Lots of people require Slade. There are those who tell me it must be Mariah Carey. I'm sure there are a classy few who insist on the Unthanks with In The Bleak Midwinter, and I would happily agree but for me* Christmas starts with John Denver singing Silver Bells, Tom Petty singing It's Christmas All Over Again, then I Believe In Father Christmas for Mark. That one makes him a bit weepy.
So, Christmas playlist blasting out, we tackled The Tree today. I've talked before about my deep and abiding love of Christmas trees. The tree and the present wrapping are my favourite parts of the whole holiday season. We opt for the less attractively shaped Norway Spruce rather than the beautifully regular Nordman Fir because the Spruce smells so wonderful.
We schlepped out to East Keswick Nursery twice this year because they had very few Spruce trees the first visit and promised they were cutting more the next morning. When we returned the following afternoon they'd not got them yet and were very apologetic that we'd made a wasted trip. They sent a young lad off to the fields to cut one down for us, which was very sweet of them and made me feel quite the Special Snowflake.
The one he chose was a bit shorter than we'd wanted but was ridiculously thick and bushy. He struggled to get it through the netting gadget - and we had to shove it through the doorway at home. Raised up a few inches on railway sleeper offcuts, it fit perfectly in the space. Well, perfectly after I pruned a few places where it sort of overwhelmed the couches.
The tree is decorated in a particular order. It's getting it straight in the base unit in the middle of the room, then moving it in situ between the two couches and screwing the base down. Next is pruning extra twigs off so those sitting on a couch over the next two weeks won't find themselves with pine needles in their ears. Then lights, then tinsel, then all the red baubles so they are evenly distributed, then all the silver ones, and finally all the decorations that aren't baubles. There are zillions of those, so the least favourite ones get ignored if we run out of twigs to drape them on.
I do the lights and tinsel myself, faffing about until I'm happy it looks relatively even, and the kids move in to decorate. When they were little they tended to select a branch and pile decorations on it until that branch touched the ground or caused the tree to list rather alarmingly. These days it's all beautifully done. If I were a better mother I'd probably miss the inexpert early years but actually I'm just relieved. I like my tree to be Just So. And I keep forgetting it's 'our' tree and not 'my' tree**.
I was 17 when we moved from Canada to the UK. Back in Ontario we'd walk around the tree plantations in the snow, choose our tree and Dad would saw it down. My parents sold most of our decorations in the yard sale we had to slim down our possessions when we emigrated. Our first Christmas here they were nearly starting from scratch. Rejecting the colourful choices of the past they went for the plain white lights and a theme of white, silver or glass decorations.
Like the stroppy ungrateful teen I was, I had a fit. Yes, it was absolutely beautiful, but I didn't care - it looked like it belonged in a department store window, not in my family home. I wanted the multicoloured lights, the homemade decorations, the red baubles I grew up with. I was further outraged a couple of years later when they bought an artificial tree. Now it didn't even smell of Christmas! Like many kids, I hated change, wanted my Christmas to be like it always had been, down to the same Christmas films and soundtrack. You can add to a Christmas, but you can't change it.
(NB - 30 years on Mum and Dad still have the beautiful white and silver tree, and I still think of it as the New Tree. But I like it now because I know the 'proper' tree is in our house!)
Miss B seems to be following in the same path. She commented today how nice white lights look around the house but that Christmas trees need several hundred multicoloured lights to look like A Proper Tree. She insists the boys hand the decorations with their names on and she hangs the ones that are special to her. She made a slightly pitying comment about people with false trees - "Their houses don't smell Christmassy at all." The smell is a massive thing for all 5 of us.
Tree up, Mark and Zach gave 'gentle' hints about the urgent need for mince pies.
I use my former tutor Judith's recipe for German Paste when making pastry, which is 3 parts flour, 2 parts fat (Trex, butter or a combination depending on your preference), 1 part sugar and an egg to bind it. It's the crispest, lightest melt-in-your-mouth pastry of all the recipes I've tried. Personally I find all pastry a bit of a faff and would rather bake cakes or cookies, but needs must.
The variation on Rachel Allen's mincemeat recipe (see here) is still my favourite. This year I forgot we'd run out of dried apricots and prunes so there are loads more cranberries to make up for it.
I made 3 dozen mince pies, have pastry for another couple dozen in the fridge and a tupperware containing about enough mincemeat for 5 dozen more. The kitchen smells of warm spices and brandy, while the living room smells of pine tree. All was going swimmingly until I burnt my finger through a hole in my oven gloves, which caused me to drop the tray of mince pies. A hefty dollop of ice cream should fix that. Mince Pie Jumble is definitely a bona fide dessert, right?
So now I'm sitting in the dark with just the tree lights on, reflecting on our day's work. Z's at a friend's house, Miss B is wrapping presents, L's taking a break from revising for mock A-levels with a bit of gaming and Mark's cooking dinner. This has been a hard year for many reasons but these quiet moments make everything better.
My very best wishes to you and yours,
xx
*I'm taking Bing Crosby as a given for everyone. He's non-negotiable.
**It totally is my tree. I'm just pretending I share. Everyone knows this.
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
Saturday, 10 December 2016
Thursday, 1 October 2015
In which people are just lovely
I was in for a cracking weekend.
I'd planned it months ago. Registered for Rugby World Cup tickets, booked my Yarndale ticket, had all my favourite things with some of my VERY favourite people. Fantastic.
Friday night Dad headed here to avoid the match traffic and Mark bought fancy fish from the lovely fishmongers and cooked us a gorgeous meal. I'd never had halibut before. It's lovely.
Saturday was match day. Mark, Miss B and Luke went to the cinema to see Inside Out (and were treated to popcorn at the Everyman by the rather ace Jessica who works there) while Dad, Zach and I were off to the rugby. Canada vs Italy, and given the crushing defeat in the Canada vs Ireland I was trying prepare Zach for disappointment. I needn't have worried. It was marvellous.
I mean, yes, in the end Italy won but it started with a 10 point lead for Canada and right up to the last 5 minutes it could have gone either way. Masses of action, great excitement and huge men with beards battling it out mere metres away from us. We were so close to the touch line; any closer and we'd have been in the scrum itself. I'd had a pig of a job sorting out Zach's ticket after they'd allocated him a seat in another part of the stadium. After 4 1/2 hours on the phone I got him moved to directly behind us, assuming I'd take that seat myself. In the event the lovely blokes next to us swapped so we could all be together.
(Given how loudly I cheered, Zach and Dad might have preferred to have left me sitting a little further away. I do get rather excited.)
That evening I got yet more excited watching a punishing match between England and Wales. I texted my apologies to the next door neighbours after an injury-wracked Wales roared to victory in the final moments. Marvellous stuff.
Sunday was Yarndale. All hail the Yarndale crew for a third event that brought so much happiness to others. It was so organised and well considered that it was a joy to attend. I had every faith it would be.
I had hoped to go with my Very Excellent Mate Rach again, but it didn't quite work out. A mum from the school run had asked to go with me, too, but her work schedule clashed with the event. My neighbour Vanesa had also planned to come with me but had to visit a relative in hospital. That's OK - I had a brilliant time the very first Yarndale when I was on my own, so at 9:30am I set off on my beloved Vespa at half nine for a day of yarn, craft and meeting new people. There was plenty of mist and it was pretty chilly but that would soon burn off and we were promised a glorious sunny day. I love a chance to ride in the sunshine through the gorgeous scenery of this region, and I was confident I could squish my purchases into the storage space on the bike.
At 10:25, a few miles outside of Skipton, it went horrible wrong. My poor Vespa lost power and made some truly appalling noises. I drifted to a stop at the hard shoulder of the A65 as lorries blasted past me. My iPhone told me I was 7 minutes from my destination. It was wrong. I wouldn't make it to Yarndale until 2pm.
While I was waiting for the breakdown truck and feeling very isolated indeed, people were ace to me. A bloke in a car on the other side of the carriageway pulled up to say he lived in the next village, so would it help if he fetched me some petrol? Then a guy on a Ducati pulled up. Roger had owned a Vespa ET4 like mine some years back and offered to see if the problem was something he could repair. He had a toolkit on his bike, had a look and a listen.
We agreed our Italian bikes sure had style but that if it was reliability you wanted, Hondas were hard to beat no matter how clunky they looked. Ducati and Vespas were more temperamental beauties. Roger did his best but the fault was beyond his skills. He offered me a lift to Skipton but I needed to stay for the recovery truck. He reluctantly went on his way, but I was very touched by his help and concern.
The lad driving the recovery truck was called David. He and the insurance service were thrashing out the details of taking the bike back home for me as it was 25 miles away and my cover had a 20 mile limit. Drat. Then I remembered Colin Appleyard Motorcycles had a branch nearby. Before their Leeds branch shut down I'd used them for repairs for 15 years - perhaps they could take the Vespa? Google claimed they were open on Sundays, so I started ringing while David loaded the bike up.
We set off, with me continuing to ring the garage. In between calls, David told me all about his upcoming holiday to Dubai with his partner, and how much he was looking forward to it. He was so friendly and pleasant he made a tough situation much nicer. However, Google's information was wrong and the garage was all locked up. Oh bugger.
By this time Mark, with Miss B in tow loudly protesting the interruption of her pancake-making activity, arrived at the garage too. He'd brought me a flask of coffee which is one of the many reasons I love him so much. I drank that while David rang his depot to run something past them. Rather than leave me and my bike stranded or drive the 25 miles to Leeds which still wouldn't get the bike to a garage, David offered to take it back with him to the locked depot overnight and drop it off at Appleyard's in the morning. That meant Mark could take me to Yarndale, the insurance would still cover the distance and the Vespa would be safe and secure until I could get her looked at.
Brilliant!
Mark got me to Yarndale where I had a lovely couple of hours despite feeling knackered by the events so far. Jane from Baa Ram Ewe gave me a big hug when I arrived to help soothe me from my bike upset, and I had a cuppa and a butty before diving into the stalls. I had a go at lacemaking with bobbins like the people I saw on holiday in Bruges - very cool! I met up with exhibitors I knew, chatted to the Yarndale committee, bought everything my mother-in-law requested plus a hank of hand-dyed alpaca wool for myself. I met fellow rugby enthusiast and many, many fellow crochet junkies. I got home by public transport, complete wiped out, and Mark had made me another lovely dinner.
