THE WORLD THROUGH THE EYES OF A THREE YEAR OLD

We happened to be shopping one day on holiday in Montevarchi in Italy. It seemed like a fairly down to earth town with reasonable prices. Thomas saw a shop that had T-shirts from €3,99 so went in for a look. Anna wandered in behind him.
Neither of us are big shoppers so Anna isn't often dragged into clothes shops. There were mannequins everywhere. Some were standing, others sitting and lying in various positions and states of dress. She looked around them, fascinated. I assumed she was looking at the clothes they were modelling. She certainly didn't seem worried or distressed. Suddenly and quite matter of fact she announced: Ahhh, so that's what they do with dead people? I didn't understand at first, then realized she was touching one of the mannequins! The imagination of a small child is a strange world indeed!

IN A NUTSHELL

As with all siblings, there are times when mine wind each other up. Charlotte seems to take great pleasure out of playing with the little ones at the moment but because of the large age gap (6 years to Léon, 8 to Anna and 10 to Amaia) she sometimes tires of being their play thing and deliberately annoys them.

I often hear myself berating her for this. Anna summed it up wonderfully yesterday shortly after Lots had offered her a toy then told her she wasn't getting to have it after all...'Why are you making me so whiny, Charlotte?' she asked!

THE END OF THE BELLING SAGA!

I know you've all been waiting for the next instalment of my Belling cooker saga.

No, they didn't send another wrong fascia, no Jake, Jack and Robert didn't drop by but we have definitely had a result!

Jack turned up without a new fascia on the right day - the first time any Belling engineer has turned up on the right day (they are usually up to two weeks early). He looked at the 16 doors we have in the garage, and 3 fascia panels and concluded he really couldn't be bothered with us any more so phoned Belling and told them to authorize replacing our cooker! I was out on the school run and came home to a job number and a phone number for a Sammy Davis (!? was this a joke?) who would arrange it for me. Not only did Sammy turn out not to be a one-eyed, black Jew, he turned out to be a she! But she replaced my three year old cooker, which was out of warranty, with and brand new model because she couldn't find a replacement fascia, when in fact it was the door that had broken all along, and they'd already fixed that!

I am puzzled, amazed and feeling somewhat jammy :-)

I had to laugh, when an hour after it arrived the company I had bought it from originally phoned and tried to sell me an extended warranty for just £7-50 a month... why on earth would I need that when all it takes is the charm and patience to spend two months on the phone to them to get a new one completely without a warranty!?

SMART KID

For years I've been ranting about UK school uniforms. My kids' primary has always advocated the polo shirt and sweat shirt option, and although the shirt, tie and blazer that would have been worn when I was a child is still available, only one or two children in each class tend to wear it. Personally I would go further, introducing that in high school (why on earth do girls wear ties in high school?) And what's wrong with jeans or a skirt with it all, like Anna wears to nursery with her polo and sweat shirt? Scotland is grey enough without forcing them to dress in grey (or black) for 13 years!

Occasionally as a small child has passed me in a blazer and tie, I have felt sorry for him or her. I've mentally blamed their parent for wanting to dress the poor wee bugger in such a ridiculous manner. But I hadn't ever considered it could be the child's idea... not until half way through primary one when Léon started his campaign to get me to dress him smartly. He begged and begged for a blazer and tie. Originally I managed to stall him by telling him the school was designing a new tie for its 50th anniversary so their would be no point in buying the old one, but as that project was delayed until later this year, he would no longer be pacified and insisted starting p2 in the smart uniform.

I turned up the first day expecting him to come out with his shirt untucked in a real mess as he's never overly neat and tidy in his usual uniform but he exited as pristine as he had entered, and moreover extremely proud. He is a little boy who never ceases to surprise me!

