. He started this journey as a child but holding dad's hand for two years as he slowly died, holding it still after death, hugging and kissing him farewell a few hours after death and then seeing the young man in the suit carry his beloved Pumpa's coffin all in the space of a week is hard to put into words. I think he would have been proud of what his grandson wrote for him.


So for what it is worth, here is a short account of dad's illness by Marcel:


Cancer. Everyone is aware of its existence, its causes, its process, its effect on life, but no-one, no-one ever thinks it will hit home. I used to be everyone, the oblivious majority, but now I'm well and truly aware of just how hard this demon lurking in the shadows can hit home.


Three years ago today, grandpa, born April 5, 1943, aged 66 at the time, had his retirement set out, golf, golf, and more golf (and of course, the weekly family visit.) He had everything enjoyable - hobbies, friends, family, holidays, monthly golfing tournaments, everything. These were soon to become the rock upon which he would rely for support.


One fateful day, life was rolling on as usual, birds chirping in the trees, sun blazing, refreshing summer breeze, lunch in the garden with the family, my favourite. I had just begun being indoctrinated, as now seems to be our tradition, into the family sport, golf. Due to the beauty of the morning I was of course out with Grandpa in the garden practising my golf swing, the casual chat that comes with golf continued as usual, this day could not have started out more ordinary. The day rolled on and the family left but what I had noticed was that mum hadn't quite been herself throughout the day, this worried me. I began to look for her in the house but before I could find her she found me. There I was, stopped, in the midst of a content childhood day, the perfect day, with the cold words I'll never forget "Marcel, sit down, you need to hear something about grandpa", her face screaming with sadness. I sat for what felt like hours, days, this couldn't be true. The man swinging the golf club with such power and glowing with health could not have, as diagnosed then, three months to live. It began to become real, I was broken. It was as if a small part of me had been ripped out and could never be put back. This image of grandpa swinging his golf club in the afternoon sunlight would be the image I would focus on whenever I was in a bad place throughout this experience. It became the embedded image of my grandpa and has remained unchanged to this day. I had now begun my long walk down the path of going from the oblivious majority to the enlightened few.


Bowel cancer. Liver cancer. Lung cancer. Three cancers that standing alone are life threatening but with a full three at once, the way the doctors saw it, he had no chance. Grandpa had gone overnight from a relaxed, care-free lifestyle to a horrible 40 pills a day routine, his diet had to be monitored and he was forever in and out of hospital, the discovery of his cancer being his first visit to a hospital in his life nonetheless. On top of all this came the dreaded chemotherapy, basically a poison designed to take you as close to death as possible in order to kill all the cancerous cells in the body. It certainly brought a great deal of misery to us all. The golf stopped due to a simple lack of strength, rarely did he manage a full game. This was painful for me to watch, a man I looked up to, a second father to me was being deprived of his lifelong hobby and there was nothing I could do. Looking back now, being able to sum up and understand my grandpa's day to day actions after being diagnosed and how he dealt and is still dealing with this really only brings one thought to my head, unwavering courage. Watching my grandpa fight this demon is the most courageous act I have ever seen by a man. Some say that once someone is diagnosed with cancer they begin to hate the world, life and everyone around them for the simple reason, "Why me? Why not them?" but not my grandpa, he blamed no one. I found strength in his strength and in turn I believe he found strength in mine. The open-mindedness and the constant hope shown by my grandpa is why my grandpa is and always will be my hero.


Days turned into weeks, months turned into years and time went by, slowly at first but things soon settled down, life had to continue so it did. Grandpa was back on the golf course on the beautiful fairways of Scotland and now much more often accompanied by me. Two years down the line he's on his 3rd batch of chemotherapy and has far outlived any of the doctors' expectations. Grandpa is still his cheery, golf-obsessed self and remains to this day one of my greatest role models in life. Sure, grandpa has his ups and downs from time to time but here we are, living to the fullest what ever time we have left with him, however long that may be.