My Vespa is beyond repair, it seems, and I am feeling bereft. But I am also very touched by the friendliness, good nature and kindness shown to me in so many ways by match stewards, fellow fans, motorists, Roger, David and Mark and everyone at Yarndale.
People are just lovely. I'm glad to have met so many of them.
J xx
I'd planned it months ago. Registered for Rugby World Cup tickets, booked my Yarndale ticket, had all my favourite things with some of my VERY favourite people. Fantastic.
Friday night Dad headed here to avoid the match traffic and Mark bought fancy fish from the lovely fishmongers and cooked us a gorgeous meal. I'd never had halibut before. It's lovely.
Saturday was match day. Mark, Miss B and Luke went to the cinema to see Inside Out (and were treated to popcorn at the Everyman by the rather ace Jessica who works there) while Dad, Zach and I were off to the rugby. Canada vs Italy, and given the crushing defeat in the Canada vs Ireland I was trying prepare Zach for disappointment. I needn't have worried. It was marvellous.
I mean, yes, in the end Italy won but it started with a 10 point lead for Canada and right up to the last 5 minutes it could have gone either way. Masses of action, great excitement and huge men with beards battling it out mere metres away from us. We were so close to the touch line; any closer and we'd have been in the scrum itself. I'd had a pig of a job sorting out Zach's ticket after they'd allocated him a seat in another part of the stadium. After 4 1/2 hours on the phone I got him moved to directly behind us, assuming I'd take that seat myself. In the event the lovely blokes next to us swapped so we could all be together.
(Given how loudly I cheered, Zach and Dad might have preferred to have left me sitting a little further away. I do get rather excited.)
That evening I got yet more excited watching a punishing match between England and Wales. I texted my apologies to the next door neighbours after an injury-wracked Wales roared to victory in the final moments. Marvellous stuff.
Sunday was Yarndale. All hail the Yarndale crew for a third event that brought so much happiness to others. It was so organised and well considered that it was a joy to attend. I had every faith it would be.
I had hoped to go with my Very Excellent Mate Rach again, but it didn't quite work out. A mum from the school run had asked to go with me, too, but her work schedule clashed with the event. My neighbour Vanesa had also planned to come with me but had to visit a relative in hospital. That's OK - I had a brilliant time the very first Yarndale when I was on my own, so at 9:30am I set off on my beloved Vespa at half nine for a day of yarn, craft and meeting new people. There was plenty of mist and it was pretty chilly but that would soon burn off and we were promised a glorious sunny day. I love a chance to ride in the sunshine through the gorgeous scenery of this region, and I was confident I could squish my purchases into the storage space on the bike.
At 10:25, a few miles outside of Skipton, it went horrible wrong. My poor Vespa lost power and made some truly appalling noises. I drifted to a stop at the hard shoulder of the A65 as lorries blasted past me. My iPhone told me I was 7 minutes from my destination. It was wrong. I wouldn't make it to Yarndale until 2pm.
While I was waiting for the breakdown truck and feeling very isolated indeed, people were ace to me. A bloke in a car on the other side of the carriageway pulled up to say he lived in the next village, so would it help if he fetched me some petrol? Then a guy on a Ducati pulled up. Roger had owned a Vespa ET4 like mine some years back and offered to see if the problem was something he could repair. He had a toolkit on his bike, had a look and a listen.
We agreed our Italian bikes sure had style but that if it was reliability you wanted, Hondas were hard to beat no matter how clunky they looked. Ducati and Vespas were more temperamental beauties. Roger did his best but the fault was beyond his skills. He offered me a lift to Skipton but I needed to stay for the recovery truck. He reluctantly went on his way, but I was very touched by his help and concern.
The lad driving the recovery truck was called David. He and the insurance service were thrashing out the details of taking the bike back home for me as it was 25 miles away and my cover had a 20 mile limit. Drat. Then I remembered Colin Appleyard Motorcycles had a branch nearby. Before their Leeds branch shut down I'd used them for repairs for 15 years - perhaps they could take the Vespa? Google claimed they were open on Sundays, so I started ringing while David loaded the bike up.
We set off, with me continuing to ring the garage. In between calls, David told me all about his upcoming holiday to Dubai with his partner, and how much he was looking forward to it. He was so friendly and pleasant he made a tough situation much nicer. However, Google's information was wrong and the garage was all locked up. Oh bugger.
By this time Mark, with Miss B in tow loudly protesting the interruption of her pancake-making activity, arrived at the garage too. He'd brought me a flask of coffee which is one of the many reasons I love him so much. I drank that while David rang his depot to run something past them. Rather than leave me and my bike stranded or drive the 25 miles to Leeds which still wouldn't get the bike to a garage, David offered to take it back with him to the locked depot overnight and drop it off at Appleyard's in the morning. That meant Mark could take me to Yarndale, the insurance would still cover the distance and the Vespa would be safe and secure until I could get her looked at.
Brilliant!
Mark got me to Yarndale where I had a lovely couple of hours despite feeling knackered by the events so far. Jane from Baa Ram Ewe gave me a big hug when I arrived to help soothe me from my bike upset, and I had a cuppa and a butty before diving into the stalls. I had a go at lacemaking with bobbins like the people I saw on holiday in Bruges - very cool! I met up with exhibitors I knew, chatted to the Yarndale committee, bought everything my mother-in-law requested plus a hank of hand-dyed alpaca wool for myself. I met fellow rugby enthusiast and many, many fellow crochet junkies. I got home by public transport, complete wiped out, and Mark had made me another lovely dinner.
My Vespa is beyond repair, it seems, and I am feeling bereft. But I am also very touched by the friendliness, good nature and kindness shown to me in so many ways by match stewards, fellow fans, motorists, Roger, David and Mark and everyone at Yarndale.
People are just lovely. I'm glad to have met so many of them.
J xx
Friday, 27 March 2015
Cong-rat-ulations
Parenthood leads me in odd directions. The other week I washed and blow-dried a hen's legs and undercarriage so she wouldn't be too muddy when I took her to visit a class at B's primary school. (The hen was less than delighted but remained stoical.) But more surreal than that was primping Zach's pair of rats ready to enter a show.
The Yorkshire Rat Club was having one of its bi-monthly shows in March. This one was held in a church hall very close to us. Zach heard about it and wanted to enter his rats Naruto and Kakashi into the Pet category.
Being a less-than-thorough kind of lad, he didn't read as far as the entry requirement, application deadline and so on. Being a more-than-thorough type of woman, I did. I contacted the breeder we got them from to check the details, filled in the forms for him and emailed them off. I reserved show tanks and read up what was expected. I did not expect what was expected - giving them a bath and trimming their claws, ideally 3 days before the show.
Rats have tiny, tiny hands. Well, paws, but they look like hands and rats sit up and hold things with them. Their hind paws are bigger, although still pretty small, but the front have minuscule claws. And they aren't best pleased at someone holding them and trying to clip the ends of their nails.
They have mixed feelings about baths, too. Kakashi ran about a bit, clambered over the taps, splashed at the water with his paws and had a good explore. He tolerated the claw trimming with only a few squeaked protests, but I was glad I was the one holding him not Zach - he was very wriggly. Zach was on towel-drying support.
Naruto was outraged by a bath, scrambling to get away. When I dried him and trimmed his claws he swivelled around and bit me. He managed to rake a thin strip of skin from my little finger which took ages to stop bleeding. I knew I liked Kakashi best for a reason.
Somewhat unwisely, Zach pointed out I'd got blood on the rat's fur. When he saw my face, he back-pedalled quickly and said how nice and clean the rats looked. The damned finger lead for 25 minutes.
Leaving the Big Lad to sleep as only teenagers can, the rest of us trouped along to Oakwood church hall on Saturday morning for 10:30 to enter the rats in the show. One of the organisers had suggested putting one rat in Pets and the other in Varieties so they weren't competing against one another. What the heck, we thought, so entered Kakashi as a Silver Fawn rat in the varieties and his plumper brother in the Pet section.
How long do you think a small local Rat Club show can last? There are some bits and pieces to buy from a couple of pet stalls, a tea-and-bacon-butty type counter, and there's waiting for the rats to be judged. I guessed a couple of hours.
I was wrong.
The first 90 minutes were quite fun - lots of people to chat with, animals to play with and so on. The next 90 minutes were more dull. The THREE HOURS after that really dragged, particularly as our phone batteries went flat. Not to mention we were expecting to watch the 6 Nations Wales match that afternoon.
Yes, we were there for over 6 hours. For 4 hours of that, we kept thinking "Surely they're about finished? Surely it will only be another half hour at most." The friendly and enthusiastic people of the Yorkshire Rat Club told us later that it had been a pretty quick show; some can last another hour or two! If we'd any idea we'd have stayed for 45 minutes at the start, left Z with a drink and butty (he was having a lovely time) and bobbed back for the last hour or so to keep him company while he waited for the judging and certificates to be done. It was a looooong and hungry day.
On the plus side we met lots of really lovely people. A family with a girl close to B's age kept us company for most of the time. We chatted about loads of things (although avoiding the topic of rugby in the hopes we could watch it on iPlayer later) and they shared their grapes with the kids. We praised each other's pets to the skies, and had a good old natter to while the hours away. Zach also made friends with several breeders and exhibitors. He was interested in all of it.
The judging was both interesting and funny. The Pet category was judged on criteria that seemed to be "is this rat cute? is s/he friendly?" The judges got each rat out several times and played with, cuddled and messed about with him for ages. They both clearly loved these little whiskery beasties and made a huge fuss of them. Naruto behaved just as he does at home - was quite friendly but mostly wanted to snuggle inside the judge's cardigan. He's a typical male rat - preferring a cuddle and a snooze with people to the energetic exploring the female rats favour. The judge thought he was lovely.