THE AUTOMATIC LANCIA

We had to hire a car in Italy - Brita and Peter live in a mountain village that is too remote for public transport. Peter picked up half of us so we only needed a small five seater. We opted online for their bottom of the range Fiat Punto (or similar).
Avis in Arezzo don't seem to have a huge number of clients. We arrived to a man sitting on a deckchair on the main square. In front of him were two Lancias. The first was a Lancia Ypsilon, the second a Lancia Delta Sport. The Ypsilon was our Fiat Punto substitute. I could already imagine three weeks of Thomas driving Peter's Fiat Multipla while I listened to the four kids in my car ranting about leg and elbow room.
The nice Italian man asked if we wanted his Delta instead at no extra cost given the length of our hire period. I was about to jump at the chance when he mentioned it had the added advantage of being an automatic. I was struck instantly with a mix of fear and horror. Last time I drove an automatic, I was 17 years old and dad had allowed me to try his Ford Cortina automatic on the industrial estate in Thornliebank. It drove a bit like a souped-up dodgem car. It changed gear just before or after a human would but never at the right time. I couldn't imagine being stuck with one of these on a mountain pass for three weeks and was about to decline when Thomas showed up. He mentioned he'd never tried an automatic and begged me to reconsider. The Italian bloke thought I was insane too so I gave in, reluctantly.
After all, in 26 years automatics had bound to have improved, so I jumped in and started my drive out of Arezzo. It felt unsurprisingly like a bloody dodgem car, albeit a powerful, growly one. When I reached the mountain I started my ascent and noticed the Lancia, like the old Ford changed gears several seconds after I would have manually, jolting me forward or back in my seat. I was already beginning to loathe it with a passion. It grumped at me every time I tried to start it without my foot on the brake. And it didn't have a very obvious biting point which made three point turns on the mountain pass even more fun than usual!
As the three weeks went on, I noticed however that it was annoying me less and less and I even learned to appreciate being able to give the road my full attention in the hairpin bends on the single-track chunks as I didn't need to change gear.
Much to my disgust and outrage I actually began to like my automatic Delta Sport. I can only conclude from that that I am turning into a sad, lazy, old fogey :-(
I'm also wondering why Lancia pulled out of the UK - they make such pretty cars that would easily compete with Alfa Romeos or the likes that sell well here. Any ideas?

BOPSTER

OMG - what happened to my baby? She suddenly looks about 4!

THE MSN GENERATION

On Monday I was in Rome with Thomas and my two oldest kids. We only had one day to see things so we decided to run quickly round the main sights.
At the Vatican, while Charlotte was looking somewhere between appalled and surprised by the number of nuns you could possibly see in one day, we noticed many of the tourists were buying postcards and sending them with special Vatican stamps as it is a separate state. Marcel suggested sending a pc to his French grandmother as she's catholic. He bought a stamp and card. He stood fiddling with the stamp looking perplexed.
What's the problem? I asked. I can't get the back off it, he replied.
I pointed out that you lick stamps and they stick on the card. He genuinely had no idea! While we were laughing and ridiculing him, Charlotte jumped to his defence with the wonderful phrase: I don't know how to work a stamp either! He then asked which side of the card you wrote the address on! He was 14 last week! It turned out he had never sent a card or letter before in his life. At 14 I had twenty penpals and collected stamps. How things can change in a generation! Remind me not to apply for a job with the Royal Mail if that is the way things are going!

INNOCENCE

Léon can be naively sweet and innocent at times.

Two days ago we went shopping in Bibbiena. Because we have hired a five seater car, we have to leave two kids behind every time we go out. We left Anna and Amaia. Léon didn't really want to come either so to bribe him we offered him a fancy ice cream while we were out. Fearing meltdown on return, I told Léon that mentioning the ice cream to Anna might upset her. I don't want any taunting or teasing, I told him.
We returned and sweetly he remained silent all afternoon and evening.
I asked Anna what she had done with her grandmother while we were out and she told me about playing in Margaret (next door)'s paddling pool. Léon was a little put out - saying he'd have preferred to play in the pool too.
Taking them to bed, I assumed I'd got away with the ice cream...
What do you fancy doing tomorrow, Pudge? I asked.
I think I'd like to play in Margaret's pool, he said, then quizzically added pointing at Anna - she won't get a secret ice cream while I'm over there, will she?
So sweet!

