Day One in The Alps


No swine flu here or rather schwein flu. I feel like breathing twice as fast to stockpile enough clean air to last me after our return to Blighty.

It feels like paradise. Who needs a mosquito ( or worse - tourist ) infested tropical island, preceded by a hideous passage through Heathrow, when you can have heaven on a plate here in Switzerland. The sun has just risen over the mountain tops. Light wisps of cloud are swiftly disappearing from the horizon, the azure water of Lake Thun is sparkling and everywhere is an abundance of green lushness.

Window boxes bursting with immaculate blood red geraniums provide a burst of colour amongst the fairy story wooden chalets. Every scene looks like it has been plucked from the pages of a Hans Christian Anderson book.

Breakfast on the terrace of our hotel comprised a gourmet selection of wonderful smoked and air dried meats, pungent cheeses and our favourite seed encrusted bread rolls. The boys delight in ordering heisse milch for their hot chocolate. Never did a small bowl of stewed plums with yoghurt taste so good.

And here I am basking in the glorious sunshine , cooled with a delightful mountain breeze, tapping away at my Mac trying to capture a smidgeon of the loveliness in words which really can’t do it justice.

This morning promises a browse amongst the streets of Thun. The boys have a trip to the Swiss Army penknife shop planned and at some stage we’ll stop for a coffee which only the Swiss prepare to perfection - stuff the French and their brown soupy brew. Maybe it’s the spring water, maybe it’s the accompaniment of a sachet of sugar adorned with alpine views - the same as its ever been for decades.


This is one theme I’ll keep referring to - ‘the same as its ever been’. We’ve only been coming here as a family for 3 years but my husband holidayed in Switzerland for most of his childhood and the restaurants and cafes are still identical in appearance to the way they were in the sixties and seventies. The same brown and orange lampshades and patterned carpets. Trendy decor updates have been eschewed in favour of preserving the status quo which lends everywhere an air of comfortable familiarity year after year. It seems , fortunately, that the Ikea mentality has passed them by. Functional and well made fixtures and fittings survive the torrid ‘out with the old and in with the new’ fever that has swept Europe in the last 20 years. I would imagine that the boys could return in ten years time and have lunch in the cafe with the same crochet tablecloths and smoked glass tabletops that they see now. What a lovely thought.


Wednesday

I’m thinking of hiding in the cupboard in the bedroom designed to accommodate suitcases when not in use. The trade off between discomfort v. solitude swings toward the latter at the moment. We have just spent the hottest day of the year driving to Berne where H and FIL carry out their annual pilgrimage to the bank. Most people these days communicate via internet or phone but FIl being old fashioned likes to make appointments in person and needs to take H with him. Meanwhile me plus kids are given an hour ‘off’ to stay out of their way and entertain ourselves elsewhere. I head to a department store where we browse amongst the sweet ( their choice) and haberdashery departments ( my choice). On leaving the store youngest son announces that he needs the toilet. We’ve just passed one next to the ribbons and buttons but why mention it then when you can wait until you’ve left the store and so have to re-trace your steps back up to the 5th floor ?

40 minutes in and now that the sugar high has worn off, spirits are sagging. Time to stop for an ice cream. The streets are packed with interesting boutiques and myriad delightful shopping experiences but the only experience we’re about to have is another stop to buy yet another Coke. H and FIL meanwhile have finished their business at the bank and are looking for us. No peace for the wicked. FIL needs the toilet so it’s back to the good old 5th floor. The staff are beginning to recognise us.

No-one wants to stay in Berne except me , ever the frustrated shopper. FIL now needs feeding and the boys want to swim. Another hour in the car back to our apartment with my knees tucked up under my chin as I get the guest spot in the middle seat of the back of the car to break up hostilities.

I suggest that H and FIL go and have a nice quiet relaxing lunch by the lake whilst I take the children swimming ... again. They seem to think this is a great idea and who wouldn’t ... except me.

So you see the cupboard under the eaves of our apartment’s bedroom is looking like a definite improvement. Everyone's been fed, watered and enjoyed the opportunity to empty their bowels or bladders. With any luck and if I’m very good and well behaved I’ll get to go up to the local Co-op later to buy replacement beers and snacks because of course they’ll all need feeding in about another hour.


Thursday

The perfect day in Thun...by myself. The boys have gone off to do things in boats. This means I can take photos with abandon without the usual groans. First stop is a back road up into the mountains behind Sigriswil but I don’t get very far before having to stop to take pictures of the ludicrously beautiful church whose simple spire juts up into a pure blue sky. Feeling brave I venture further up the mountainside on a single track with no passing places. The only real danger, other than meeting a tractor en route, is that once up there I may never want to come down again. Pulling over alongside a water trough I find a curious metal door built into the rock. Presumably one of the many hiding places that the Swiss hid their arms during the war. The view from up here is breathtakingly beutiful and the peace and quiet leave me gasping. The serenity up here is food for the soul. I drink it in hoping to fill up my tanks.

I manage the drive into Thun without incident remembering to drive on the right. Straight to my favourite shop Krebser An odd choice for many people maybe but for me it is heaven. Books, art materials, wrapping papers, cards and all in one place. Not only that but downstairs is a place to drink coffee, dispensed from a machine but perfect nonetheless. I open the window to let in a cool breeze and find the river Aar racing past below . I have now gone to heaven.

On to Steinmanns where I indulge in a cake . I have no idea what it is or even what it tastes of but each layer packs a punch and is better than the last, crisp buttery pastry, chocolate nuttiness, creamy mousse and then some sort of cake oozing with liqueur. How clever - cake and booze ... what a fabulous way to get drunk.

Back to the car via the Swiss Army penknife shop where I try out a pink model complete with nail clippers. Hmmm , maybe later in the week.

Can the perfect day get any better ? Yes , at the Schloss Hunegg where they’re hosting a Steiff Teddy Bear exhibition. This brings out the child in me. Cabinet after cabinet stuffed with whimsical bears and animals , every shape and size. Enormous working panoramic models, bears in cars, Noah’s arks, trains, windmills, climbing trees. I stifle a squeal of delight. The only problem is how to resist the shop downstairs lined up wit row after row of smiling teddies. One in particular stand out a mile. A pleading little face and thankfully a small (ish) price ticket, the deal is done and he and and I retire to the garden for the perfect cup of coffee and a photo shoot.


Friday

Embarrassingly, I find myself 2,500m above sea level on the peak of the Stockhorn, amongst serious European climbers all wearing appropriate boots and walking sticks, wearing a daft pair of rubber flip flops.

The boys give me the heeby jeebies by pretending to fall off the cliff tops whilst I cling to pitiful clumps of grass and try to conquer my fear of heights. It’s not a full blown phobia but I do need a good hour to acclimatise myself to the extreme altitude and convince myself that we will all return back down to earth alive. I have visions of losing it and conjure up a wheeze that will get me down the mountain with minimum loss of face - a feigned heart attack and a stretcher ride down in the cable car. Thankfully it doesn’t come to that and within a short time I’m skipping down the steps like a mountain goat ... in my trusty flip flops.

The best lunch so far - Rosti with mushrooms (good choice) and a large stein of beer (bad choice). The boys are in heaven when their carafe of Coke arrives to wash down their pommes frites. The heat of the day catches up with me the lager and sun don’t mix well especially as the heat of the cable car is near roasting temperature. Still , there’s the lake halfway down to look forward to. What a gem. The camera can’t do it justice and certainly can’t capture the sound of the distant Swiss cowbells nor the smell of the woodsmoke from the fire slowly roasting a rack os Bratwurst by the water’s edge.