The Varieties category, on the other hand, was like a rodent Crufts. I kept wanting to laugh - I had no idea it could all get so regimented. The judge had a white jacket and everything. Weight, hair length, bone structure and colouring were closely examined against a National Fancy Rat Society standard, which the judge kept in her head (although I saw her google something once.) There was no nonsense, just a focused scrutiny of each animal. The judge ploughed through far more animals than the pet judge in a fraction of the time, while her assistant took copious notes.
4 hours in and Kakashi wasn't even judged. The breeder told us he was a Silver Fawn variety but he was declared by everyone at the show as Argente Cream (don't ask me) and therefore disqualified as being misidentified.
I've included links to Google images. Heaven knows how they tell those colour varieties apart. Some are the same darned photos.
I was rather concerned for Zach. He was massively excited about it all, and I didn't want him to come home without even a certificate. I'll also admit to feeling slightly aggrieved, about which I am embarrassed. I'm immensely fond of Kakashi, he's a lovely natured beastie and my clear favourite, but he isn't even my pet. He's Zach's. So, feeling defensive when others fail to recognise his aceness is doubly ridiculous.
When we spoke to the judge later she said "even in the correct category he'd not be a good example as he's too light boned and his face is narrow while the guard hairs on his rump are too long." I felt like saying 'Yah boo sucks!" because I think Kash is a poppet. And that, my friends, is why I shouldn't go to these things. Well, that and the instant coffee.
At the end of the afternoon the winners were finally announced. Way to go Naruto! He won best buck in the Juniors category, 2nd best overall, 4th in the "Pet Challenge" (we still aren't clear what that involved) and a special award as the one the assistant judge wanted to keep for herself because he was such a sweetie. Zach had and armload of rosettes and certificates, and was just over the moon.
So it was worth it after all. Zach was full of all the people he'd met, the rats he'd played with and bursting with pride and happiness at Naruto's rosettes. It was lovely seeing him so delighted with his day.
The Yorkshire Rat Club was having one of its bi-monthly shows in March. This one was held in a church hall very close to us. Zach heard about it and wanted to enter his rats Naruto and Kakashi into the Pet category.
 |
| Kakashi |
Being a less-than-thorough kind of lad, he didn't read as far as the entry requirement, application deadline and so on. Being a more-than-thorough type of woman, I did. I contacted the breeder we got them from to check the details, filled in the forms for him and emailed them off. I reserved show tanks and read up what was expected. I did not expect what was expected - giving them a bath and trimming their claws, ideally 3 days before the show.
Rats have tiny, tiny hands. Well, paws, but they look like hands and rats sit up and hold things with them. Their hind paws are bigger, although still pretty small, but the front have minuscule claws. And they aren't best pleased at someone holding them and trying to clip the ends of their nails.
They have mixed feelings about baths, too. Kakashi ran about a bit, clambered over the taps, splashed at the water with his paws and had a good explore. He tolerated the claw trimming with only a few squeaked protests, but I was glad I was the one holding him not Zach - he was very wriggly. Zach was on towel-drying support.
Naruto was outraged by a bath, scrambling to get away. When I dried him and trimmed his claws he swivelled around and bit me. He managed to rake a thin strip of skin from my little finger which took ages to stop bleeding. I knew I liked Kakashi best for a reason.
Somewhat unwisely, Zach pointed out I'd got blood on the rat's fur. When he saw my face, he back-pedalled quickly and said how nice and clean the rats looked. The damned finger lead for 25 minutes.
 |
| I am a wimp |
Leaving the Big Lad to sleep as only teenagers can, the rest of us trouped along to Oakwood church hall on Saturday morning for 10:30 to enter the rats in the show. One of the organisers had suggested putting one rat in Pets and the other in Varieties so they weren't competing against one another. What the heck, we thought, so entered Kakashi as a Silver Fawn rat in the varieties and his plumper brother in the Pet section.
How long do you think a small local Rat Club show can last? There are some bits and pieces to buy from a couple of pet stalls, a tea-and-bacon-butty type counter, and there's waiting for the rats to be judged. I guessed a couple of hours.
I was wrong.
The first 90 minutes were quite fun - lots of people to chat with, animals to play with and so on. The next 90 minutes were more dull. The THREE HOURS after that really dragged, particularly as our phone batteries went flat. Not to mention we were expecting to watch the 6 Nations Wales match that afternoon.
Yes, we were there for over 6 hours. For 4 hours of that, we kept thinking "Surely they're about finished? Surely it will only be another half hour at most." The friendly and enthusiastic people of the Yorkshire Rat Club told us later that it had been a pretty quick show; some can last another hour or two! If we'd any idea we'd have stayed for 45 minutes at the start, left Z with a drink and butty (he was having a lovely time) and bobbed back for the last hour or so to keep him company while he waited for the judging and certificates to be done. It was a looooong and hungry day.
On the plus side we met lots of really lovely people. A family with a girl close to B's age kept us company for most of the time. We chatted about loads of things (although avoiding the topic of rugby in the hopes we could watch it on iPlayer later) and they shared their grapes with the kids. We praised each other's pets to the skies, and had a good old natter to while the hours away. Zach also made friends with several breeders and exhibitors. He was interested in all of it.
 |
| The pet judges having a play with some of the entrants |
 |
| Naruto in the yellow cage, taking yet another nap |
The Varieties category, on the other hand, was like a rodent Crufts. I kept wanting to laugh - I had no idea it could all get so regimented. The judge had a white jacket and everything. Weight, hair length, bone structure and colouring were closely examined against a National Fancy Rat Society standard, which the judge kept in her head (although I saw her google something once.) There was no nonsense, just a focused scrutiny of each animal. The judge ploughed through far more animals than the pet judge in a fraction of the time, while her assistant took copious notes.
4 hours in and Kakashi wasn't even judged. The breeder told us he was a Silver Fawn variety but he was declared by everyone at the show as Argente Cream (don't ask me) and therefore disqualified as being misidentified.
 |
| It doesn't matter how alert you are, Kash, you're still out |
I've included links to Google images. Heaven knows how they tell those colour varieties apart. Some are the same darned photos.
I was rather concerned for Zach. He was massively excited about it all, and I didn't want him to come home without even a certificate. I'll also admit to feeling slightly aggrieved, about which I am embarrassed. I'm immensely fond of Kakashi, he's a lovely natured beastie and my clear favourite, but he isn't even my pet. He's Zach's. So, feeling defensive when others fail to recognise his aceness is doubly ridiculous.
When we spoke to the judge later she said "even in the correct category he'd not be a good example as he's too light boned and his face is narrow while the guard hairs on his rump are too long." I felt like saying 'Yah boo sucks!" because I think Kash is a poppet. And that, my friends, is why I shouldn't go to these things. Well, that and the instant coffee.
At the end of the afternoon the winners were finally announced. Way to go Naruto! He won best buck in the Juniors category, 2nd best overall, 4th in the "Pet Challenge" (we still aren't clear what that involved) and a special award as the one the assistant judge wanted to keep for herself because he was such a sweetie. Zach had and armload of rosettes and certificates, and was just over the moon.
 |
| Miss B "helping" him with all those rosettes |
There's another show in May and he's already hoping I'll take him. As long as I have a book, a flask of real coffee and butty, I expect I will.
Because this time Kakashi will win.
J x
Tuesday, 10 March 2015
I've Never Seen Star Wars - family style
Have you heard Marcus Brigstock's show on Radio 4 in the 6:30 comedy slot? It's about people trying things that they've not done before, then rating the experience. It's often very funny - Sandi Toksvig in high heels and Ian Hislop buying jeans both made me laugh.
Confronted with rather bored kids this half term, I suggested we do a family version. We'd each come up with things the others hadn't done and help them give it a go.
First up, Mark taught Miss B how to make coffee with the Baby Gaggia. Oh how I love that machine! Miss B needs a little help removing the group head (the bit the ground beans go in) from the machine ready to fill it with fresh grinds, but other than that she's taken to it like a duck to water. That's brilliant news for me - someone else prepared to make me coffee. B's subsequently made 3 cups of coffee and does a pretty fine job. She gives it "5 or 6 out of 10, probably."
Next, Miss B was the instructor. She showed Z how to plait. I was the supplier of hair to be plaited, which did get painful a few times, but after B's expert tuition he got the hang of it. Sort of. I don't think Nicky Clarke - or even Chris Pratt - need worry though.
Confronted with rather bored kids this half term, I suggested we do a family version. We'd each come up with things the others hadn't done and help them give it a go.
First up, Mark taught Miss B how to make coffee with the Baby Gaggia. Oh how I love that machine! Miss B needs a little help removing the group head (the bit the ground beans go in) from the machine ready to fill it with fresh grinds, but other than that she's taken to it like a duck to water. That's brilliant news for me - someone else prepared to make me coffee. B's subsequently made 3 cups of coffee and does a pretty fine job. She gives it "5 or 6 out of 10, probably."
Next, Miss B was the instructor. She showed Z how to plait. I was the supplier of hair to be plaited, which did get painful a few times, but after B's expert tuition he got the hang of it. Sort of. I don't think Nicky Clarke - or even Chris Pratt - need worry though.
 |
B remained in the teacher's chair for the next two tasks - showing Luke how to thread a needle and Z how to skip. My ace mate Liz Merckel gave Miss B a small sewing kit for her naming day present when she was a baby. In that kit was a needle threader, which B thought was a VERY useful thing when she rediscovered the sewing kit last year. Luke's not got the best fine motor control, so a needle threader means he can easily do something that required concentration before. Top notch.
Out of love for him I have not photographed Z's attempts at skipping. He remained positive and enthusiastic - which was particularly laudable given the conflicting advice B and I were offering - but he just couldn't manage more than 5 skips before getting tangled. I surprised myself by being able to demonstrate it at all; my knees have been dreadful lately and I didn't think I had any jumping in me.
Mark took Luke somewhere to have a go at driving. He absolutely loved it! It wasn't far and the car is an automatic, so there's less to worry about than with a manual stick shift, but Luke did extremely well. He was giddy as a kipper afterwards.
Luke and Mark undercoated Warhammer figures to teach us some painting techniques but one of the lads' mates turned up and activities were suspended while they played hung out.
After dinner was the main event - getting me to play video games.