IMAGINATION OVERLOAD

I am slowly beginning to believe small children are actually insane!
I was driving along concentrating on the traffic when suddenly Anna let out a shriek like someone had jammed her arm in the electric window. I slammed on the brakes and turned round to ask why she was crying her eyes out. 'Léon just stole the last slice of the imaginary pizza I was holding! And now he's eaten it!' she announced, sniffing. Give me strength!
Today took the biscuit... I could hear Anna crying uncontrollably in the garden. Had she been stung by a wasp? Had she jammed her hand in the door? 'What's wrong Anna?' She was holding a wooden stacking block. She held it up. 'This is my imaginary tape recorder – I taped myself singing a song for my imaginary grandpa and Pudge taped over it using his block, what am I going to do now?' She was inconsolable.
I am speechless!

HOW DO THE ITALIANS AFFORD KIDS?

I happened to need to buy a few things today so nipped into an average-sized supermarket in Bibbiena, a COOP. I found most of the things on display (with the exception of the tomatoes and watermelon) a little bit pricier than at home. I know the pound has fallen against the Euro so wasn't overly surprised to find most groceries about 15% more expensive than at home.
The one thing that absolutely floored me, however, was the price of baby and kids' products. Babywipes come in pack of two for €8.50! I could buy four for about £4 in ASDA at home. Pampers Babydry nappies - the ones I buy in boxes of about 100 in ASDA for a tenner cost €10 for 30!
But once the kids get to school, things degenerate further. It occurred to me that picking Léon a school bag and pencil case in the COOP instead of at TESCO once I got home, would mean he would have something different and easily distinguishable from his classmates. The bags looked identical to the standard supermarket ones at home, as did the pencil cases. I had picked Léon up a Kung-Fu Panda bag last year in TESCO for £5.99 and a Spiderman pencil case at about £2.99, so I picked up the equivalent: a cartoon logo bag and pencil case. At the checkout the wanted €58 for the bag and €23 for the pencil case!!!! I wondered momentarily if Italy had gone back to the lira! Imagine buying bags and pencil cases for all five of my kids!
I'm afraid they were quickly returned to the shelf, and I'll be heading straight for TESCO on my return! No wonder Italy has one of the lowest birth rates in Europe!

ZANZARE VERSUS MOUSTIQUES

I've always had a wee bit of a problem with mosquitoes - they're probably one of the only things I am allergic to. Unlike when I am stung by a midge or wasp, mosquitoes always leave me with large weeping sores that ooze yellow pus while the rest of my family simply suffer small, red, itchy swellings.
I lived in France in my 20s and kept it all more or less under control with those little sweet-smelling pellets you plugged into sockets. You could always hear the wee buggers buzzing loudly when they were in the room anyway so they weren't too hard to avoid. So over more than twenty summers in France, I probably had half a dozen really bad bites, no more.
I also spent a summer in Italy as a uni student and vaguely remembered their mosquitoes to be the same.
But I am beginning to wonder now if they are two separate species. I've been in Tuscany now for just over a week and my arms, leg and neck are full of what look like small volcanoes. The swelling is not unlike a small doughnut the size of a 1p piece, rising to a summit that weeps the yellow poison once again. The skin is tight and as hard as a rock and each will take at least another week to ease. The problem is that these little beasties are almost silent - either that or I am becoming hard of hearing in my old age. I can't tell when they are in the room or even on me and when I have caught sight of them, they are only half the size of the ones I know from the East and South of France.
Are Tuscan zanzare different from French moustiques?
Whatever is going on, I definitely seem to be more allergic to the little Italians than the French bugs and that's not ideal given their stealth approach. Also given where my in-laws live, it looks like I am going to have to come up with an airtight holiday suit! :-(

