Thursday 9th August 2013: Keswick

It's over 24 hours since my parents left our beautiful apartment in Keswick. We are are really missing them although I am happy that there are 2 less people to compete against for the red chair in the bay window. A red, mock-leather single chair set against a sash window where you can watch the world and its wife walking by.

Whether walking towards Keswick town-centre or preparing for a day walking on the Lakeland fells, you can peacefully people-watch from that window all day. Actually, 'peacefully' is a little bit of an exaggeration when you have 2 children under 4 years old running around, also peering out of the window and asking why that "bad man is being shouted at by that angry woman". It was difficult to explain to Bethan why these people were having a domestic and beating each other with their Ordnance Survey maps. 

Rob, the assigned cartographer expert for our trip did try to explain to our daughter that "rookies often have this inflamatory argument when hill-walking for the first-time" an answer which seemed to confuse but satisfy her as she immediately asked afterwards if she could watch 'Princess Stories' for the zillionth time.

Yes, it was obvious that although we didn't want as frenetic a week as we did in Consiton, like wise, we didn't want to sit in our Keswick apartment all day people-watching and listening to Princess Jasmine telling us, yet again, how wonderful bloody Aladdin is.

The Red Chair. A Source of competitiveness
as well as a source of some serious
 people-watching

Keswick really is my idyllic place. Rob and I allowed ourselves some me-time whilst in the Northern Lakes. I chose to spend that time in an antique bookshop searching out original Beatrix Potter books. Rob used his me-time to wonder along the fells and take some breath-taking pictures of some breath-taking landscapes. 

Indeed, I found a copy of Beatrix Potter's "Tale of Pigling Bland" in the book shop which I was thrilled with because it was the 100th anniversary of its first publishing. Usually, it is very difficult to date Ms Potter's books as you have to look at the art work on the inside to ascertain when it might have been published. However, I knew this was from 1942 as inscribed it said, "To my beautiful daughter, love Daddy, 1942". 

There are lots of reasons why people are against writing in books but this particular inscription set my imagination on fire. In 1942 the Allies were being pummeled by the Nazis. Was this a final gift from a father to his daughter whilst on leave from the War? Was this a gift simply to celebrate her birthday? All of that night I kept wondering about who bought the book and who the book was intended for. 

That's the beauty of books, it's not only what is inside them that sparks your imagination but also what they represent on the outside to different people. The history of Beatrix writing 'The Tale of Pigling Bland' and the history of the relationship between the person who sent the book and the person who received it is one of my highlights of being in Keswick. 

What a place...what a picture...well done Rob!

Monday 5th August 2013: Keswick

It's incredible to believe that we have been in Keswick, in the North Lakes, for just over 48 hours.

My parents arrived yesterday morning and it's the first time all weekend that I have had time, on my own, to write my blog.

Keswick is stunning and although it is to be found right in the centre of the Lakeland Fells, there is certainly a sense that it could be a Victorian seaside town. A bit like Matlock in Derbyshire but with lots of outdoor walking shops instead of the many bleary lights of the slots to be found in deepest, darkest Derbyshire.

Actually, I would go as far as to say that the number of outdoor shops in Keswick outnumber people by 4 - 1; there are more outdoor clothing shops than there are sheep grazing on the Fells. And that's saying something.

Rob and I made this assertion whilst travelling around the Keswick one-way system a number of times; reminiscent of the Griswalds when travelling around London in 'National Lampoons'. However, instead of saying, "There's Big Ben!" many times we were saying things like, "Oh! There's a Bootles" (Bootles being a very posh food store in the North of England) and "Exciting! There's the Lake!"

10 minutes later...

"There is the flamin' Lake again, now where the bloody hell is our apartment?". It turned out the apartment was 5 minutes from Lake Derwentwater as stated in the brochure; however, our SAT NAV (i.e Rob) took a wrong turn. 

No one could blame him really. After having a poor night's sleep at The Black Bull in Coniston the night before we left, I'm surprised he didn't drive us into the Lake because we were that tired. Bethan's insistence on familiarising herself with the old Inn House (a place famous for its brewed onsite beer and frequenter, Donald Campbell) during the night meant that the hours ticked by very, very, very slowly.

When we arrived at the apartment, things got better...and then they got worse.

As I was frantically unpacking for the second time in two weeks I overlooked the fact that my 14 month old toddler aka The Destroyer was running around under my feet whilst Rob with Beth's 'assistance' (ahem) was bringing things in from the car.