En route home we stop at an antique shop where I discover a handful of exquisite Sheerenschnitten pictures depicting the typical alpine scenes. What an unexpected treat.


Saturday

Today’s Tages Post at the breakfast table shows a large icon of the sun on the cover. A good sign. I don’t think we’ve ever had such fine weather on any family holiday EVER.
Plans for the day include a trip to Thun to buy Theo his Swiss drumsticks, maybe a bar of two of chocolate and possibly my pink Swiss Army penknife. The boys are cavorting about in the pool which I can see from the breakfast terrace of the Solbad Hotel whilst I tap away at my keyboard, occasionally looking up to glimpse the snow-capped Jungfrua, Monch and Eiger in the distance. Perfect. Incidentally, I'd never realised how clever the Toblerone logo was . Have a look at the picture on the right ( Today I hav mostly been eating..). Toblerone is produced in Berne whose symbol is a bear. If you look closely at the picture of the mountain on the wrapper , you'll see a cleverly hidden bear.
Our shopping trip to Thun proved very productive. Highlight of the shops had to be the Cat Lover’s shop where a sleeping puss called Cherry lay squished into a cardboard box on the counter. Our own puss is now the proud owner of a Swiss flag cat collar. Cake in Steinmanns where we had difficulty choosing . Ended up with a mixed plate of tiny cakes and patisserie to accompany our coffee. I found the perfect scrapbookers Swiss Army penknife complete with USB stick, scissors and pen amongst other tools. Not only that but I also found a pair of proper scissors to try out my own Scherenschnitte and a couple of sheets of the special black paper. Seem to find examples of this traditional paper craft wherever I go now - they even had some in the cat shop.

Sunday

Almost too hot for comfort today - temperature up in the 30’s. After breakfast on the terrace, a beautiful lakeside drive in the comfort of the air conditioned car and a stop at Brienz for lunch . Must remember to visit this place next year - the Wildbach Hotel, conveniently perched on the lakeside opposite the Giessbach Falls and the perfect place to take a dip in the icy lake after eating.
I’ve stopped taking photos - they just don’t do the place justice. Every shot turns out looking like a picture postcard.


Monday

Last day today - too bad , I’m just starting to feel relaxed. Went up the Niederhorn today. The drive there was nerve wracking but stunning - hairpin bends around craggy rockfaces with 1000m plus sheer drops to ground level on the other side. Standing atop the muntain peak within touching distance of the clouds and surrounded by the sound of silence does the soul good. You can only look around and wonder at the marvel of nature. I breathe deeply and soak it all in, reluctant to ever leave. And finally I realise what holidays are all about. Not the ‘glamour’ of travel or change of scene and not the amnesty from cleaning and cooking ( although that is a bonus) . It’s time to think and reflect and take stock. Life is so busy these days that you never get the chance just to stand still and let your mind wander.

Tuesady/Wednesday

Driving back through France where every motor way rest-stop smells like a urinal and every village and town is utterly spoiled by a rash of hideously gaudy advertising placards on the outskirts. I’ve never quite ‘got’ FRance and don’t suppose I ever will. For a start it’s full of Brits and the food actually leaves a lot to be desired. I suppose there’s always the cheap wine so one 1 out of 3 aint bad.

Home from our holiday

Maybe it's the sun, maybe it's the vino ( probably the latter) but does anyone else do that thing with their other halves when on holiday ? ... you know the thing where , after a few glasses of the local tipple too many, you start talking about what really pisses you off ? And you say things like .... "I really hate that my life has turned into one endless pile of laundry" and then your other half , in a moment of continental holiday madness, resolves to do one evening's ironing per week. And you think " Wow - everything is going to be better after all"

... and then one day after getting back you find it all unravels horribly ?

Well , here I am, 8 loads of washing later , after having filled up the fridge for all the cuckoo-like hungry mouths to feed and I''ve just hung out yet another load of underpants and where is my other half ? Watching the cricket with a beer of course.

Why do I fall for it every year ?

Schnerenschnitte

How gorgeous are these ?

I bought a book years ago in the US on this paper-craft and had forgotten all about it until I found these in a Swiss craft shop last week whilst on holiday. Felt inspired enough to buy some precision scissors and some special paper. Now all I have to acquire is the patience of a saint and a few hundred spare hours.

My New Obsession

The weather .... but then isn't everyone obsessed with this topic at the moment ?
We're off to Switzerland next week . In eager anticipation, I googled the worldwide weather prediction service. To my surprise , the tiny village where we're staying was actually listed. You're then given 5 little icons in a row which depict the kind of weather you can expect. These range from blinding sunshine to the " Sodom and Gomorrah end of the world' type scenario , represented by a violent thunderbolt and the deepest shade of grey. Guess what we can look forward to in our little alpine resort next week ? Rather typically the icon line-up for Tenby, from which we've just returned after a week of grey skies , had , rather tantalisingly, a line up of 5 smiling suns , taunting me like a fruit machine jackpot.

I spent the morning musing about past Holidays from Hell . There was the Isle of Wight near death experience when my youngest son's temperature rocketed to sky high danger levels on arrival. Husband , dispatched to find emergency water to re-hydrate him with, returned with a fluorescent Slush Puppy. This little drama unfolded on Ryde Seafront . We were surrounded by 1001 scooters, convening to celebrate their annual convention. The sound was reminiscent of a swarm of buzzing hornets. I could have happily swatted all or any of them as we battled our way along the esplanade in search of a chemist selling Calpol. Happy Days.

Then there was the Great Flood of 2004. Groping my way downstairs at 6am, having been awoken by my youngest son to go watch some cartoon dross on telly , I reached the penultimate step to find the carpet mysteriously floating on top of a brown sea of muddy water. The persistent rain of the previous 48 hours had finally burst the banks of the rain sodden garden and had swept into the cottage, bringing with it the contents of the neighbouring septic tanks by the smell of it. The contents of the cereal boxes in the floor level kitchen cabinets had emptied themselves and the kitchen resembled a giant bowl of effluent coco pops.
Carrying a child under each arm, I made it to the car which was perilously close to being engulfed by the lapping water and drove , or rather spluttered out of the driveway towards the the A1 and the relative safety of home, stopping only when my youngest wailed " I need a pooh" . Judging by the look on the policeman's face whose cop car I parked alongside at the services, he must have thought I was a new escapee from the local asylum. It was only then that I realised I was still dressed in a nighty and one flip flop having lost the other underwater in the drowned garden. This was further confirmed by the fact that I left the car engine running whilst parked up in the car park for fear of it never starting again if I switched it off. It's at times like those that you usually bump into your boss or your children's Head Teacher. Thankfully neither on this occassion.

I'd almost forgotten the Greek Heatwave from Hell in 1988 . But then that's enough scary stories for one day . I'll leave that for another time.

Fish, Chips and Fudge

... in that order. That's what we've been feasting on this week. We've just got back from a week's trip to Pembrokeshire. Here are the highlights.....

Tenby - what a delightful little place. The Edinburgh Rock coloured Georgain houses were so beautiful - they looked good enough to eat. Nothing to do obviously with the fact that there are more sweet shops, ice cream parlours and fish and chip restaurants per square mile than anywhere else on earth. I learned that it's 5,000 population swells to 55,000 during the summer months ( well I say summer loosely, felt more like winter in the cold rain ) which must be a real double edged sword for the residents - income but overcrowding.

Welsh Cakes - I could live off these , in fact I think I did.

Stackpole Quay - what an absolute delight only I don't want to tell everybody or else it won't be so quiet and delightful. I can recommend the bacon butties at the tearoom.