FUCKING & FOREIGNERS

I have been a lexicographer for over twenty years so I know  everything there is to know about compiling the entry 'fuck' for a bilingual or monolingual dictionary. From the smallest pocket dictionary to the largest several-volume tome, I have had to analyse 'fuck'. Had she not been cremated, my old granny would be spinning in her grave at the thought of her granddaughter being paid to discuss the nuances of 'fuck' in meetings, given she told me once she would never let that disgraceful word cross her lips!
Something interesting has been starting to strike me about 'fuck' and foreigners over the past two or three years. There seems to me to be an inverse correlation between how good a foreigner is at English and how bad they are at getting the nuances and the register of 'fuck'. As foreigners become more competent in English, they believe they can use 'fuck' and all its lemma, whereas those who are less fluent actually believe me when I put three warning stars at the word in a dictionary I am compiling.
Often I notice when I am on Facebook that foreigners who are excellent at English - in particular Scandinavians, Dutch and the likes use it in their facebook status - things like 

• 'Nursery closed today - fuck!'
• 'Foggy weather today, fuck!'

I, as an English native, know fuck is way too strong for these comments, but the foreigners seem to think 'fuck' is on a par with 'shit', which it most definitely isn't. Too many American movies have somehow led the non-native, fluent English speaker to believe 'fuck' is something every grandmother utters when the rain comes on while she's hanging out the washing!
This week, I have come across two other examples of 'fuck' in a very non-native context.
Firstly, I was wandering around a large toy shop in Arezzo when I was stunned to hear the music piped in the background was Lily Allen's 'Fuck You'! A catchy, cheery wee tune but believe me - you are never going to hear it piped into Toys R Us in the UK! And later the same day I was passed in the street by a couple, who looked not unlike Thomas and I in age and type, walking up the main street in Arezzo holding the hand of a child - a little boy of about 6, 7 at most, wearing a simple black T-shirt, plain except for the slogan 'Fuck off!' in large white letters. You just wouldn't see that in a native English country.
I'm not a prude, I am happy to use the word in its correct context but I really am considering writing a course for foreigners to get them to understand it in all its glory.

TOGETHER AGAIN

It has been terribly endearing today to watch my kids refind each other.
The biggies disappeared at the end of June to visit their Granny in France.
Anna doesn't cope overly well when they disappear for a two night weekend, so the summer holiday is worse and worse each year.
On day two Anna asked if they'd be back soon so I knew we were in for a long haul.
Suddenly, visits to and of 'Silly Mad John' increased tenfold. She told us of days out at the beach, plane trips, sleepovers and even 'eatovers' at his house. Isn't an 'eatover' a sweet concept for going to someone's house for a meal?!
Anyway, Anna moped and wasn't quite herself in their absence. The (almost-)baby of the family was forced to become the leader during their holiday. Even Amaia occasionally pointed at photos on the wall and pronounced their names clearly in a questioning manner.
By last week Anna was asking more and more often when they'd return and when they finally walked in last night there were tight hugs all round.
They could hardly get to sleep for excited chatter at bed time - one of the drawbacks to their sharing a bedroom, and today three and four have been glued together. They really miss each other when they are apart.
I suppose growing up in a divorced family is a new norm for many, but it is interesting to watch when it isn't your own experience. One thing is for sure - this kind of enforced separation five weeks every year definitely irons out a lot of the traditional sibling rivalries. They are all calmer and more loving towards each other. They really seem to miss and appreciate each other to a depth of maturity that is rare in such young children. Their bond makes me a very proud mummy!

BELLING UPDATE

Today was the big day. Belling were coming to fix my cooker at last.
Well what do you know? Jake didn't bring the correct fascia. I phoned Belling to ask why - they told me there was no Jake! They didn't have an engineer called Jake, however one called Jack had been booked to come to my house on August 1. When we have an appointment, they don't show, but hey when we don't have one they turn up and get you out of your bed! There's organization for you! Ho hum...
So Jack has been rebooked for August 17... (I'm still betting my house that he'll bring the wrong fascia... And, of course, I am betting my garage that he won't actually show at all!)