I do NOT play video games. At all. Ever. Over the years there have been many gaming devices in our house and I haven't been remotely interested in any of them. I do love Civilisation on the laptop, but even then I turn war off if I can and just play the science and culture strands. I don't even know how to turn the Wii U on, nor how the PS3 controllers work. Nor do I wish to. So, when I said I'd give their games a go the kids were very enthusiastic. They've been trying to get me to play for years.
Each of the kids chose a game for me to play: Portal 2, Mario Kart and Call of Duty.
Portal 2 was on the PS3. I found the whole moving and looking around simultaneously thing quite hard - two little joysticks and some buttons for jumping and firing portals at the same time. I disgusted the lads (and had Mark agreeing with me) by preferring "inverted" controls. Apparently people have different views on whether the command Look Up means you tilt the joystick up or down. Charlie Brooker and Dara O'Briain have a long-running disagreement about it. I'm with Brooker - I push forward to look down and back to tilt my view upwards.
A nice thing about Portal 2 - as there was no time pressure I could work each puzzle out and try again and again until I could move about without crashing into stuff constantly. I didn't have to kill anything or get yelled at, I could work it out myself in a calm environment.
The story of Portal 2 contains plenty of wit and imagination. It was a quirky and interesting game. 6/10
Mario Kart on the Wii U with the game pad was a very different controller. The touch screen was nice - just like my iPad - but I found the holding position a little uncomfortable when using it as a steering wheel in the game. It is a brightly coloured and noisy game - like a soft play centre had thrown up on my TV screen.
The pressure to go fast and keep up - even on the slowest setting - had me clenching my feet and forgetting to breathe. When I finished the races I had a dent in my thumb from pressing the A key so hard.
After my 3 warm up races we had a multi-player race. It was awful. The quartered screen didn't give me enough of a idea where I was going so I was endlessly crashing, going the wrong way and falling off the track. My best race position was coming 11 out of 12 and I couldn't wait for the noise to end.
Not for me. 4/10
For Call of Duty I was back on the PS3. This is a FPS - a first person shooter - which meant everything I saw was from my character's perspective. I had the same move/look around controls as Portal 2 with the added aiming and firing, swapping between weaponry and being under time pressure as ghastly zombies came to kill me.
It was utterly horrible. I couldn't control anything worth a damn, the look of the game was dark and horrid, the actual point of the game was all the things I don't like - violence, horror, fear - and I felt a knot in my stomach the second I started. I don't find shooting things remotely fun and I hate horror movies. (I am a wuss who gets nightmares) I think Zach was right to choose it for me as I couldn't really say I'd had a go at video games without trying a FPS. But bloody hell it was unpleasant and I am NEVER going to do it again.
0 out of 10.
When we return to this project Mark will sew a little lavender bag on my sewing machine and B will try a physical activity she hasn't before.
I'm proud of my gang for entering into the spirit of things with such positivity. I like it when we all Fearlessly Attempt things.
Wednesday, 4 February 2015
Birthday Hijinks
December may be given over to Christmas (despite being the birthday months of my friends, father-in-law and the fabulous Miss B) but the party doesn't stop with New Year. With more birthdays than you can shake a stick at, January is a busy month too.
Miss B has more birthdays than the Queen. She had her ACTUAL birthday in December, celebrated with just us, a party tea in early January with her best friend Olivia and our ace WildThing Family mates who came to visit, and her party with school friends in mid January, which was divided into a party for 7 and a sleepover for 3. More of that in a moment.
Zach became a teenager this past month. We went out for dinner as a family on the night itself. With mates he didn't want a big celebration, just some close friends to sleep over after gaming through the night. He wanted a black forest cake like the one mentioned in Portal and Portal 2, but everyone knows that cake is a lie. It said so right on top of it.
(piped with not-properly-melted chocolate on not-quite-set icing as he came down the stairs, so it was pretty messy)
I was really pleased with Bonnie's party this year. I wanted to keep it fairly low-cost while still being loads of fun and something a little different. Knowing how much she loves to dress up and preen, we decided on a "photo shoot."
I ordered some photo props on sticks made from card - glasses, moustaches, bow ties - through eBay for about £4. We moved the big mirror into the kitchen, propped it on the table as a dressing area, and heaped costume jewellery, hair clips, scarves, hats, shawls and anything else we could think or up for the kids to play with.
Using a double duvet cover hung from a shelving unit as a backdrop and old bedside lamps to improve the lighting, we had our "studio."
A couple of old frames with the pictures and glass removed and we were set for the party guests. Of course, we needed a couple of practise models to make sure the lights and backdrop would work ok. What can I say, I've a face for radio.
Miss B has more birthdays than the Queen. She had her ACTUAL birthday in December, celebrated with just us, a party tea in early January with her best friend Olivia and our ace WildThing Family mates who came to visit, and her party with school friends in mid January, which was divided into a party for 7 and a sleepover for 3. More of that in a moment.
(piped with not-properly-melted chocolate on not-quite-set icing as he came down the stairs, so it was pretty messy)
Two nieces, my brother and my mum all have January birthdays as well. I'd taken over gifts for Neil and the girls with the Christmas stuff, but was uselessly behind with Mum's present. I was making her a padded iPad cover, nice and snug to protect it when she travels, but I messed up the measurements and made it 2mm too tight. So I had to start again, and thus post it a bit late. Not exactly ideal, but at least the finished present was nice.
I was really pleased with Bonnie's party this year. I wanted to keep it fairly low-cost while still being loads of fun and something a little different. Knowing how much she loves to dress up and preen, we decided on a "photo shoot."
I ordered some photo props on sticks made from card - glasses, moustaches, bow ties - through eBay for about £4. We moved the big mirror into the kitchen, propped it on the table as a dressing area, and heaped costume jewellery, hair clips, scarves, hats, shawls and anything else we could think or up for the kids to play with.Using a double duvet cover hung from a shelving unit as a backdrop and old bedside lamps to improve the lighting, we had our "studio."
A couple of old frames with the pictures and glass removed and we were set for the party guests. Of course, we needed a couple of practise models to make sure the lights and backdrop would work ok. What can I say, I've a face for radio.
The girls had a fantastic time. I took the pictures with my iPhone, nothing fancy, and kept a tick sheet next to me to ensure I got several photos of each child. I didn't want to discover as I went to print them out I had 25 of Emily and none of Aaliyah (which nearly happened. Aaliyah is much the quietest of them all). In fact, the person I got fewest pictures of in the end was Miss B herself. She was so busy chatting, dancing and helping her friends create 'looks' she nearly forgot to be photographed.
 |
| One girl so heavily disguised even her mum didn't immediately recognise her! |
I took loads of pictures in which the kids gurned, posed, went all Vogue and gangsta, and nearly fell down laughing. It was great fun.
Then I put out the food for them to dig into before settling them down to watch Maleficent on DVD in one room while I edited and printed off the photos in the other. Each girl got her photos as a party bag, along with cake and sweets. I bought 3-packs of those little perspex blocks that hold a crocodile clip for displaying a photo, so each party-goer got her own best shot displayed. I emailed the others to their mums.
All in all, with the cake, sandwiches, brownies, mini-cupcakes, crisps, hummus, veg sticks, grapes, blackcurrant squash, party bag bits and photo paper, I think the cost of the party came to under £40. My Very Excellent Mate Kirsty loaned us the DVD and most of the dressing up things were items we had already - especially hats. We do love hats. One of the most fun and affordable parties I've done in ages.
Before I took the photo studio down, Luke did a quick Zombie Apocalypse 3-D pose. Try not have nightmares OK? If you feed him pizza he probably won't kill you.
Sunday, 4 January 2015
A brief hiatus
Hello again! I hope your Christmas and New Year were all things splendid and pine-needle-scented and you are facing the return to normal life feeling refreshed and invigorated.
I'm not.
I've not blogged throughout December for 2 reasons. The first is this -
I'm not.
I've not blogged throughout December for 2 reasons. The first is this -
I wanted to crochet a blanket for Miss B in time for her birthday (which is near Christmas.) My grandmother could produce amazing works of crochet and embroidery; I wanted to make something of an heirloom for my child to keep with her as she grows up the way I did with Grammy's things. However, it was a much larger project than any I'd undertaken before.
It took me 3 weeks of crocheting pretty much every spare moment of the day. If I was sitting down there was a hook in my hand and the blanket growing across my lap. I took it on the bus, to appointments that I knew I'd be waiting for, to cafes and I didn't watch a moment of television while not simultaneously crocheting like a woman possessed. I certainly had no time for blogging when there were rows to finish.
I am delighted with the result. So is Miss B who carries it around with her to watch TV snuggled with, and drapes across her bed each night. Many thanks to Lucy of Attic 24 for the pattern and the crochet-along encouragement,
The second reason is much less fun. I've been ill. Not anything serious, just unendingly poorly.
Mark and the kids had a nasty virus in November - fevers, sore throats and coughing. The kids had 3 or 4 days off school each, except poor Luke who attended every day because of mock GCSE exams. I caught it on Thursday December 4th - the day I was supposed to be baking for the school fair.
I bailed on the school fair and only made it to the ballet of Lord of the Flies with Luke the next night because I was heavily medicated and Mark kindly drove us to and from Bradford. (He's a top bloke, isn't he?) I spent the weekend and most of the next week in bed. Feverish, achey and weak, I felt very relieved I'd done the Christmas preparation early. Even making mince pies felt exhausting.
I had about a 6 day period of being well during which I slipped away from chores for the day and went to see The Hobbit on my own. It was great, although casting attractive men as dwarves has made me feel a bit funny with each instalment. Richard Armitage and Aidan Turner are too sexy to be dwarves.
Sadly, the few days feeling fine didn't last and the virus reasserted itself. This also happened to Miss B, who missed much of her last week in school. I was laid low by the 20th, got even worse across Christmas Day and Boxing Day and have continued to be raw of throat and coughing fit to die ever since. It's been a full month since I first came down with the thing and it's wearing thin I can tell you.
So, no exciting news to report, no new skills to share and not much time for reflection either.
However, I can share a picture of our tree, complete with the traditional Christmas Lizard inspecting some of the decorations:
And here's the craft bag I made for my niece Cara from old jeans, lined with a sundress B outgrew. I'd give you instructions if I had any - I just sort of made it up. I filled it with projects and kits for Cara to try. She's very creative.