Disaster struck as I walked backed into the kitchen, slipped, but managed to get up again to see James' face looking down at me whilst holding a bottle of cooking oil - with its lid off! Frantically, I tried to clean up the oil disaster with kitchen roll as my parents were about to arrive and I didn't fancy them re-enacting the end of Torvill and Dean's Bolero as they walked in to the apartment. Damn bloody laminate floors. And oil. And me for putting the bottle within easy-reach of, let's face it' a toddler on a mission of discovery.

It's pure luck that I didn't do any damage to my leg. Although, as Rob pointed out, I was in easy reach of the many outdoor shops that surrounded us if I need lint, bandages, cream... Whilst spread-eagled on the floor I kept imagining the headline, "Woman trips and breaks ankle, not on Helvellyn but on a kitchen floor".

The shame.

Wednesday 30th July: Part 2; Dove Cottage and Rydal Mount (just!)

By the time we reached Dove Cottage (which was quite some time after leaving Grasmere as we got lost a number of times on the way, which is weird considering that the cottage is literally 5 minutes down the road from the centre of the village), it was clear that the children were losing the will to live in the back of the car. I sensed this when James started screaming, "Ageee!!!" and Bethan kept repeating, "Are we in Coniston Daddy?" "Mummy, are we in Coniston?"

Observing the pained look on my face knowing that I would be so close to Wordsworth's cottage, yet so far, Rob suggested that although it wouldn't be quite the same as visiting and wondering around his beloved home, I should run out of the car and quickly take some pictures of the cottage and dash back. This would then mean that we could go and have a look around Rydal Mount, where hopefully, the children could have a run around. Ok, I conceded and ran out of the car into...a coach full of tourists that had just pulled up into the car park too.

As I ran past them in the rain, posh camera around my neck in tow, I began to feel like I was in a damp version of dodge-ball. Undeterred, I continue to run up the slippery cobbled streets, flashing the aforementioned camera at anything along the way. At least, I thought to myself, that I would be able to look at Dove Cottage and its surroundings through the screen bit of my camera later on over a glass of Chenin Blanc.

Another sign; just in case...

Pictures taken on the way up to Dove Cottage. Unfortunately,
a rogue tourist ran ahead of me just as I had
thought that I had the game of dodge-ball in the bag!

Finally, Dove Cottage. I might not have had chance to
get in the cottage but I did some serious damage to my credit card in
the gift shop! You can never have too many Wordsworth
fridge magnets

Next stop was Rydal Mount. By our calculations we would be there approximately 10 minutes after leaving the car park at Dove Cottage. Wrong! Again we got lost and the noise in the back of the car got louder and Louder and LOUDER!!! It was like a noisy version of Total Wipeout; trying to work through all of the obstacles just to get to the prize - to sit on a chair in one of Wordsworth's Houses.

Nearly there...Crap! As we were driving up a steep hill to Rydal Mount there was a funny smell emanating from inside the car and no, it wasn't wafting from James' nappy. Shock! Horror! It was  a burning smell coming from the engine! Now this was a regular occurrence with our previous car, a Rover 25; in fact, if there wasn't a funny smell on a daily basis I would worry. But the C-Max??!! This could not be happening!

Again, undeterred, I told Rob that he would have to look after the car (and subsequently the safety of our children) whilst I attempted to get in Rydal Mount. In the distance, as I ran across more soggy cobbles I could see Rob's head under the bonnet whilst the windows in the car had got very steamy. However, I knew I couldn't let Wordsworth down, I had to reach the entrance to Rydal Mount! It truly was an epic moment!

Unfortunately, Rydal Mount was closing so I had to settle for taking a picture of the sign :-s

Another sign :-s

Wednesday 30th July 2013: Part 1: Grasmere

"I wondered lonely as a cloud..."

Straight into the 'Bags are Good" shop in the centre of Grasmere (that's not strictly true; we had lunch first as has been the custom on this family holiday - eat first; sight-see later).

Oh yes, Grasmere; surely the most beautiful of the Lake District villages? I completely understand why Wordsworth would choose this picturesque utopia to be his home and final resting place. However, it bemuses me to think what he must be thinking about all of the Daffodil-related memorabilia and tat on sale up and down the main street in Grasmere.

As we were pottering around, I wondered when he wrote this, possibly his most famous poem, that he would have ever conceived that it would be immortalised on a magnet which is stuck to fridges up and down the land (including my own - it certainly does a better job of holding up the Chinese menus than the Peter Rabbit one).