BUCHANAN-WIDMANN WINE?

Thomas has been growing grapes fairly unimpressively in our greenhouse for a few years. I am not sure what's changed but he has so many suddenly I'm wondering if we can maybe start our own brand of wine. That would be cool!

THE BELLING SAGA

It started with a crusty loaf.

Thomas had spent winter and spring experimenting with roll recipes, with a view to creating little crusty rolls. All his efforts were delicious, but apparently not what he was in search of. He tried spraying them during the baking process with water and that definitely helped but again he was not satisfied. Then one day he found a recipe for creating a bread steam bath. You raise your oven to 250°C but put your bread dough inside a cast iron pot to bake. He decided to try his creation out on Peter (his father) during his last visit.

The buzzer went, he opened the oven, extracted the loaf which looked good and was very crusty, he went to close the oven door when he noticed the pin that closes the oven door had melted! We had a lovely loaf but it had destroyed a £1200 oven in the process - hmmm, I'm not sure any loaf is worth that much!

Now, my Belling oven had been annoying me before this point, but that truly was the final straw, so I went off to phone them. It was two years old, so one year out of guarantee and I hadn't extended my guarantee... I never do, on the assumption that if I save £70 on an extended warranty for every appliance or electrical device in the house every year then I have a pot of about £700 to replace the one that blows up...
I asked Thomas where we'd bought it - appliances online, so figured that was a good starting point.

I asked if they stocked new door pins and after putting me on and off hold, they asked if they could transfer me to Belling Customer Services. Again, I went through my story of an oven that melts at oven temperature and they hummed and hawed before asking to put me through to their parts department. Twenty minutes in and I was explaining the issue for the third time to a friendly Liverpudlian woman - ho hum... She agreed that it shouldn't melt at that temperature but given my lack of warranty, she would offer to sell me a new door. Losing the will to live, I decided to find out the price of the new door before going ballistic or asking to speak to her supervisor - I really couldn't face the story again.

I was put on hold and forced to listen to some more annoying music. She came back with a new bombshell. My cooker was still current but they had discontinued stainless steel because they couldn't source the raw materials and as usual with today's short-sightedness they didn't stock spares. She asked to transfer me to the department that offered current, dissatisfied customers heavily discounted new cookers. One hour in and I was still on to Liverpool. The woman from the replacement sales department asked my name, address and as she asked my telephone number, what do you know - we got cut off! 

Incandescent with rage, I waited five minutes, calming down before starting back at square one - appliances direct. I got through to Liverpool once again to a bloke called Paul. I explained I was on to a woman who was about to offer me a discounted cooker when we'd been mysteriously cut off. Paul sounded surprised. He explained the woman was a new employee and had the wrong end of the stick. On the verge of ranting, I was stopped in my tracks when Paul explained that, yes that was their normal policy but in just this one case, where they had discontinued a model eighteen months ago because they couldn't get the raw materials, they had been offering current customers a different solution. Because they were at fault, they were offering to refit all the panels on the stainless steal cookers with black, free of charge. I shut up and became pleasant to my new hero, Paul!

Paul ordered me two new oven doors, a new grill door, a new slow cooker door, a control panel fascia, and a new surround for my hob. Given my original gripe was about the cooker being rusty, this was going to solve that problem as well as fixing my newly broken oven door. He then offered me a free engineer to fit the lot on the morning of August 15, apologizing profusely that he couldn't do it earlier as two of the doors were out of stock.

The following day a package containing the fascia, two door exteriors, two door interiors, and the hob panels arrived with FED EX. I couldn't believe my eyes - I had had a sneaking suspicion the deal I'd stuck with Paul outside warranty had been too good to be true, but no, he'd actually sent the parts, free of charge.