Our £1 challenge in the Pound shop - now a firmly established family favourite on holidays. We draw lots for names then off we go armed with nothing more than a £1 coin and 5 minutes in which to buy a surprise gift for our secret recipient. What a hoot. I'm now the proud owner of a fake cowskin mobile phone cover.

Sea and Sand - a winning combination . You can't beat it on a sunny day. Shame we only get a handful per year. Anyone who says they don't mind whether it rains or not is lying.


Coming home - we had a great adventure but nothing beats that first night back in your own bed , a hot bath in a bathroom you recognise and to be re-united with your hair straighteners.

The Many Shades of Grey

From the window of the house where we're staying in Wales you can see the sea ... technically. What you can actually see is a murky grey line which meets a slightly darker grey line - that's where the sea meets the sky. When the rain is particularly bad the 2 colours of grey merge and become one big grey nothingness.

When children draw pictures of the seaside they always draw both sky and sea in blue. I'm not sure why, especially if they've been on holiday to Wales. If I were still a child I'd draw a picture with a lot of grey in it. In fact I'd get a grey crayon and cover the whole page in grey. If I were a grown up I'd draw a picture of my wallet gaping open with a shower of £10 notes disappearing out of it like a plague of locusts.

On the bright side I've discovered Welsh Cakes.

Summertime ... and the weather is ... well , pretty awful really

I took my youngest to a sailing club this morning. For a sizeable amount of money, paid to the outdoorsy looking teen manning the reception desk, he was allowed to change into a rather shabby looking wetsuit about 2 sizes too small and toddled off to be dunked in a grey reservoir for the rest of the day.

Actually , he's attending something called Water Fun ( or Water Hell in my book) which runs for the whole week and introduces your offspring to the delights of kayaking, windsurfing, knee boarding and sailing .. like I said ... Water Hell.

I wished I could embrace the whole sailing fraternity thing. For a moment I thought I could. We turned off a grubby road, aptly called the Staines Bypass, into a narrow tree lined lane and entered the sailing club gates where a large spikey ramp thing prevented us from going any further , ostensibly to prevent fly-tippers and graffiti hooligans from plying their trade. Once we'd convinced them of our credentials we were allowed in and asked to take the right hand fork and proceed to the car park. After climbing 66 steps ( I know this because I counted every one , somewhat breathlessly by the time I'd reached fifty something) we ascended into a little bit if suburban heaven.

A large expanse of glistening water greeted us accompanied by the clanking of those sail mast thingies and the swooping of gulls, all lending to the illusion of being beside the sea. If you closed your eyes and breathed deeply , I swear I could almost smell salt on the breeze or maybe it was just the chips they'd be serving at lunchtime.

Most of the children there were sun kissed and fresh air types - a good sign. Excellent decision I thought , all the benefits of healthy exercise and team building stuff and I don't even have to dip my toe in the water . Perfect. Here were in the suburbs of London and I could almost believe we were salty sea dogs, hoisting the mainsail and all the that palaver. A little bit of maritime heaven.

I turned to descend the 66 steps and as I did so , I left behind my vision of seaside loveliness. A police siren wailed from the road below and the 24 hour Tescos loomed out of the grey mist . Back to reality.

And as for my scrapbook pages this summer , rather than the 'Fun in the Sun' variety I think they're more likely to be 'Rain is a Pain' . Having said that I can always look back on last years and remind myself what proper sunshine looked like.

Gadget Junkie

I can't help myself . Never show me a new gadget ... chances are I'll want to buy it. I bought this little toy at the weekend from Calico Crafts - it's a glue dot dispenser and works a treat . Pricey at £13.99 but very economical with it's refills - 500 dots for £2.99 which I reckon will save me a fortune on Herma - well that's what I told myself to justify it's expense.
Anyway - used it all weekend and I love it. Now if only they'd make it in pink !

What's Your Style ?

I remember reading any book I could get my hands on when I first started scrapbooking. I didn't know where to go to find good sources of inspiration - everything was new ... don't think I'd even discovered UK Scrappers back then ( how on earth did I spend my time ??). One of these books divided scrappers into certain 'styles' , like Shabby Chic , Vintage, Clean Graphic and the like. I tried to pigeon hole my style but found I couldn't . One day I might be using messy paint, the next I'd be using grids of photos like Cathy Zielske. And 3 years later , I still can't define my style which I think is a good thing. However, one thing's for sure.. I'm not a mad fan of Vintage, hate purple and prefer to make my own embellishments. I've also realised that I have a favourite palette of colours - think Farrow and Ball meets Conran ... or at least that's what I'd like to think. There's always a neutral shade or 2 coupled with a bright vibrant colour. There's usually a bit of fabric and maybe a spot of stitching and usually a little cluster of happy little items. This one above sums it up I suppose. Mind you tomorrow's layout will probably be completely different.

I never really know how a layout is going to turn out when I start . It all depends on how the mood takes me. Sometimes it even depends on what music I'm listening to or what the weather's like. One thing will always be consistent though. The photos is the main driver , the story is equally as important although you might not always be able to read it without delving and it has to make me happy . I reckon those 3 things define my style. Now all I have to do is think of a name to define it. Maybe I could just call it 'Happy' .

Fabric

... can't get enough of it. I almost love it as much as paper and that's saying something.
Used some canvas on this layout which was for a challenge set by Craftystash Workshop which was supposed to have been last weekend but was sadly cancelled - get well soon Tracie. Got the old sewing machine out of mothballs also. Reckon if I left it out , I'd sew on every layout. Sewed some journalling lines - might try this again soon as I really liked how it turned out.

Birthday Boy

My baby is 10 today. Double figures - how daunting.
True to form , when asked how he'd like to spend it he said he didn't mind so long as it was with his family.
Present opening in bed, pancakes for breakfast, a quick trip to Thorpe Park ( thank goodness for annual passes ) and home for tea and birthday cake. Perfect ... apart from having to queue for half an hour to be turned upside down in something called Zodiac. I think today must have been 'Get in free to Thorpe Park' day or maybe they were just handing out free tenners on the door. Anyway it felt like the entire world was there besides us , hence the queues. And here was me thinking that most school hadn't broken up for Sumer yet or maybe just 2 million kids decided to play truant on the same day.

Things My Children Have Taught Me

I may be getting on but I'm still able to learn something new every day , this old dog can indeed be taught new tricks.

My children are a constant source of amazement to me. I adore the way they see things in an uncomplicated way without the jaundice that comes with advancing age. It's too easy to be cynical these days, trying to find the positive side is so much harder but worth the effort.

Here are 3 random things I've observed in the last 24 hours alone...

* Simple Pleasures - a bowl of popcorn can bring squeals of delight
* Anticipation - remembering that it's your birthday in 13 days time and better still your party at the weekend can produce an ear splitting grin
* Finding Time - to stroke the cat and tell her that you love her

Today therefore , I'm going to make myself some popcorn, count up the days til my birthday and stroke the cat and tell her to get off the bed and stop leaving hairs everywhere ... then I'll tell her that I also love her.

Teeth

I've been seeing rather a lot of a dashing young doctor in London for the last 2 years. Sadly for no better reason that he is my youngest son's orthodontist. Actually I'm not that fond of him at all ( the man that is not my son of whom I'm very fond ) , although he seems like a nice enough bloke. I always get a telling off for not making sure that my son wear his brace 24/7. As I can't actually be with my son 24/7 on school days , I have to rely on his sense of responsibility for keeping it in , which at 9 years is a tall order.

