Today I went in my parents’ loft for Phase 1 of operation ‘Grow up and shove your own s*it in your own loft’.
In addition to seeking out a box of my university books, I was also hoping to discover some other treasures. Perhaps that lovely compendium of games I could pass onto my younglings, vintage fairy tale books, some dusty vinyl record sleeves we could laugh at in front of a roaring open fire (if we had one)?
What did I come down with? Continue reading »
As a very small child, I remember rolling down the hill beside it with wild abandon and being enchanted by its form. I’ve always had a *thing* for windmills.
It must have been that school trip to Wilton Windmill when I was very young that sparked it. I’ve always wanted to go back and so finding myself with two windmill-obsessed BUBs, last Sunday I suggested we go. Let’s just go, I said. Continue reading »
Yesterday evening, as the BUBs lay on the sofa, up late because of a long afternoon nap, BUB.1 pulled himself around me and said: “Mum, you are my sun.” Continue reading »
Yesterday we were supposed to go to London. We were to hop on the train at the station at the bottom of the village and once we’d arrived at Paddington station we would walk to Regent’s Park to meet Willy Wonka for lunch. But we’ve all got rotten colds so we decided against it. Instead, … Continue reading »
Day trips. Sigh, we’ve been here before, haven’t we? In the dying days of the Easter holidays I’ve undertaken two. One to the Natural History Museum in Tring, stuffed to the rafters with stuffed creatures (and some models – the Dodo for instance). Continue reading »
Caroline was an absolute tonic who reminded me of a female Keith Chegwin. The smiley bits, not the revealing-his-bollocks-on-TV bits. She physically looked like the love-child of two of my best friends, so when she sidled up to me and asked to swap numbers, I was hopeful that I would no longer have to sit at red plastic tables and feed my child uncooked jacket potato and hard grated cheese in order to be social. Continue reading »
Walking through a shopping centre the other day I saw a Dad with a newborn baby tucked under his armpit. The baby was warm, safe, quiet and comfortable. He wasn’t being held in a sling, or cradled like a box of eggs. He was just hanging with his Dad. I felt like David Attenborough for a minute. Yes, we were bathed in the neon pink of HMV’s flickering signage, but it was lovely. Continue reading »
Where does BUB.1 get his accent from? “I’ll shyyyyyyyooow you” he says as he runs to show me his favourite car in a magazine. Meanwhile BUB.2 demands some “mulk”. Mulk? Then you hear it, the sound of your own voice. And your children’s voices are suddenly transformed from the warblings of angels to the cringe-inducing sound of your own terrible, awful, pathetic voice on a tape recorder. BUB.2 has now started to screech Willy Wonka’s name repeatedly, like an old fishwife. The sound of my own voice rings in my ears. Continue reading »
With BUB.1 sitting on a potty and BUB.2 propped up against wall next to him red-faced and spluttering, I found myself wearing a Halloween skeleton mask and a Comic Relief red nose as I leaned head first into the washing machine only to pull out amongst the clothes Willy Wonka’s reading glasses that had been through a 40 degree spin. They were a bit steamed up, but on removal of the skeleton mask I couldn’t see any further damage. A good moment. A highlight. Continue reading »
Whoops. I knew this blogging lark would bite me on the bum. I think it’s been about two months since I’ve written a single word, maybe more. In my defence, I’ve moved house in that time, and the evenings have mostly seen me glaring moodily at boxes and wondering where the puncture repair kit or the wine glasses are or what has happened to my larger jeans. Continue reading »