After eating lunch at the quaint "Heidi's of Grasmere" and pointing out to the staff that they are in The Lonely Planet, I ventured straight to the shop that said you could buy 3 'Bags are Good' for £10 (cash only). They were simple bags with a simple print and I chose the following: Grandmas are Good, Stewdents (geddit!) are Good and last but not least, Grasmere is Good (surely the understatement of the year).

Bags and £10 in hand, I stood patiently at the till which was basically one that looked liked Arkwright's in Open all Hours and  tentatively balanced on a plinth in the middle of the shop. But no one was behind the till; in fact, there seemed to be nobody looking after the shop at all. After embarrassingly approaching several strangers and asking them if they would they like my £10 for my 3 bags, Rob finally pointed to a door near the till.

Initially I knocked on the door quite courteously but that soon turned to a frustrating bang and culminated in me shouting, "Excuse me! is there anybody in there?"

The door swung abruptly open and a very stern looking woman with a strong west-coast Scottish accent cried out, "For the love of God! I never get a break and can never go for a pee in peace! Every bloody day!". Stunned (and slightly scared), I handed the 'customer assistant' the money and promptly shuffled all four of us out of the shop.

Like lost sheep, we walked around a little shell-shocked and I thought it would be a good idea to see where Wordsworth was buried. There is nothing like visiting a graveyard after being scared to death by a customer assistant, I think.

Once we had scrambled past all of the tourists to get to see where he was buried, it was difficult to ascertain which one was indeed his grave because a) there were lots of grave stones with W Wordsworth on it and b) Bethan kept shouting out that she was bored and hungry (Hungry! We's only just filled our faces an hour earlier!).

I had hoped that my pilgrimage to Wordsworth's grave, the local lad from Cockermouth who had done good, would be a peaceful and romantic one. But it wasn't. Instead, I placed all of my hopes on our next port of call - Dove Cottage. Finally, I get to visit Dove Cottage! Surely this will be the most exciting moment of my adult literary life? Nothing can go wrong...

My need to take pictures of signs on this holiday reached fever-pitch in Grasmere. Sarah Nelson's Original Celebrated Grasmere Gingerbread was delicious, mind.

Tuesday 29th July 2013: Hill Top Cottage, The Lake Disctrict

As The Magical Literary Tour continues, I am mindful of the fact that it may not be to the liking to all of those taking part (i.e. Rob, Bethan and James). With 50% of the Tour being under the age of 4, I thought I would strike a happy medium between books and children and that could only mean one thing in The Lake District; visiting Hill Top Cottage - House of Beatrix Potter (See sign at the left - I'm not sure why but I felt the need to take pictures of signs wherever we went).


Aside from the commercial faux-attraction that is called The World of Beatrix Potter in Bowness, we finally sought out Hill Top which is the real-deal; a National Trust Treasure. In fact, I loved the fact that Beatrix Potter was so intrinsic to the setting up of the NT because of her love of the Lakeland Fells and her desire to preserve them from development, that I decided to join! (Well, that and the fact that you got two months free if you signed up there and then).

According to the lovely Guide (who seemed to pop up everywhere on our Literary Tour) whose admiration for Beatrix was infectious, Ms Potter had left the house as if she had gone for a walk as she wanted people to get a real sense of what it is like. This excited me so much because it meant that most of what we would see wouldn't be behind ropes and we could get a real feel for what the Cottage would have felt like when she actually lived there. My excitement was a little tainted by the posh guy next to me who said to his companion in his best received pronunciation voice, "Well Serge; I think that is quite arrogant". Rob managed to stop me from calling him a tit and ushered me through the small door of the homely cottage.

Watch out Peter Rabbit! The Fun Police (aka
as the posh guy) are out to ruin the children's fun and will
probably try to eat your radishes!

When you go into the cottage another well-versed and enthusiastic tour guide handed Bethan a copy of "The Tale of Pigglin Bland" as 2013 is the centenary of its original publication. The task for the children is to find which parts of the cottage have inspired the illustrations in Beatrix's books.

Bethan was in her element and it was delightful to see.
Although we were asked not to put our bums on the intricate furniture, we could sit on the cottage's beautiful window benches. It was here that Bethan decided to sit down and read the book in her own unique way.