Two years ago my husband dispatched my son down one of those wretched flume rides at a swimming pool. He emerged seconds later from the other end minus his brand new front tooth. The water turned red and the lifeguard passed out. My husband phoned me to say everything was alright, which turned out to be a complete lie as he then went on to ask what he should do having told me what had happened. Ever since then we have paid monthly visits to the Eastman Dental Hospital in London for extensive remedial treatment. Although this is free in terms of it being NHS , it still costs an arm and a leg getting there and back.

Today we're going to take in the Bank of England Museum en route where, apparently, you can pick up a real gold bar to see how much it weighs. If it doesn't weigh that much I plan to do a runner with said gold bar to fund our mounting expenses in which case you may read about it in tomorrow's papers.

Bumper Stash boxes for sale over on UK SCrappers if any scrappers are interested. Listed in the Marketplac here

here's a pic of a representative sample. Can't guarantee you'll get all or any of these particular items as this box may already have been sold but it will be similar and the original value will be between £30 - £40.

Kids

I have 3 children . Two of them are aged 9 and 14 . The other one is 49 , soon to be 50.
I remember seeing a bib in Mothercare once that read " I don't know what I want , but I want it now". I wonder of they do it in grown up sizes ?
My husband bought himself a Manopause car earlier this year. Guess what ? It didn't make him happy but then at the moment , I don't know what would. If I'd known that his mid life crisis was going to be classic textbook then I'd probably have got my money's worth out of my own menopause. Sadly though I didn't do any of the ranting or raving or tantrums that you read about in women's magazines. I have been known to say " Is it me or is it hot in here" but that was about it. HIndsight is a wonderful thing.

Comments

Apologies to anyone who may have left a comment on here and wondered why it hadn't appeared. When I logged on tonight , there waiting for me was a list of something called unmoderated comment. All kinds of lovely people had left all kinds of lovely comments and there they all were , all lined up and waiting to be 'moderated' by me.

They were all perfectly nice comments and didn't appear to require any form of 'moderation' at all . It all sounded terribly Big Brotherish. Anyway ... consider yourselves all duly moderated now. There's obviously a whole etiquette to this blogging malarkey of which , until now , I've been blissfully unaware. I'm still struggling with a whole new Facebook vocabulary ( although I quite like the sound of poking whatever that is) so it may be some time before I conquer the art of bog etiquette.

In the meantime, keep leaving the comments. It's lovely to think than in some small way my little blog is leaving some kind of impression out there in cyberspace. And could someone please enlighten me as to how you can 'poke' someone on Facebook and more importantly why you'd want to ?

The Joys of Half Term

By all accounts therefore this should be a short piece.

Actually I do really like these short school holidays , mostly because we get a week off the mayhem that is a schoolday morning.

Instructions such as ... Don't forget your breaktime snack .... don't forget to brush your teeth..... Don't forget to pack your homework ..... Tuck your shirt in , have become abbreviated to SNACK, TEETH, HOMEWORK, SHIRT - this last one said with a world weary sigh of exasperation that only comes with having repeated the same instruction over many years to no effect.

On the first day of the half term, the phone will inevitably ring and the caller will be told that Mum can't come to the phone as she's still in bed. By the second day the X box has usually overheated through constant use. Day three comes the guilt , I really should take them somewhere educational, inspiring, uplifting or all three. On day four a meticulously planned day out up in town is executed involving trains, tubes, snacks , searches for toilets, a London attraction or two, more snacks followed by exhaustion and a fractious train ride home. Vast amounts of cash will have been handed over in the pursuit of 'Having a Good Time'.

Sometimes we do actually have a good time. Yesterday was a classic case ... managed to park next to the station, didn't have to wait too long for a train, navigated our way effortlessly to Leicester Square ( my attempts at the educational element - teaching the bots how to read a tube map fell on deaf ears) , found comic book heaven in a shop called Orbital a minutes walk from the tube, dined at Inamo - a wonderfully hi-tech eatery in Wardour Street with interactive tables ( thanks for the recommendation Mary Anne) and took in China Town on the way home including the wonderfully tacky China Town market - a haven for lovers of kitsch ( that includes me) and then home. Not a cross word was exchanged and we didn't lose youngest son's brace for a change.

Friday is usually a chance to re-group ie. spend nothing for at least 24 hours and allow the bank balance to get over the shock. Then comes the weekend usually spent locating lost items of sports kit, and wondering how to fill the next 48 hours on a tight budget. The children start becoming a little fractious - fed up with eachother and me and counting down the remaining hours of freedom.

School holidays aren't cheap but you can still have fun without financial pain - this afternoon's trip is a bike ride to the Woodland Gardens , a pack of home-made Chocolate Brownies and a shady spot to finish my book before our Book Group meets again on Tuesday. The boys, in theory will spend many happy hours splashing through the streams and climbing trees. The reality is that someone needs the toilet for a pooh ( no WCs at the Woodland Gardens) and there will be an injury of some description with no plasters to hand. However at least it won't have cost an arm and a leg , maybe just an injured arm.

I used to get £50 from the shiny money machine in the wall where the boys used to think you got money for free, at times , I think they still do. This used to last a few days. Now it only seems to last a few hours. As the old saying goes ... Money Talks ... Mine says Goodbye.

The moral of the tale ? Marry someone rich.
Only joking , what I really meant was marry someone VERY rich.

Eye Candy

These beauties arrived today . They're business cards from a company called MOO and they're free ! The marketing ploy worked, I'll certainly be ordering some more.


And then these turned up ... all the way from Singapore. Now I know I could buy some crochet hooks and all different colours of wool and a book about how to crochet but then where would I put it all , where would I find the time and it would cost a whole heap more than the few dollars these cost and these ones actually look like flowers whereas mine would no doubt turn out like knotted clumps. Mind you they're WAY too nice to use on a scrapbook page . Think I may just have to turn them into a brooch or two. Not only that but they were accompanied by a sweet hand written note thanking me for supporting her home craft business.

Retreats

As their name suggests , they are an opportunity to retreat from daily life, step back , breathe out and do something you love. I think they should be available on the NHS. A delicious way to restore balance to your life and restore your faith in womankind. I've just returned from Scrap A Jack's retreat in Stratford, What a wonderful way to spend 3 days ... in the company of some of the loveliest people you could wish to meet , playing with pretty products and learning new techniques. Not only that but you come home armed with layouts about the people you love... it's the gift that keeps on giving as they say. I'm still enjoying the memories , the laughs, the inspiration, the sight of all those decorated bras in the challenge to raise funds for Shenna's Moonwalk in aid of Breast Cancer ( Well done Sheena - you are an inspiration) and the way Mary pronounces GORGEOUS ... a new catchphrase in our family. Thanks everyone for making it such a lovely weekend.
And is if all of that wasn't enough ... I got to do it all over again at Scrap Revolution's Retreat this weekend. More inspiration, laughs, stoic stories of people overcoming obstacles and difficulties in their lives , a never ending supply of toffee ( thanks Kate) a dozen fresh eggs to bring home ( thanks Emma ) . A real tonic .
Roll on June and the Scrapa GoGo retreat. I'm feeling very guilty that I've had the opportunity to indulge to this extent ( although I was 'working' if you can call it that ... way too enjoybale to be called work ... at one) but then it's a lot cheaper than therapy.