I hope I'm fighting fit by Friday, when I head off for my annual ballet weekend. It's pretty much my favourite event of the year.
Best wishes to you and yours for a happy and peaceful 2015.
J xx
Thursday, 13 November 2014
Robot invasion
Back in April I blogged about the wonderful March of the Robots events the kids and I had such fun attending. This half term saw the climax of the year's festivities with a massive party, and we were first in the queue for tickets.
First of all we went to the chocolate robot workshop in the city centre. We got a set of sweets each, a pot of melted chocolate to use as glue, a stir stick to apply it and a sheet of greaseproof paper on which to assemble our masterpieces.
There was an example on the table to follow, which looked pretty cute. Never managing to resist the urge to jazz food up a bit, I gave it a face and sprayed it with the edible silver spray.
Now, we're not the sort of family to follow instructions if there's a chance to go our own way. The facilitators were split - one kept telling us we were doing it wrong while the other was delighted that we threw ourselves into the activity with originality and enthusiasm. The kids filtered out the "umm, that's not how you do it," and preened at the praise.
Miss B made her Robo-Minnie-Mouse while Z went for something more like a cute version of the Bad Robot logo :
Luke and I both decided to make robots that could stand up. This involved a bit more frustration than initially hoped, and a lot of snapped mint Matchsticks.
Thanks again, Leeds. You did your children proud
First of all we went to the chocolate robot workshop in the city centre. We got a set of sweets each, a pot of melted chocolate to use as glue, a stir stick to apply it and a sheet of greaseproof paper on which to assemble our masterpieces.
There was an example on the table to follow, which looked pretty cute. Never managing to resist the urge to jazz food up a bit, I gave it a face and sprayed it with the edible silver spray.
Now, we're not the sort of family to follow instructions if there's a chance to go our own way. The facilitators were split - one kept telling us we were doing it wrong while the other was delighted that we threw ourselves into the activity with originality and enthusiasm. The kids filtered out the "umm, that's not how you do it," and preened at the praise.
Miss B made her Robo-Minnie-Mouse while Z went for something more like a cute version of the Bad Robot logo :
Luke and I both decided to make robots that could stand up. This involved a bit more frustration than initially hoped, and a lot of snapped mint Matchsticks.
Obviously the kids ate theirs the second they finished then divvied up mine between them. I did snag a few cheeky mini Reeses peanut butter cups from the keen facilitator for myself though!
Next we had a quick look for the little Cubebots hidden across the city centre. I love these little fellows - they have a cute 50s vibe and I love the little LEDs inside that make them glow. Whenever we found a large Cubebot in a shop window we could go inside and claim a little Cubebot kit for myself.
I'm a huge fan of Playful Leeds. I love the spirit of adventure and the willingness to gamble on an idea that motivates Emma and her team. What kind of nutter decides to fill Leeds with 10,000 robots made by people of all ages and backgrounds? And then talks that idea up into funding and then reality? My kind of nutter, that's who. And I want everyone else to throw himself into it too.
So, on our way through town I accosted anyone with a kid to say "Did you know you can make chocolate robots at a free activity for half term just over there? Your little 'un look just the right age to enjoy some building with chocolate." I tweeted about where we spotted the Cubebots and gave hints to anyone we saw clutching a Cubebot map.
By the way, one of the things I LOVE about my kids is that they're fine about having their mother do this stuff. They are resigned that the downside of having a mum who finds out about all the cool stuff to do, is being there while that mum tells total strangers about it. And buys the helpers coffees to say thanks.
After the Cubebot hunting we headed to the main event - the Minecraft party at the Leeds City Museum.
What a party! It was a strange combination of very loud and rather quiet; excited movement and stillness (except for mouse clicks). A hall full of kids, tech and old school craft supplies all for one purpose - having fun. It was brilliant.
In the centre of the room were tables full of kids playing Minecraft. Not a word from any of them - they were focussed on the screen ahead.
Around the perimeter were the activity stations - making Minecraft objects from Hama beads, cutting out and assembling Minecraft paper models, making masks, creating Doodlebots (if you hadn't done so in the Spring) or sewing with conductive thread to make quilt squares with LED lights. This created the noise - kids chatting, laughing, shouting, showing off and asking questions. The combined impression was one of happy chaos.
The quilting woman, Hayley, very kindly let me have a go while the 3 kids were busy Minecrafting. It was remarkable stuff - as soft as flexible as normal thread. I'd love the chance to play with it again. However with my Works In Progress pile being as massive as it is, I daren't buy more supplies so I have managed not to click Buy It Now when I looked i up online. It is Very Cool Indeed, though.
Sunday, 26 October 2014
Brunch for superstars
It's half term here in Yorkshire. The concept of half term confused me when I first moved here from Canada - only 6 weeks of school and already a holiday? 2 weeks as well at Christmas and Easter? Geez, those Brit kids are lucky slackers. But then I realised to my horror that their summer break was only 6 weeks long. Shudder. For someone used to 10 week summers entirely free from the drudgery of homework and classrooms it seemed cruel. How could you feel properly free with school looming over you.
Anyway, here the terms are about 12 weeks long, give or take. Six weeks then a week off in October, February and late May, then the rest of term until Christmas, Easter or late July sets them free again. Once I got used to it I rather liked the rhythm of it. As a parent I love it - regular holiday time with the kids, able to relax and enjoy their company. I'd far rather have them here than in school.
One of the pleasures of the start of the holidays is feeling at leisure. We don't have to cram as much into a weekend, so we can have a lazy breakfast of French toast or eggs and sausages. I fancied making something new to start our languorous start of GMT - the best part of British Summer Time coming to an end. I'd seen a recipe on The Guardian's website called Breakfast of Champions: Rosa Parks' Peanut Butter Pancakes.
Discovered written on an envelope amongst the civil rights heroine's papers, it combined lots of things we love in our house. Pancakes! Easy recipes! Peanut butter! What's not to totally love?
NB - peanut butter is wonderful stuff. I don't mean the healthy, wholefood stuff; I want Skippy, the vastly processed peanut butter I'd had a kid. I never understand why so many people in the UK are resistant to it. Or even worse - spread butter on the bread before the peanut butter. Seriously, that can happen. My in-laws were awful for doing it and it took years for them to drop the habit. It's like eating pizza with a knife and fork.
The recipe calls for 150g of plain flour, 2 tbs of baking powder, 2 tbs of sugar and a bit of salt to be sifted into a bowl. In a jug, beat together 1 egg, 100g smooth peanut butter and 300ml of milk. Because peanut butter is gloopy and milk isn't, I beat the PB and the egg together into a slack-ish liquid before stirring the milk in. They combined really well, and my concerns of blobs of PB floating in a jug of milk were unfounded.
Anyway, mix wet ingredients into dry and let sit on one side for 10 minutes. Then fry blobs of batter in butter to make small American style pancakes. I used a serving spoon as a measure and got nearly 20 pancakes.
They were LOVELY. Miss B went for the traditional PB&J approach and spread them with raspberry jam. Zach, Mark and I went for maple syrup. I'd have sliced banana on them if we'd had any to hand. I know from experience that peanut butter and sliced banana go beautifully on French toast, so I'm sure it would be ace.
Luke... well, Luke marches to the beat of his own drum. Lemon curd is his favourite spread by far. Rather than branch out, he insisted his lemon curd/peanut butter pancake combination was delicious. However, he didn't join the others in mithering for extras. I think he'll opt for chocolate spread when I make them next time.
Once we'd finished all the pancakes we all headed outside to get the garden ready for winter. The kids were absolute stars - helping with weeding, pruning, lawn mowing and clearing up. I cleared out and scrubbed down the polytunnel and did the winter sowing while Mark and the kids cleared the raised beds, top dressed the currant patch and netted off the veg beds from cats. A lovely big empty raised bed looks suspiciously like a litter tray to the local mogs, so we need to keep them out.
Laundry done, shopping sorted, cakes in the oven and the early sunset definitely noticeable, we're feeling all tucked in and cosy. It's a nice way to welcome Autumn in.
Anyway, here the terms are about 12 weeks long, give or take. Six weeks then a week off in October, February and late May, then the rest of term until Christmas, Easter or late July sets them free again. Once I got used to it I rather liked the rhythm of it. As a parent I love it - regular holiday time with the kids, able to relax and enjoy their company. I'd far rather have them here than in school.
One of the pleasures of the start of the holidays is feeling at leisure. We don't have to cram as much into a weekend, so we can have a lazy breakfast of French toast or eggs and sausages. I fancied making something new to start our languorous start of GMT - the best part of British Summer Time coming to an end. I'd seen a recipe on The Guardian's website called Breakfast of Champions: Rosa Parks' Peanut Butter Pancakes.
Discovered written on an envelope amongst the civil rights heroine's papers, it combined lots of things we love in our house. Pancakes! Easy recipes! Peanut butter! What's not to totally love?
NB - peanut butter is wonderful stuff. I don't mean the healthy, wholefood stuff; I want Skippy, the vastly processed peanut butter I'd had a kid. I never understand why so many people in the UK are resistant to it. Or even worse - spread butter on the bread before the peanut butter. Seriously, that can happen. My in-laws were awful for doing it and it took years for them to drop the habit. It's like eating pizza with a knife and fork.
The recipe calls for 150g of plain flour, 2 tbs of baking powder, 2 tbs of sugar and a bit of salt to be sifted into a bowl. In a jug, beat together 1 egg, 100g smooth peanut butter and 300ml of milk. Because peanut butter is gloopy and milk isn't, I beat the PB and the egg together into a slack-ish liquid before stirring the milk in. They combined really well, and my concerns of blobs of PB floating in a jug of milk were unfounded.
Anyway, mix wet ingredients into dry and let sit on one side for 10 minutes. Then fry blobs of batter in butter to make small American style pancakes. I used a serving spoon as a measure and got nearly 20 pancakes.
They were LOVELY. Miss B went for the traditional PB&J approach and spread them with raspberry jam. Zach, Mark and I went for maple syrup. I'd have sliced banana on them if we'd had any to hand. I know from experience that peanut butter and sliced banana go beautifully on French toast, so I'm sure it would be ace.