Then on the morning of July 5, I was wakened at 8am with my phoning ringing. I couldn't find it. With both my parents ill, I can't leave a phone to ring so I dashed to listen to the voicemail... Hello this is Robert from Belling, I'll be with you in an hour. Huh?

Robert arrived and I pointed out we didn't yet have all the parts and we'd been told he was coming a month later! He thought I was a stupid woman who had no idea what I was talking about so emptied all the boxes holed up in my garage. He then pointed out I was two doors short and asked if I wanted him just to fit a new inner door so I could use it while the two doors were re-ordered... With all the packaging open anyway, he made a quick check and announced that I'd been sent the wrong control panel fascia. Mine needed twelve holes for buttons, the one I'd been sent had only eleven. He promised to sort that out with head office.

He left and Thomas and I took the kids to the beach for two hours.

On my return I ran into the FED EX guy again. He was delivering the missing doors. That was quick. That was too quick. The original missing doors were being delivered two hours too late to be fitted.
Meanwhile Robert had left several messages on my voicemail.
Message one - They don't do that fascia any more, you're going to have to kick up a fuss to get a new cooker.
Message two - I've managed to find an old fascia in stock, it's sorted but I can't fit it for two weeks.
Great!

Now with all the missing parts except the fascia in my garage, I was ready for Robert.

Wednesday I opened my door to go to B&Q and walked straight into Mr FED EX again. What on earth are you building, missus? he asked, handing me the replacement doors Robert had ordered express-delivery the day before. No extended warranty and now I had no fewer than six door outers and five door inners in my garage!

The following day my friend from FED EX brought my replacement fascia. Call me sceptical but I decided to check it, just in case.

What do you know? It had eleven holes in it. I spent the next 50 minutes onto Tanya from Liverpool who kept asking if I could be put on hold while she read my notes. Eventually, exasperated she told me Jake would bring me the fascia himself next week when he was sent round to fit all my new parts.

I can hardly wait for the next instalment. If I was a betting person, I'd probably put my house on Jake not bringing the correct fascia next week, but on a more positive note - I may soon be able to sell enough spare Belling cooker parts on ebay to be able to afford a brand new cooker!

BLACK AND WHITE CURRANTS

Thomas has planted currant bushes, along with raspberries, tayberries, gooseberries, cherries, apples, pears, damsons, quinces and even (old William's favourite) 'open arses' in our garden. So all summer long is a feast - as long as you get to the bushes before the kids (and the birds).

GLASGOW RIVERSIDE MUSEUM

We took the girls down to the new museum the other day because they are going stir crazy with their siblings away in France (and we were over that way taking mum to a hospital appointment anyway). They all loved the old transport museum so had been missing it, but its new incarnation is far more dynamic. Anna just loved going inside the old trams and tube trains and pretending she was going on holiday. She loved going into all the old shops in the little street too. She could happily have spent the whole day there.
The new building is great and in a lovely position, though they have way under-estimated the size of the car park and it is quite far to walk from their nearest suggestions, especially if you have small kids or elderly people along. I assume they'll slowly iron out that wee problem though so am looking forward to many happy returns.

B&W

I printed out some of my black and white photos for my wall recently and hung them up. Coming from a colour era, rather than a b&w one when it comes to photography, Anna asked why I'd put a 'grey-skin photo' on the wall. Isn't that a sweet way of describing a b&w photo? :-)

HOW DO YOU ARGUE WITH THAT?

I was having lunch in the garden today with Anna. Most of the way through a plate of scrambled egg she turned to me and said 'I eated all my egg!'
I replied, as I always do when grammar is involved, 'No Anna, I ate all my egg'
She looked scathingly at me, stared directly into my eyes as if I was the stupidest person on the planet and stated quite categorically 'Mummy, I speak Danish, you speak English!'
How do you argue linguistics with a three year old?!