My husband's mother died today. After a long illness she passed away, finally, in her sleep, thanks to the wonder of morphine. Although we'd had 14 months to prepare for this,since the onset of her terminal illness,it still takes you by surprise and wanting to have said more in the final weeks.
The boys' reaction was as you might expect for their respective ages - incomprehension mixed with disbelief at the finality of it and the dawning that they will never see or talk to her again. Lots of questions, fear mixed with curiosity as to what happens to the body . I was pleased that they were able to talk freely and openly about it and weren't afraid to ask questions. I feared though that my answers were ill-prepared and unsatisfactory although I did attempt to answer them with honesty. It's a fine line though between truth and not wanting to distress them.
I will remember her as being the most wonderful matriarchal figure in the nicest sense of the word - loyal wife, wonderful mother to 3 children, doting grandmother to 8 grandchildren and 3 great grandchildren. Stoic, resourceful , razor sharp wit , modest, a great sense of duty and humility and yet very much her own person and able to hold her own. Glamorous, generous, cheerful and a great friend. She treated me like her own daughter for which I will be eternally grateful, having lost my own mother way before her time. Who could ask for more ?

New addictions

Yoghurt and cycling.

Did I ever think I'd say either of those things in the same sentence as addicted ?

I'm just hoping that the fact that I'm eating my own body weight in fat free yoghurt doesn't mean I'll go off the stuff. Adding the Food Doctors Omega mix of seeds helps. It takes twice as long to eat the stuff so you feel fuller quicker or something like that.
This evening I felt quite twitch by about 6pm because I hadn't been out on my bike. I'm not talking full body lycra , cycle helmet , water bottle stuff , just a gentle amble through the park perched on my ladylike bike that has a lovely wicker basket up front and now a new bell which I felt obliged to ring just to test that it worked.

There's a kindly camaraderie amongst fellow cyclists that makes you smile inanely as they pass by. A sort of nod to the fact that you've discovered what they've known all along. Even my gel saddle seat is beginning to feel quite comfy or maybe my backside is just hardening up.

I hope this new love affair continues at least for the summer. Can't imagine peddling through a lashing rain storm in November , but whilst the birds are singing and the trees are in full bud , it truly is rather exhilarating.

Eating Less

Seems to be working. Makes sense really , the less you eat the less your body expects. My body is still screaming CHOCOLATE at me but only occasionally rather than incessantly. The next hurdle is trying to stop my life from revolving around mealtimes. Everyone in our house is always hungry - comes with the territory I suppose - teenage boys. Everything seems to involve food. If I'm not preparing it then I'm planning what to do with it , shopping for it or clearing it away. The kitchen is filled with the stuff - fridges, freezers, cupboards, wastebins. It's everywhere . There's no getting away from it.

As my husband left for work this morning and asked what I was doing today I replied "Sainsbury's" to which he said " Have fun". Does he think it's some kind of club or something ? Possibly, as he hasn't stepped foot inside a supermarket since I don't know when.

Change

As I labelled up all of youngest son's news school uniform last night, I realised that this would be the 3rd time I had done this for him.
We've been through white, black, red collared and now red polo shirts for gym, a rainbow array of coloured rugby shirts and football jerseys and every conceivable style of school bag from vinyl book folder to industrial sized backpack. We started out with cute black pumps from Woolies and have now reached the stage of trainers the size of small boats.
God willing this will be the last new school we'll ever have to get used to. New buildings, new route, new classrooms, new friends, new mums, new teachers - all change , yet again.
As I watched his little blond head bobbing along the corridor heading off for an induction talk in the refectory, I marvelled at his stoic smile as he waved goodbye, a long way from home, then turned and headed back to the car. In the quiet of the front seat I shed a quiet little tear at the newness of it all . You see - some things never change.

This is why...

.... I never let my husband take photographs of me. This is as
good as it gets.

Do these sorts of things happen to other people or is it just me ?

Most people would remember their trip to the Royal Horticultural Society's Wisley Gardens with a certain fondness .... maybe for the riot of colour sprouting from the herbaceous borders or the neatly manicured lawns.

I will remember it for the hour I spent knee deep in other people's baked beans looking for my youngest son's brace which we'd inadvertently left on the cafe table only to be cleared unwittingly by a member of staff after we'd departed.

Half way back up the M3 , youngest son asks me if I remembered to pick up his brace. About turn to Wisley. An hour later, having trawled through 18 bin bags full of food waste destined for something called a macerator, I emerged semi triumphant having found only half of it.

Half an hour later I'd managed to locate the other half back out on the cafe terrace. As I punched the air in triumph a loud cheer erupted from the remaining diners. Head throbbing and covered in tea leaves I re-joined the rest of my party waiting patiently in the car park. Fortunately I was allowed back in the car despite looking like a tramp and smelling like a school dinner.

Two days later I was still finding stray tea leaves. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to eat another baked potato with baked beans nor visit Wisley without breaking into a sweat.

The Teenage Years

I've just listened to a radio 4 programme about horror stories from parents of teenagers and thanked my lucky stars that I'm not having to endure what some of these poor mothers are having to survive.
As the programme ended my 14 year old arrived home from a sleepover at a friend's house, greeted me with a smile and asked me how I'd slept last night and was I having a nice day . Aww ... bless.
Minutes later he sheepishly asked if I'd mind driving him and some friends to Thorpe Park. This boy will go far. I only wish they did GCSEs in charm and the powers of persuasion.

Ozzie GP

Well done Jenson !

Last Day at School

I've had 4 of these now in total. In the last 10 years the boys, between them, have left their respective current schools 4 times. That's 4 lots of tearful goodbyes, 4 lots of hand written letters to the special teachers, 4 lots of leaving cards, 4 lots of walking out of the school gates for the very last time. I could write a book ( or a blog) about it now that I've had lots of practice. Doesn't get any easier. At the time you make the decision to consider leaving one school and moving to another, you don't realise that although you're doing things exploratively, tentatively , the decision is already made and the writing is already on the wall. Once you entertain the idea that your child isn't at the right school for them you might as well start drafting the goodbye letter and planning a trip to the new school uniform shop. The deal is done, in your head at least.

I know this is the right decision for my youngest but I just need to witness the living proof that will come after he has one term under his belt. I need to go the first terms' parent's evening and be told that he's doing well and more importantly has settled well and is happy and has made friends.

I'm hoping that this is the last time I have to go through this. I watched through the open door of his classroom this morning as his classmates gathered round and presented him with a teddy dressed in the full school uniform as they signed his shirt with good luck messages in felt pen and saw his happy smiling face and realised that wherever he goes to school he will always be loved. He has that sunny disposition that will carry him far in life. My happy chappy.

Mother's Day

Always a bit of a mixed bag. It's been 23 years since I've been able to send my Mum a Mother's day card and even now when the shelves in gift shops are groaning under the weight of Mother's Day paraphernalia, I still tend to 'choose' something in my mind to spoil her with . I think back to the smiles she always proffered at my child like gifts of breakfast in bed - usually luke warm tea made from the hot tap in a doll's plastic teacup. When I was older and had pocket money, my tasted broadened and a trip to the local chemists would usually produce something like a Bronley's soap in the shape of a lemon . I thought that was the height of sophistication .... wonder if they still make them ? Then as a teenager I would spend a Saturday at the shops usually finding something eclectic from Habitat like a white acrylic jewelry box - SO trendy and would probably fetch a fancy price in the retro section of ebay these days.

I'm feeling well and truly spoiled. The boys brought me up a tray this morning with a copy of Hello magazine, a box of Thornton's Viennese Truffles, flowers, cards and the loveliest book from Theo called 'Thank You Mum for Everything'.
I'll leave you with this from it ....

"Thank you for fitting your life to ours. Thank you for making us feel that nothing that you have achieved is worth more than our love'

Beautiful isn't it ?

Double Standards

We're supposed to be buying a house. It is a stone's throw from the boys' new school. Apparently the decision rests with me as I'll be the one stuck there more of the time. Husband meanwhile will be OK becuase during the week, rather than commute up to town every day, he'll be able to stay with his father who, wait for it ....has just put in an offer on a house round the corner from us where we're living now. Apparently this is supposed to have no impact on our decision as to whether to move or not.