Luke... well, Luke marches to the beat of his own drum. Lemon curd is his favourite spread by far. Rather than branch out, he insisted his lemon curd/peanut butter pancake combination was delicious. However, he didn't join the others in mithering for extras. I think he'll opt for chocolate spread when I make them next time.
Once we'd finished all the pancakes we all headed outside to get the garden ready for winter. The kids were absolute stars - helping with weeding, pruning, lawn mowing and clearing up. I cleared out and scrubbed down the polytunnel and did the winter sowing while Mark and the kids cleared the raised beds, top dressed the currant patch and netted off the veg beds from cats. A lovely big empty raised bed looks suspiciously like a litter tray to the local mogs, so we need to keep them out.
Laundry done, shopping sorted, cakes in the oven and the early sunset definitely noticeable, we're feeling all tucked in and cosy. It's a nice way to welcome Autumn in.
Thursday, 23 October 2014
Looking for the bright spots
It's important to have something to look forward to, I find, particularly at this time of year.
Spring is easy. The willow tree in my garden goes from bare branches to a yellowish blurring of outlines to a pale green fuzz and then proper leaves. Each stage has me looking towards the next, and the new buds are just so hopeful and full of promise. I know which neighbours have the early blossoming trees in their gardens and which patches of my own will produce flowers next. It's much easier to feel good about the world when the days are lengthening and the world is coming back to life.
Summer - well, that all depends on the weather. A decent bit of warmth and sunshine and I think my cup runneth over. There are vegetables to sow and tend, fruit growing on my trees, and long evenings sitting outside chatting.
Autumn and winter are hard going. I like the quality of light on sunny autumnal days, with that crisp feel to the air and strangely comforting smell of dead leaves. I love snow, and loads of it. But the dark days, the dampness so much a part of this climate and the way the world is painted in a palette of mud tones and grey - it's a tough gig.
So, things to look forward to is my coping strategy.
My best and most reliable thing to look forward to is my annual ballet weekend with my Very Excellent Mate Bon. She's my mate of longest standing in the UK - the first friend I made when I moved here and the only schoolfriend apart from Mark I kept in touch with. The third weekend in January is our usual date but Matthew Bourne's production of Edward Scissorhands finishes early this season, so we're moving it forward a week. I have never yet had a less than lovely time (except when I was 37 weeks pregnant with Miss B and in terrible pain, but that wasn't anyone else's fault.)
I'm browsing hotels for it already and will be able to book my train seats next week.
I am also looking forward to another Matthew Bourne ballet - Lord of the Flies. Luke and I are going together in early December. He studied it for English Lit last year and is keen to see it. I love that my son is interested in all forms of story telling, not just movies or games. We share a lot of films, books, graphic novels and radio programmes together, and it's brilliant. Luke is great company and has an original perspective on things. I am VERY much looking forward to our outing.
Back in early September when East Coast Rail were having a lightning sale I booked train tickets for Miss B and I to go to London together on our own. That's coming up in a month. The plan is to ride the London Eye - which the lads have done but B hasn't - and do everything B is interested in. I expect sweets and toys may be involved. We'll have 5 hours on the train to chat and play and make plans, or reflect on all we've done - and I do love travelling by train. We'll have a brilliant day, and it will be ace to watch her discover her London. I already know the lads' London, and my own.
I am also very much looking forward to one particular aspect of Christmas. I think getting the tree, decorating it and then putting While You Were Sleeping on while I wrap presents in front of it is my all-time favourite part of Christmas. It's that smell. The pine needles may shed and it can be a faff getting the thing upright in the stand, but a real tree is pretty much as good as the festive season can get. Each decoration is an old friend - some made by Mum and me when I was a kid, some by our kids when they were little, some reminders of trips or events in our lives. And lavish amounts of tinsel. And red or silver baubles. I can picture it in my head now and it's fabulous.
The soonest thing I am looking forward to is Sunday, November 2nd at 7pm. At that time my lovely Z will get home from his week-long trip to Germany with Youth Club. He'll be tired out and bursting with all the stories of what he saw and who he met. The house will have all its people home again. I will sit on the couch, probably sharing take away pizza with everyone and listening to Z share all his enthusiasm and pleasure in new things with us while his brother and sister try to talk over him. And it will be brilliant.
Spring is easy. The willow tree in my garden goes from bare branches to a yellowish blurring of outlines to a pale green fuzz and then proper leaves. Each stage has me looking towards the next, and the new buds are just so hopeful and full of promise. I know which neighbours have the early blossoming trees in their gardens and which patches of my own will produce flowers next. It's much easier to feel good about the world when the days are lengthening and the world is coming back to life.
Summer - well, that all depends on the weather. A decent bit of warmth and sunshine and I think my cup runneth over. There are vegetables to sow and tend, fruit growing on my trees, and long evenings sitting outside chatting.
Autumn and winter are hard going. I like the quality of light on sunny autumnal days, with that crisp feel to the air and strangely comforting smell of dead leaves. I love snow, and loads of it. But the dark days, the dampness so much a part of this climate and the way the world is painted in a palette of mud tones and grey - it's a tough gig.
So, things to look forward to is my coping strategy.
My best and most reliable thing to look forward to is my annual ballet weekend with my Very Excellent Mate Bon. She's my mate of longest standing in the UK - the first friend I made when I moved here and the only schoolfriend apart from Mark I kept in touch with. The third weekend in January is our usual date but Matthew Bourne's production of Edward Scissorhands finishes early this season, so we're moving it forward a week. I have never yet had a less than lovely time (except when I was 37 weeks pregnant with Miss B and in terrible pain, but that wasn't anyone else's fault.)
I'm browsing hotels for it already and will be able to book my train seats next week.
I am also looking forward to another Matthew Bourne ballet - Lord of the Flies. Luke and I are going together in early December. He studied it for English Lit last year and is keen to see it. I love that my son is interested in all forms of story telling, not just movies or games. We share a lot of films, books, graphic novels and radio programmes together, and it's brilliant. Luke is great company and has an original perspective on things. I am VERY much looking forward to our outing.
Back in early September when East Coast Rail were having a lightning sale I booked train tickets for Miss B and I to go to London together on our own. That's coming up in a month. The plan is to ride the London Eye - which the lads have done but B hasn't - and do everything B is interested in. I expect sweets and toys may be involved. We'll have 5 hours on the train to chat and play and make plans, or reflect on all we've done - and I do love travelling by train. We'll have a brilliant day, and it will be ace to watch her discover her London. I already know the lads' London, and my own.
I am also very much looking forward to one particular aspect of Christmas. I think getting the tree, decorating it and then putting While You Were Sleeping on while I wrap presents in front of it is my all-time favourite part of Christmas. It's that smell. The pine needles may shed and it can be a faff getting the thing upright in the stand, but a real tree is pretty much as good as the festive season can get. Each decoration is an old friend - some made by Mum and me when I was a kid, some by our kids when they were little, some reminders of trips or events in our lives. And lavish amounts of tinsel. And red or silver baubles. I can picture it in my head now and it's fabulous.
The soonest thing I am looking forward to is Sunday, November 2nd at 7pm. At that time my lovely Z will get home from his week-long trip to Germany with Youth Club. He'll be tired out and bursting with all the stories of what he saw and who he met. The house will have all its people home again. I will sit on the couch, probably sharing take away pizza with everyone and listening to Z share all his enthusiasm and pleasure in new things with us while his brother and sister try to talk over him. And it will be brilliant.
Sunday, 19 October 2014
Wide Awake
"I am wide awake"
It's 1 am. Mark and the kids are in bed. I'm doing the last round of chores - folding the stuff from the dryer, putting another load in the washer, feeding the pets, loading the dishwasher, locking the doors. You know, the usual night time stuff.
I'd made fish cakes for the kids today. I bought lots of coley and a small piece of smoked haddock, poached them in milk while I peeled, cut and boiled spuds. I mashed the fish and spuds together with an egg to bind it, formed it into patties and dipped them in flour, whisked egg white and matzo meal before frying them. I'd made Grandma Curl's potato salad, complete with finely diced boiled egg, green pepper and onion. Mark and I were having fresh mackerel fillets but, knowing the kids didn't like them, I bought ingredients and made a replacement.
This lead to a total hissy fit from two of my kids. OK, they didn't like the fishcakes, fair enough. I won't make them for them again. But today it is the dinner. Today it's what they need to eat, even if it's just a very small portion. Because this isn't a restaurant and you can't order a different meal if you don't like the first one. That's it until breakfast.
(If they have a good go and eat a fair bit, we do offer a piece of toast to fill them up a bit more, but not if they've just had a tantrum. You can judge my parenting if you like.)
Miss B tried to negotiate for a good hour - "I've had a mouthful and that's enough." In the end she was sent to bed after scraping her dinner into the bin. She'd been really rude to us and we decided it was better she not be with other people for a bit.
This was not the punishment it might otherwise have been. For a week-long trial our guinea pigs, Snowy and Pippin, are moving inside to B's room. The cage is clean, I sewed fleece pads to line it and B tidied her room ready. I bathed the guinea pigs and treated them for fleas just in case, and filled their dangling feeder ball with fresh veg and fruit. The guinea pigs were running around exploring their new environment. B would have gone up to her room anyway rather than join the rest of us laughing at The Apprentice on iPlayer.
As usual, I popped in to check on her in the evening. She was fast asleep, but as I leant over to turn off her light she muttered "I'm not asleep at all," before drifting back to light snores.
So, at 1 a.m. when I'm finally going to bed I opened her door. It's a bit stiff and made a noise as it opened. (We have to keep it firmly shut or Isaac the cat barges it open, wakes B and generally is disruptive.)
At the sound, Miss B called out "I am wide awake," in the voice of someone very asleep. I put my hand on her hair, which usually settles her right back again.
"I am wide awake," she murmured again. "It's ok, go to sleep, sweetheart." "Oh, are you wide awake, Mummy?" she asked, rolling further under the duvet, "that's OK then."
And back to sleep.