I think I'm living in a parallel universe. Especially so as when H told me this and the fact that precarious bridging loans are involved, I dared to suggest that bridging loans and an unstable housing market were a very bad combination I was rebuffed with a " What do you know" type response.
Days later his father's solicitor warned him that .... a bridging loan and an unstable housing market was a very bad combination. Was she rebuffed with a "what do you know" fob off ? No. H wanted to phone her and thank her for such sound advice. Living proof that my opinion counts for nowt.

Meanwhile youngest son is doing last night's homework on the EU. Rather than teach them about the political and social consequences that face us as Europeans, they have to fill out a chart listing facts such as currency , capital, language and national dish amongst other things ! Average inside leg measurement wasn't listed as one of the facts but might as well have been.
23 websites later I'm still struggling to find the national dish of Latvia . I'm tempted to suggest roast guinea pig and see if his teacher notices.

Must go. Have to decide whether we're moving house or not but I have far more pressing concerns . If anyone knows what the currency of Lithuania is , could they let me know ?

Hobbycrafts NEC

Got up early , made sandwich, drove 2 hours up the M40 the NEC and spent the happiest day meeting up with team mates Sheena and Rosie - that AND some shopping for stash . What a great way to spend a day. I spend an awful lot of time wondering how on earth I'd spend my time if I hadn't discovered scrapbooking.

Buying and Selling

Just trying to get these 2 in balance - the idea is that I sell more than I buy , well that's the theory.I love the Marketplace on UKS and have listed some items today. Whilst some of these are duplicates or just plain surplus to requirements , the photos always serve as a catalogue of a mis-spent trip to a scrapping shop. Still one scrappers trash is another's treasure. So if you feel like buying any of these pop on over to http://www.ukscrappers.co.uk/boards/forumdisplay.php?f=4 and check out my stash crimes !

On a happier note

The sun is shining, the homework has been done and I have an afternoon of scrapping to look forward to. Just need to find my desk under all this mess and play with some pretty paper. Sometimes my head is full to bursting with ideas I want to try and then I get sucked into something online and before you know it an hour has sped by and nothing has been achieved. Maybe I should put one of those parental locks on my own Mac !!

Weekends

Does everyone spend their weekends doing interesting things ? Seems so.

Mine are spent finishing off ironing ( what do I mean finishing , it's never ending, there's no beginning and no end) keeping the children away from screen based entertainment ( hopeless case) and urging our family to get up off our backsides and go somewhere , do something, anything. But no. Here I am again , 7th day out of 7 within these 4 walls.

These days , excitement comes in the form of a 12" x 12" box delivered to my door containing a few sheets of pretty patterned papers. I'm finding it sad that happiness should come down to that. Tragic even. Maybe that's just an indication of how trivial my life has become.

Once upon a time I had a life. I had a career that I'd worked hard for that was well paid. I could shop at the drop of a hat , travel , spend on a whim, enjoy life, go places, see things, experience life. I was well respected for what I did , got promoted, met challenges head on, considered options, embraced change, overcame difficulties, made friends , lost friends but lived.

Now I stay home. I still shop but only at the supermarket, travel but only on the school run, go places but only if it's for someone else, meet challenges head on but only if it involves homework or finding lost sports kit , consider options.... Sainsbury's or Tescos, overcome difficulties .... can I be bothered to get out of bed today, make friends .... usually through school and I'm usually known as my children's mum , then every time we change schools, lose them again . I don't think this is living.

I must stop reading my own blog , it's making me even more depressed.

Birds

Why do birds make me so happy ? Is it their chirpiness , their cute beady eyes or the fact that they're so synonymous with Spring ? Or maybe it's just that I would love to fly away. Whatever the reason, one of these little winged beauties is enough to bring me out in raptures. Without even thinking I've been subliminally buying the odd little bird trinket for as long as I can remember. Found these stamps at the Farnborough show and ordered the QK die online. Can't wait to use them.

Parent's Evening

This used to be preceded by a stiff drink and followed up with a few more. Yesterday was a very different experience. For a start the English teacher told me that he thought my eldest son would probably enjoy reading Dave Grohl's ( Foo Fighter's drummer) autobiography . Does he have him sussed or what ? I was seriously impressed.
On to science . Apparently he'd just sat an exam in this without even realising it ( that's what I like - no sleepless nights revising and that's just me ) where he'd come top. Not only that but it was apparent to the teacher that he actually enjoyed the subject.
Next stop was his Learning Development teacher who's managed to find a very subtle technique to encourage eye contact, something that's always been difficult for him. She' was delighted with his progress and told him so . Don't think he's ever received a compliment from a teacher and I don't think he knew how to accept it .
By this time I was in a delirious swoon and wasn't sure if I'd entered some sort of parallel universe. No , we were in the school hall and I was hearing words like delightful, hard working and helpful. This miracle place is called More House School and I feel like the luckiest Mother on earth to have found it.

New School , New Start

Two months until my youngest starts at his new school . Not a natural progression from Junior to Senior school , more like a rescue plan.

He is very dyslexic and struggling to keep his head above water in class. My eldest takes things very literally and so must I because as I wrote that last sentence I could picture his little blonde head gasping for air above the waves in a storm grey turbulent sea. I'm thinking of his new school as an azure lake of with gentle ripples undulating on it's glassy surface. No-one screaming at him to READ THE QUESTION or CHECK YOUR SPELLING - just an oasis of educational calm.

He is bright , loving and has the most wonderfully sunny disposition and yet these skills aren't graded in end of term exams. If they were , he'd have graduated with honours . Instead he gets the occasional 'good effort' begrudgingly penned at the bottom of an arduous writing task.

One memorable put-down which I found in my eldest son's exercise book once read simply 'Must try harder' . Really ? Is his best not good enough ? Who must he try harder for , Ofsted ? a League Table ?

Should they ever read this , here's what I'd like them to come top of class in... ( I think that might be a split infinitive or something grammatically hideous which explains why I was so pants at English in school)

Knowing that they are loved and knowing how to love.

Kindness - that ability to know when someone needs their help and knowing how to give that help.

Generosity - I'd like to think that they want for nothing, emotionally. They need to understand that material possessions aren't essential for a happy and fulfilled life ... as they say ... the best things in life aren't things.

Honesty - “Honesty is the best policy. If I lose mine honor, I lose myself.” as Shakespeare famously wrote.

Understanding that what truly makes you in this world is not what life throws at you but how you deal with it.

You can't teach any of these things in a lesso but it would be nice to think that, in between the curriculum strictures and the straitjacket of today's education , a really good teacher could just now and then instill a few of these qualities along the way.

Spot the Difference

Conversation I had with my 14 year old not so long ago .... went something like this....

HIM: Why can't I have that video game ?

ME: Because it's not suitable for your age.

HIM: But everyone else I know has it !

ME: Just because everyone else has it doesn't mean to say you have to as well.

HIM: I can afford to buy it with my own money

ME: Just because you can afford it doesn't mean to say you HAVE to have it

HIM: It's NOT FAIR ! ( stomps off)


Conversation I had with my (soon to be 50) husband the other night.... which went something like this .....comments in brackets are what I'd have liked to have said. Comments not in brackets are what I actually said.

HIM: Why can't I have a sports car ?

ME: Errrr ( Just because everyone else has it doesn't mean to say you have to as well. )

HIM: But everyone else I know has one !

ME: Errrrr (Just because everyone else has it doesn't mean to say you have to as well.)

HIM: I can afford it

ME: Errrr.. ( Just because you can afford it doesn't mean to say you HAVE to have it - what about the lethal threadbare carpet on the stairs , the broken shower , the peeling paint on the front of the house ???)

HIM: Stomps off .


The difference is ... One of them IS a teenager and the other one just behaves like one.
Incidentally we had the exact same conversation about a year ago.

Other People's Lives

I've been working on a scrapbook album for the friend's of a friend's 50th Birthday . Her husband supplied me with the photos ( mostly of himself !) . There were a few gems in amongst them of their children. This morning I received a phone-call from a young man by the name of James - his father had asked him to stop by after school and pick up the album for his wife. An hour later a strapping 6 foot tall chap duly arrived on the doorstep all smiles and gawkish gait to pick up the album . Of course I only knew him as a grinning nappy clad toddler from the album ! I showed him a few of the album's pages and he howled with laughter at the photos of himself as a nipper. It was rather lovely to have this glimpse of a family through their ages and stages. It reminded me of what scrapbooking is all about - making connections between people , time and places and might explain why I love it so much....well that and all the shopping !

Breakfast in Bed

As I tottered downstairs this morning I was greeted half way by my eldest son urging me to return to bed. He disappeared into the kitchen and re-appeared with a tray laid out with a plate of pancakes , 3 china dishes filled with assorted tempting toppings and a perfect cup of tea. What a sweetheart !

Valentine's Day

Dictionary Definition :

val·en·tine (vln-tn)
noun:
1.a. A sentimental or humorous greeting card sent to a sweetheart, friend, or family member, for example, on Saint Valentine's Day.
b. A gift sent as a token of love to one's sweetheart on Saint Valentine's Day.
2. A person singled out especially as one's sweetheart on Saint Valentine's Day

My definition :

Guaranteed to be the year's biggest letdown ( after Birthday and Mothering Sunday). Usually manifests itself as cheap supermarket (or garage) purchase ( made after closing time therefore choice severely limited) . Restricted to half pound box of Quality Street/Roses ( ie. homogenous gift usually bought for unknown relative in the absence of knowing anything about them).

This year I got lucky and in addition to my carton of supermarket after closing hours chocolates I was left a £20 note on the kitchen table. I'm supposing that I should be grateful for this token of affection but it went on groceries . Hardly romantic but then nor was the gesture.

As usual , I have to listen to friends' tales of surprise treats , luxuries and heartfelt tokens of love. Maybe one of these years I'll awake to breakfast in bed and a red rose . Best not hold my breath though.

Mr Snowman R.I.P

As I drove through Bushy Park yesterday the most curious sight greeted me. I can only describe it as a Snowman's Graveyard. Witness to the myriad children building enormous snowmen the week before after the heavy fall of snow , these giant snow sculptures has spent the week slowly melting into shapeless forms , dirtied by the passing traffic. It reminded me of one of those bath fizz balls you get made out of bicarbonate of soda that fizz and melt in bath-water, leaving a cratered sphere as they dissolve.

I couldn't help but feel sorry for them , their moment of glory having passed . They were now abandoned and cheerless, minus their hat and pipe accessories and looking rather grubby . Mr Snowman R.I.P. I could almost hear the distant strains of Walking in the Air playing in the background.

Cybercrop

Sounds like something out of Doctor Who. I won't go into details but it's something you do online with fellow scrapbookers whereby you all take part in the same classes and challenges and and then post photos of your efforts online for others to look at. Here's one of my efforts above.

It struck me as strange that in this day and age , as overpopulated as we are , it is possible to live a life hermetically sealed off from the rest of humanity. You can't beat a good together with like minded souls for a natter and a good laugh ... as they say a day without laughter is a day wasted . Still it has something going for it this cyberworld - at least you can stay in your PJs and it doesn't cost anything. Although I was planning on spending what I'd saved by not going out ... online of course.

OK the novelty of snow has worn off but one good thing is that I've been forced to stay indoors which can only mean one thing ... more time to scrap !
I found these the other day - the sweetest little digital elements designed by one of my all time favourite scrapbookers - Ali Edwards. I suppose you're really supposed to use them digitally on layouts but I'm way to fond of real paper so I printed them off and added a couple ( one in pink and one in acetate ) to my latest layout of my youngest son. They're timeless though and so versatile - I can see myself using them time and time again . Thank you Ali !

Snow !

Look what we woke up to this morning ! No school for the children. Wonder how long we can live off baked beans before venturing to the shops !

Snow

I'm feeling childishly excited at the prospect of a decent snowfall overnight. Eldest son has the prospect of a lie-in tomorrow morning although poor old youngest will still have to go as he's only walking distance away. A good excuse for soup , slippers and the heating on all day. No doubt the country will grind to a standstill ... oh, come to think of it, it already has.

Watched Attenborough on Darwin tonight on BBC1. Amazing to think that we were still believing in Adam and Eve and all that a mere 200 years ago. The power of sophisticated graphics brought it all so well to life . I think I tried to read Origin of the Species when I was a teenager and don't think I managed it . Children today can have the whole theory of Evolution delivered to them in sparkling computer generated special effects on a TV screen in under 52 minutes. Staggering.

Flowers

The last time I received flowers from my husband was Mother's Day 2008 - nearly a year ago. Today I was choosing my '"Dine In for £10" selection from M&S ( lasagna, garlic ciabatta , profiteroles and red plonk in case you're interested) when I came across a bunch of pale pink tulips. I felt compelled to buy them. One hour later my husband walked through the door with a bunch of flowers from M&S - telepathy or what. Now I wonder if I gazed long enough at an online ad for the lovely cream Kitchenaid Food Mixer, would it have the same effect ? Unlikely but I can at least try.

In one hour's time I'm going to watch my youngest son play rugby.

That tripped off the tongue as if it's something I do every week . In fact this is the first time I will ever have done this. Most of the Mum's at his school can be heard to say this all the time - veterans of the touchline.

For us it's a first. He is 9 years old and this is the first time he has ever been selected to represent his school. He can run and catch a ball, follow instructions and knows how to give and take in a team situation and yet this is the first time he has ever been asked to demonstrate this. He may not be A team material but he doesn't have 2 left feet or a white stick.

If I ruled the world, or at least his school, I would make sure that every single child was allowed to feel that crumb of pride as they caught sight of a parent on the sideline, cheering them on in sub zero teperatures. That thrill of seeing their name in print on the fixtures notice-board , that sense of belonging , that they had made it through the selection process , that they were wanted. But no - survival of the fittest prevails and is alive and kicking in the public school system. If you are in the football team, you are likely to be in the rugby team, the cricket team , the swimming team, the badminton team , the athletics squad, the "look Mum I'm the best" team . And if you're not then you'll be left standing in the corridor wondering why you're never quite good enough.

Grand Designs

Yep ... usual couple - no kids then suddenly they get pregnant having shelled out nearly half a million on a landslide of mud with a half decent view. They then spend another half a million ( yeah like right ) on having a bespoke titanium plated, laser drilled, industrial sized staircase hand made by some master craftsman in the Orkneys ( which of course they then have to visit to make sure they've got the exact shade of metal right) whereupon disaster strikes and they blow the budget and think what the hell , we've always wanted a warehouse sized wetroom in the middle of the 'atrium' let's just blow another half a million and be done with it.

What I wanted to know was .... where were all the trappings that come with a baby ? When my boys were babies every square inch was filled with tubs of pastel coloured nappy wipes, ugly sterilising units and hideous primary coloured baby gyms. Presumably their baby is only allowed to have paraphernalia if it matches the shade of high gloss worktops they had specially commissioned for their kitchen. Poor kid ... no Thomas the Tank Engine for you , here's a copy of Architectural Digest to chew on.