I have no idea why it was so important B claimed to be awake. Maybe the ignominy of being sent to her room 45 minutes before her actual bedtime made her think she was determined not to go to sleep. Maybe the novelty of guinea pigs in her room made her want to stay up.
Whatever it was, the fact that I was "wide awake" meant she didn't have to be.
Sweet dreams, my stubborn girl.
It's 1 am. Mark and the kids are in bed. I'm doing the last round of chores - folding the stuff from the dryer, putting another load in the washer, feeding the pets, loading the dishwasher, locking the doors. You know, the usual night time stuff.
I'd made fish cakes for the kids today. I bought lots of coley and a small piece of smoked haddock, poached them in milk while I peeled, cut and boiled spuds. I mashed the fish and spuds together with an egg to bind it, formed it into patties and dipped them in flour, whisked egg white and matzo meal before frying them. I'd made Grandma Curl's potato salad, complete with finely diced boiled egg, green pepper and onion. Mark and I were having fresh mackerel fillets but, knowing the kids didn't like them, I bought ingredients and made a replacement.
This lead to a total hissy fit from two of my kids. OK, they didn't like the fishcakes, fair enough. I won't make them for them again. But today it is the dinner. Today it's what they need to eat, even if it's just a very small portion. Because this isn't a restaurant and you can't order a different meal if you don't like the first one. That's it until breakfast.
(If they have a good go and eat a fair bit, we do offer a piece of toast to fill them up a bit more, but not if they've just had a tantrum. You can judge my parenting if you like.)
Miss B tried to negotiate for a good hour - "I've had a mouthful and that's enough." In the end she was sent to bed after scraping her dinner into the bin. She'd been really rude to us and we decided it was better she not be with other people for a bit.
This was not the punishment it might otherwise have been. For a week-long trial our guinea pigs, Snowy and Pippin, are moving inside to B's room. The cage is clean, I sewed fleece pads to line it and B tidied her room ready. I bathed the guinea pigs and treated them for fleas just in case, and filled their dangling feeder ball with fresh veg and fruit. The guinea pigs were running around exploring their new environment. B would have gone up to her room anyway rather than join the rest of us laughing at The Apprentice on iPlayer.
As usual, I popped in to check on her in the evening. She was fast asleep, but as I leant over to turn off her light she muttered "I'm not asleep at all," before drifting back to light snores.
So, at 1 a.m. when I'm finally going to bed I opened her door. It's a bit stiff and made a noise as it opened. (We have to keep it firmly shut or Isaac the cat barges it open, wakes B and generally is disruptive.)
At the sound, Miss B called out "I am wide awake," in the voice of someone very asleep. I put my hand on her hair, which usually settles her right back again.
"I am wide awake," she murmured again. "It's ok, go to sleep, sweetheart." "Oh, are you wide awake, Mummy?" she asked, rolling further under the duvet, "that's OK then."
And back to sleep.
I have no idea why it was so important B claimed to be awake. Maybe the ignominy of being sent to her room 45 minutes before her actual bedtime made her think she was determined not to go to sleep. Maybe the novelty of guinea pigs in her room made her want to stay up.
Whatever it was, the fact that I was "wide awake" meant she didn't have to be.
Sweet dreams, my stubborn girl.
Saturday, 20 September 2014
Please sir, may I have S'more?
Last night, having broken Sober September for a bottle of prosecco, I rashly agreed my middle child could have two mates for a sleepover tonight. Discovering this heinous betrayal this morning, Miss B was incandescent with outrage. "He has sleepovers ALL THE TIME. That's SO unfair!" She has a point - some weekends we barely see Zach for sleepovers, or his room is filled with sleeping bags.
As it turned out, one of his mates couldn't come. But the other could - the one whose younger sister is a big mate of Miss B's. At a stroke I could make her happy and give my lovely mates Kirsty and John a child-free night. So I did.
A chance comment of B's reminded me I had nothing in for snacks. I had foolishly established a 'Midnight Feast' tradition for sleepovers many years back. That translates to snacks in bed - usually eaten within 10 minutes of bedtime rather than late at night - and is a crucial part of the fun of a sleepover.
It's raining. I'm wearing not-suitable-for-viewing-by-other-humans clothing (old stained T shirt, long comfy skirt in jersey, no bra because I hate the uncomfortable things). I've been doing stuff in the kitchen, so the Tshirt is more water and ingredient splattered than normal. I am NOT popping to the shops. So I rooted around in the kitchen and online for ingredients and inspiration respectively.
I decided to try a bar tray bake based on S'mores. The recipe I saw was here. But I don't have graham crackers, I don't have digestive biscuits (the usual UK replacement) and I repeat I am NOT popping to the shops in this outfit. Or in this rain. Heck, I don't have chocolate chips either (used them all up earlier in the week) but I have a bar of chocolate I can smash up.
My kids love shortbread. I figured shortbread was worth trying as a graham cracker replacement. It works for millionaire's shortbread and at least one of my offspring thinks that's the pinnacle of baking. Here's the recipe I usually use :
Cream the butter and sugar until nearly white, add the cornflour and plain flour and combine thoroughly.
As it turned out, one of his mates couldn't come. But the other could - the one whose younger sister is a big mate of Miss B's. At a stroke I could make her happy and give my lovely mates Kirsty and John a child-free night. So I did.
A chance comment of B's reminded me I had nothing in for snacks. I had foolishly established a 'Midnight Feast' tradition for sleepovers many years back. That translates to snacks in bed - usually eaten within 10 minutes of bedtime rather than late at night - and is a crucial part of the fun of a sleepover.
It's raining. I'm wearing not-suitable-for-viewing-by-other-humans clothing (old stained T shirt, long comfy skirt in jersey, no bra because I hate the uncomfortable things). I've been doing stuff in the kitchen, so the Tshirt is more water and ingredient splattered than normal. I am NOT popping to the shops. So I rooted around in the kitchen and online for ingredients and inspiration respectively.
I decided to try a bar tray bake based on S'mores. The recipe I saw was here. But I don't have graham crackers, I don't have digestive biscuits (the usual UK replacement) and I repeat I am NOT popping to the shops in this outfit. Or in this rain. Heck, I don't have chocolate chips either (used them all up earlier in the week) but I have a bar of chocolate I can smash up.
My kids love shortbread. I figured shortbread was worth trying as a graham cracker replacement. It works for millionaire's shortbread and at least one of my offspring thinks that's the pinnacle of baking. Here's the recipe I usually use :
- 250g butter
- 125g caster sugar
- 50g corn flour
- 200g plain flour
Cream the butter and sugar until nearly white, add the cornflour and plain flour and combine thoroughly.
You can use damp hands to roll it into balls and squash them into biscuits, form it into a sausage wrapped in cling film and popped in the fridge until you slice circles off to bake as and when, mix in chocolate chips or fruit zest or poppy seeds and make flavoured biscuits. Or, in this case, press the dough into the base of a lined tray. mid was 23cm square (9 inches in old money)
Bake at 180 until done - usually about 13-15 minutes for biscuits, more like 20-odd for a tray bake. Then I pulled the shortbread out and turned the oven off.
I let the shortbread cool for a couple of minutes while I turned the grill on high. I sprinkled enough mini-marshmallows to mostly cover the base and popped it under the grill for a couple of minutes. Keep an eye on it if you try this - it can burn really quickly.
I battered the hell out of 100g of dark chocolate and sprinkled the bits over the toasted marshmallows. Back it went into the oven where the residual heat melted the chocolate over a few minutes. Then I left it to cool.
Incidentally, the corn flour makes shortbread crisper while remaining buttery. I like that in shortbread but if you prefer your a little softer reduce it or leave it out.
When it came time to sample the results, I found no shortage of volunteers. The bars were lovely! Mark pointed out the shortbread was a little over baked. I'd left it in an extra 5 minutes because I was concerned about the centre being undercooked and the marshmallows making it gooey. I needn't have worried, 18-22 minutes would have been fine.
 |
| I'm sure there were more than that a minute ago |
The visiting mates are here, the pull-out beds are made up, we're all set for Doctor Who tonight and we have shortbread s'mores. What more could a Saturday night offer?
Sunday, 14 September 2014
Summer memories
This summer started off with sunshine and happiness. We had a wonderful family day out at Bolton Abbey, full of tree climbing, splashing in a river and eating ice creams.
We headed into Luke's favourite part of the zoo, the Bat House. I always have to brace myself for entering it because the smell is appalling. I follow the advice of the bloke from Neal's Yard cheese shop of taking some big gulping breathes on the grounds I'll get used to it in 30 seconds. This never happens. The whole time I'm there I feel my nose is being assaulted. However, bats are cool and Luke is cooler, so I go in every time.
There is a little tunnel in the Bat House where hideous things like blind cave fish are kept. As we came out of it, Zach said there were loads of little bats whizzing around him. Luke dismissed this as the wishful thinking of someone mistaking the air movement caused by the larger bats and pooh-poohed the idea. However, standing near Zach very still for a while showed he was right. Tiny fruit bats were circling his legs. As we all stood still they circled us as well and started to land on our fingertips. They were particularly keen on Zach and me. Several nibbled our fingers before flitting off again. It was utterly remarkable. We stayed for a good 15 minutes in the centre of this colony of wheeling bats.
As we left the Bat House and washed our hands, I remembered the ripe melon. I suspect the melon juice on our fingers attracted the bats once we were still enough for them to approach us. Knowing Zach, I am pretty sure he'd have wiped his hands on his shorts, too, hence them starting by circling his legs.
The rest of the day was fun as usual. I happened to be at the Giraffe House (my favourites - such beautiful eyes!) as they were getting their evening meal and enjoyed watching them run in. With such long legs they look like they are going in slow motion while moving very quickly. It's surreal. The keeper told me some new stuff about them - personalities, a possible pregnancy etc - which only reinforced my opinion that all zoo workers are lovely people.
The kids had a week at the grandparents' houses, swapping about a bit between them and generally having a wonderfully indulged time. They never miss us while they are away. This either means they are secure and happy or that we're just rubbish. Pollyanna soul that I am, I'm choosing the former. Sad thoughts? La La La I can't hear you!
While they were away, some entitled soul smashed a side window in our front hall and snatched my handbag. This has caused more flipping effort than you would believe. It's astonishing how much stuff I keep in the handbag I use every day. It's not just the cash and the debit cards, it's all the other gear. Kids' library cards, gift cards, stamps, repeat prescription, Oyster card for London trips, photos of the kids and of my Dad as a toddler (I found it in my grandmother's things when she died and liked it.) Useful numbers, loyalty cards, a couple of tiny souvenirs that make me happy when I see them. Most of the make-up I use regularly. Indeed, I am mostly bereft of make-up as it appears I just shove everything in my handbag and apply it using the living room mirror. I lost 6 lipsticks amongst all the other stuff, which is VERY annoying.
Anyway, a good few days were chewed up by dealing with the police, crime scene team, insurance company, glaziers, and every single company I had a card with. My 'free week' felt a lot less free.
Fortunately, one of the highlights of my year occurred on the Friday - the annual trip to RHS Tatton with my Very Excellent Mate SJ. SJ is one of the most ace people I know. Unfortunately, my kids share that opinion so it can be very hard to have an uninterrupted talk when they are in the vicinity. Tatton is our luxury - a full day looking at garden things, having a picnic and a damned good chat.
We got dressed up for Ladies' Day this year. Here we are reflected in chrome panels flanking one of the show gardens -
I am crediting my dress and the fancy hat thing I borrowed from my friend Kirsty for the fact that SJ and I were invited into one of the show gardens to sit in a remarkable globe chair I'd admired. Stepping over the barrier, I felt like royalty. Or Monty Don, which for gardeners seems to be the same thing. It was great fun.
On the Sunday Mark and I celebrated our 20th anniversary. Or 10th, depending how you count. We spent the wedding money on the deposit for a house 20 years ago. Ever since then we've counted the day we moved in as our anniversary - other people had a wedding; we lived in ours. On our 10th anniversary we went to the registry office with SJ and her partner Rich and got married. (We picked that date so there would be no confusion over when our true anniversary is.)
My idealistic feminism may reject the patriarchal institution of marriage but my pragmatic self wants access to Mark's pension and for him to have rights over the boys (they were born before the law about unmarried parents changed.) So, we think it's our 20th anniversary this year but other people might think 10th.
My lovely parents had the kids to allow us to go to London overnight. We ate a refined and delicious lunch at Rowley Leigh's Cafe Anglais on Sunday (Mark arranged it with himself in mind) and saw the truly wonderful Boyhood by Richard Linklater in the evening. We cried, we smiled, we were charmed beyond words. I do recommend it wholeheartedly.
The next day we went to the Matisse exhibition at Tate Modern. Mark bought me a Matisse lithograph for my 40th birthday - made during his lifetime and overseen by the man himself. We didn't know the original would be included in the exhibition as it is in private hands. It was - hurray! And WOW is it ever massive! I was thrilled to see it in the flesh, so to speak. The whole exhibition was marvellous.
We had lunch at Bocca di Lupo (which Mark arranged with me in mind. I think Italian is the best of all types of food) which was utterly amazing. If you ever get the opportunity to go, I urge you to order a granita cocktail. I had the Bramble - gin, lemon, blackberry liquor - and Mark had the Bloody Mimosa - blood orange juice and prosecco. It was a good job the food was so amazing; in any other restaurant those cocktails would have been the highlight of the experience.
Back home we had a day divided between the den building event in town and the free Breeze festival, which involved me, the kids and a whole pile of their friends. I used my Christmas vouchers for a patisserie day at Betty's (just fabulous). We had a big get-together with many of my Very Excellent mates and their families that ended with 16 people sleeping in our house. There was barely a patch of floor not covered in sleeping bags.
It was so warm, happy and picturesque I felt like we were living a scene from Swallows and Amazons or Five Go Adventuring Somewhere Crime-Free.
A couple of days later we went to one of our favourite places: Chester Zoo. Part of our picnic lunch for this particular visit - at least for Zach and I - was some lovely ripe melon. I think this had a large part to play in what happened next.
A couple of days later we went to one of our favourite places: Chester Zoo. Part of our picnic lunch for this particular visit - at least for Zach and I - was some lovely ripe melon. I think this had a large part to play in what happened next.
We headed into Luke's favourite part of the zoo, the Bat House. I always have to brace myself for entering it because the smell is appalling. I follow the advice of the bloke from Neal's Yard cheese shop of taking some big gulping breathes on the grounds I'll get used to it in 30 seconds. This never happens. The whole time I'm there I feel my nose is being assaulted. However, bats are cool and Luke is cooler, so I go in every time.
There is a little tunnel in the Bat House where hideous things like blind cave fish are kept. As we came out of it, Zach said there were loads of little bats whizzing around him. Luke dismissed this as the wishful thinking of someone mistaking the air movement caused by the larger bats and pooh-poohed the idea. However, standing near Zach very still for a while showed he was right. Tiny fruit bats were circling his legs. As we all stood still they circled us as well and started to land on our fingertips. They were particularly keen on Zach and me. Several nibbled our fingers before flitting off again. It was utterly remarkable. We stayed for a good 15 minutes in the centre of this colony of wheeling bats.
As we left the Bat House and washed our hands, I remembered the ripe melon. I suspect the melon juice on our fingers attracted the bats once we were still enough for them to approach us. Knowing Zach, I am pretty sure he'd have wiped his hands on his shorts, too, hence them starting by circling his legs.
The rest of the day was fun as usual. I happened to be at the Giraffe House (my favourites - such beautiful eyes!) as they were getting their evening meal and enjoyed watching them run in. With such long legs they look like they are going in slow motion while moving very quickly. It's surreal. The keeper told me some new stuff about them - personalities, a possible pregnancy etc - which only reinforced my opinion that all zoo workers are lovely people.
The kids had a week at the grandparents' houses, swapping about a bit between them and generally having a wonderfully indulged time. They never miss us while they are away. This either means they are secure and happy or that we're just rubbish. Pollyanna soul that I am, I'm choosing the former. Sad thoughts? La La La I can't hear you!
While they were away, some entitled soul smashed a side window in our front hall and snatched my handbag. This has caused more flipping effort than you would believe. It's astonishing how much stuff I keep in the handbag I use every day. It's not just the cash and the debit cards, it's all the other gear. Kids' library cards, gift cards, stamps, repeat prescription, Oyster card for London trips, photos of the kids and of my Dad as a toddler (I found it in my grandmother's things when she died and liked it.) Useful numbers, loyalty cards, a couple of tiny souvenirs that make me happy when I see them. Most of the make-up I use regularly. Indeed, I am mostly bereft of make-up as it appears I just shove everything in my handbag and apply it using the living room mirror. I lost 6 lipsticks amongst all the other stuff, which is VERY annoying.
Anyway, a good few days were chewed up by dealing with the police, crime scene team, insurance company, glaziers, and every single company I had a card with. My 'free week' felt a lot less free.
Fortunately, one of the highlights of my year occurred on the Friday - the annual trip to RHS Tatton with my Very Excellent Mate SJ. SJ is one of the most ace people I know. Unfortunately, my kids share that opinion so it can be very hard to have an uninterrupted talk when they are in the vicinity. Tatton is our luxury - a full day looking at garden things, having a picnic and a damned good chat.
We got dressed up for Ladies' Day this year. Here we are reflected in chrome panels flanking one of the show gardens -
On the Sunday Mark and I celebrated our 20th anniversary. Or 10th, depending how you count. We spent the wedding money on the deposit for a house 20 years ago. Ever since then we've counted the day we moved in as our anniversary - other people had a wedding; we lived in ours. On our 10th anniversary we went to the registry office with SJ and her partner Rich and got married. (We picked that date so there would be no confusion over when our true anniversary is.)
My idealistic feminism may reject the patriarchal institution of marriage but my pragmatic self wants access to Mark's pension and for him to have rights over the boys (they were born before the law about unmarried parents changed.) So, we think it's our 20th anniversary this year but other people might think 10th.
My lovely parents had the kids to allow us to go to London overnight. We ate a refined and delicious lunch at Rowley Leigh's Cafe Anglais on Sunday (Mark arranged it with himself in mind) and saw the truly wonderful Boyhood by Richard Linklater in the evening. We cried, we smiled, we were charmed beyond words. I do recommend it wholeheartedly.
The next day we went to the Matisse exhibition at Tate Modern. Mark bought me a Matisse lithograph for my 40th birthday - made during his lifetime and overseen by the man himself. We didn't know the original would be included in the exhibition as it is in private hands. It was - hurray! And WOW is it ever massive! I was thrilled to see it in the flesh, so to speak. The whole exhibition was marvellous.
We had lunch at Bocca di Lupo (which Mark arranged with me in mind. I think Italian is the best of all types of food) which was utterly amazing. If you ever get the opportunity to go, I urge you to order a granita cocktail. I had the Bramble - gin, lemon, blackberry liquor - and Mark had the Bloody Mimosa - blood orange juice and prosecco. It was a good job the food was so amazing; in any other restaurant those cocktails would have been the highlight of the experience.
Back home we had a day divided between the den building event in town and the free Breeze festival, which involved me, the kids and a whole pile of their friends. I used my Christmas vouchers for a patisserie day at Betty's (just fabulous). We had a big get-together with many of my Very Excellent mates and their families that ended with 16 people sleeping in our house. There was barely a patch of floor not covered in sleeping bags.
Miss B spent 16 days in Spain with her uncle and cousins. The lads joined her after a week, travelling with my parents. While they were at home without her we nipped off to watch Guardians of the Galaxy - top fun. We also had the highlight of Zach's whole summer: meeting the author of the Scott Pilgrim graphic novels. Bryan Lee Scott was touring to promote his new graphic novel, Seconds. It's a more mature story; very much a novel that happens to be told in pictures rather than a comic. Bryan was a lovely bloke, very friendly and encouraging. Meeting him, getting an autograph and a photo with him put Zach in a giddy, euphoric mood for days. He even enjoyed queueing for 2 hours to be at the front of the line because talking to the people in the queue "was like finding my people, Mummy!"
While the lads and B were away Mark and I were very busy on our summer project. I'll post all about that in the next little while.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)