Routine

Routine used to bore me rigid. Routine was bad. Now routine is good.

Having children makes you like this. From day one, before you've even left the hospital ( but just after they come round and talk to you about contraception) you're told that you have to get the baby into a routine or else everything will go pear-shaped. What they don't tell you is that everything will go pear-shaped anyway but you still stick to the routine.

Routine becomes a lifeline which enables you to make some sense of the shock of new motherhood. It quickly turns into a millstone round your neck but you stick doggedly to it, just in case discarding it causes everything to go even more pear-shaped. By this time you are so entrenched in your routine that to break out of it would send seismic shock-waves through your life , the ripples from which would stay with you until old age.

My routine is now characterised by what we have for dinner every night and what sports kit the boys need for school that day. So yesterday was not Tuesday but an amalgam of pasta bake and PE and today was chicken and swimming.

Tonight I'm breaking with routine and watching TV. Kevin McCloud returns with a new series of Grand Designs . This will presumably have been recorded before the comically named Credit Crunch and will doubtless feature a string of spendthrift, aspirational, design slaves who will whine at having to cut back on the granite toilet seats because their limestone flooring has gone over budget by thirty grand.

And in case you were wondering tomorrow is pizza and rugby.

Husband has just rung to say he won't be home for dinner , that he's going out with 2 colleagues to a Thai restaurant for dinner. I find myself wondering 2 things ....

1. What it must be like to come home to a meal all prepared for you any evening you want
2. What it must be like to be able to decide at the drop of a hat not to eat that dinner but to choose an alternative

I'm trying to remember back to when I was working and both the boys were little , about whether I ever just rang home and announced alternative dinner plans and I can safely say I never did. I'm also wondering what it must be like to drift from day to day without ever having to load up a supermarket trolley or wonder what on earth to cook or who might help the boys with their homework. All this wondering isn't doing me any good and anyway , got to go , I can hear the pasta boiling over downstairs.

I'm not cut out to do housework

I know this because every time I find myself scraping soap scum out of the shower tray I feel this tidal wave of resentment wash over me. It's the same when I wade through an interminable pile of ironing or drag the hoover round the living room carpet and see the clods of popcorn get sucked up into the void from underneath the sofa.
I worked hard , went to university , got a good degree , clawed my way right to the very top of the glass ceiling and still ended up as an unpaid housemaid. My husband meanwhile gets to talk to grown ups every single day , has good days and bad days but at least feels fulfilled , stretched, challenged. Gets to moan about how hard he works to bring home a salary. How challenged can you feel at tipping out the food waste into the re-cycling bin that stinks of last nights diner and the night before's and the night before that. Today I went to the supermarket. I tipped the same old products into the trolley , hauled them out onto the conveyor belt , tipped them back into the trolley , hauled them out of the trolley into the boot of the car , dragged them out of the boot of the car and into the fridge or kitchen cupboards. I'm getting bored just writing about it let alone doing it week in week out.
If I had daughters I'd tell them not to aspire to anything as it will all end up the same way . How depressing is that ?

It just goes to show...

...that if you use timeless classics and neutral shades then you can get away with decorating every 10 years , although you still can't get those ghastly dark stains above radiators to disappear. We decorated our living room over a decade ago with lovely Farrow and Ball colours and I collected a few antique bits and bob, nothing expensive - just flea market finds, to go on the mantelpiece. There's seagrass on the floor and some brown leather chests about the place plus a lovely rosewood writing desk that belonged to my Great Grandmother. Add a couple of taupe leather sofas ( only DFS so bargain prices ) and my one indulgence at the other end of the scale a ludicrously expensive square leather table from the Conran Shop which I bought back in 1988 ( well , I was working back then and still was able to use the phrase disposable income) and it really does still look good. I'm not saying that IKEA isn't good value but I can't help thinking that if everything was laminate and plastic it wouldn't half look awful by now. Tonight I'm going to sit in there with a glass of something nice and chilled , light a few candles and admire.

Just finished a Layout for Total Papercrafts called " Something Wonderful Happens When I Step Into My Scraproom" Sounds cheesy I know but it's true. It's the equivalent of a tree house when I was a child or my dad in his potting shed. I'm surrounded my lovelieness and pretty things. It's a bit like being in the best haberdashers in the world.... buttons, ribbons, pretty papers. Who wouldn't feel wonderful ?! I think the world would be a happier place if we all had our own 'scraprooms' to envelop ourselves in. A sort of flotation tank experience with pretty colours.

Ebb and Flow

More ebb than flow today . One step forward , two steps back. January blues ? No something , much deeper.
Just when you think you're balancing , albeit precariously , on a fine line with some degree of skill , something or someone comes along and upstes the equilibrium , My new word for 2009 was supposed to be resilience . How does that quote go ? If you can hold your hold your head together whilst other all around are losing there's ... or something like that... is a good modus operandi. I wish I were more resilient . One thing topples and then it's like a domino run , the whole lot comes crashing down. Still it could be worse ... it could be your first day on the new job .... as President of the US. Poor bugger . Who'd want that job ?

Creeping Homogeneity

I saw something awful on a potato packet today . No , not the lesser spotted potato weevil, something FAR worse. It was printed on a label attached to the bag and it read ...
Size 35-40mm. I wondered if maybe it had come unstuck from a shoebox and mistakenly attached itself to my bag of potatoes but no.
It referred to the size of the potatoes in the bag. Every single little spud had been measured ( wonder if they have the equivalent of a Weight Watchers scale ? ) in order to qualify for this bag. Some poor little blighter probably measured in at 41 mm and got given his marching ( or should that be mashing ?) orders. I like my spuds big ... and small .... and somewhere in between. I don't need them to be within strict parameters. I like them to taste nice especially when drizzled with butter . Size as they say ... just doesn't matter.

Delayed Gratification

...or what we'd call eating your greens before the chips.
This is how it works. You go to Sainsbury's , traipse round for an hour shoving the same old same old into your trolley , haul it all out of the trolley , onto the conveyor belt, back into the trolley, out of the trolley into the car, out of the car into the hallway, out of the hallway, into the kitchen , off the kitchen floor and into the fridge or cupboard.
The idea is , you do all of that BEFORE you get to do anything nice for the day. Simple ... delayed gratification. Then again , there's always Ocado . It's a no-brainer really.

To move or not to move

Wouldn't you know it. We decide to move house when property prices hit an all time record slump since slumps have been recorded. Sometimes you have to look at an awful lot of other people's house until you realize that you quite like the one you already live in. Only trouble is ours isn't where we need to it to be.

Another first yesterday. I phoned a radio phone-in. Vanessa Feltz's actually. I was driving round the M25 listening to a discussion about the menopause and felt compelled to pull off the motor-way and phone in. I was put on hold with some dubious re-assurance form the producer that he'd try his best to get me on. Next thing I know I hear Vanessa say " and now we're going to Claire in Teddington". It was all rather hysterical actually. May well do that again. I was convinced that I must have burbled on incoherently but when I listened to it today on i-player what I said sort of meant sense thankfully.

So they're going to build another runway at Heathrow. These days they slap preservation orders on pavements if the local community of frogs use it as a breeding ground and yet they can obliterate a whole village community. Gordon Brown's turning out to be worse than Tony Blair if that were ever possible.

Happy 50th

I can honestly say I've never been happier. Mind you , ask me again in the morning when I'm sober. These are the last few hours of my forties. Tomorrow I will be 50. It is wonderful to feel this happy . Can't explain why. It's like an indescribable euphoria. Wish i'd known then what I know now. Catch up with you tomorrow when the red wine's worn off .