Unfortunately, it was also the same time that the posh guy came into the room who decided to tell Serge that the piano in the room was actually "a long piano" or something. He did it so everyone could hear his knowledge of the musical instrument and seemed to stop when he heard Bethan reading. No, it wasn't to remark on how Beatrix Potter would have loved to see a child sit down and read one of her books in her revered cottage; oh no, it was to sshh her so that he could continue to discuss the instrument before him.

All I can say is thank goodness the artifacts and furniture in the cottage are protected by the National Trust otherwise he would have ended up suffering an injury and helping to create a new Chapter in The Hill Top saga.

 

Monday 28th July 2013: Hawkshead, The Lake District

Roll up, Roll up for the Magical Literary Tour! (See what happened there ;-)

Twelve years after graduating with a degree in English Literature, I finally managed to visit some of the stomping grounds of The Romantics. After explaining to Rob that I didn't mean we had to start looking for Simon-le-Bon and Tony Hadley, we began our Magical Literary Tour. First Stop: Hawkshead.

We decided to pay Hawkshead Grammar School a quick visit which initially felt a little like a Busman's Holiday until I walked through the door and realised that education in eighteenth century Britain did not remotely look like education today. 10 hours of lessons; on wooden benches; full of males. I could only imagine what the National Union of Teachers would say about such a set up.

Wordsworth - you rebel you!

I also discovered that Hawkshead Grammar School's most famous pupil, William Wordsworth, was a bit of a rebel as there was graffiti at his desk where he had carved his name into the wooden bench where he studied. At least he only carved his name into the wooden bench. More often than not, I have taught in classrooms where the graffiti often involves expletives and a few poor spelling mistakes (this is very disheartening for an English teacher when a pupil spells the word 'phuck' on the back of someone else's chair).

Hawkshead truly personified the quaint, beautiful yet under-stated English village. Among the quirky shops and pubs which are shrouded and protected by the beauty of the mountains, there is a special sense of history about it. This adventure is really beginning to heat up!

A very proud moment at Wordsworth's desk

Friday 25th July 2013: Coniston, The Lake District

It is hard to believe after a difficult and very tiring 12 months, that I am sat beside the peace and beauty of Lake Coniston enjoying a glass of cool, crisp Chenin Blanc whilst watching my children play by its lapping shore and observing Rob savour a pint of the Lake District's finest beer and navigating a fishing net at the same time.

Even harder to believe is that exactly one week ago I had my work leaving/birthday party and swore I would never touch a drop of alcohol again. I've not been out partying like that for 5 years and on the basis of how I have felt over the last week, it is clear that I will need another 5 years to build the stamina for an evening as epic as last Friday.

Mind you, I will be 40 and based on the fact that it took me 3 days to recover this time (one day for each major organ), goodness knows how long it would take for me to re-hydrate myself after the big 4-0.

It really is the sublime to the ridiculous. 

As much as I loved the partying, the peacefulness of the lakes and the soulful rest that they bring, is my idea of bliss. Being here with my beautiful family and seeing how happy our children are at the fact that they have their parents to themselves for a whole week, is as overwhelming as the lakes and mountains themselves. 

Don't get me wrong, camping has been fun this year; however, I have also found it quite stressful. Trying to get James to stop pole dancing around the gas canister that we use for cooking whilst holding the huge camping lighter is a tad nerve-wracking. I feel like I either need CCTV placed around the tent or I need to get James tagged. Neither of which I associate with a relaxing holiday.

Yes...as we are all paddling around the Lake where Donald Campbell felt it was a good idea to attempt the water-speed record in the 1960's, there is a sense of calm that I haven't experienced with James whilst sleeping under canvas.

Rob is enthralled with the Donald Campbell story. Nevertheless, I could have told Mr Campbell that travelling across the Lake at over 300MPH in a blue vehicle that resembled the green Thunderbirds 2 aircraft, would end in tears. 

However, as I watch Rob sip his 'Bluebird' Bitter, it dawns on me that who am I too add pragmatism to the legend that was Donald Campbell.

Above: Splashing good fun at Lake Coniston

Wednesday July 23rd 2013: something happened yesterday, I'm sure...

Holy crap! If there was ever a time to have a baby it's now. The likes of Tesco, Asda, Wilkinson's etc are all having royal baby events which basically involve union jack bunting and lots of baby stuff slashed to half price. 

Poor Kate. Not only does she have to contend with supermarkets slashing the prices of their sudocrem, supposedly in honour of the new baby and not in honour of their cash registers, she also had the world's press waiting outside her door. The future Queen might as well have given a Twitter update every half hour on how far she had dilated because she was under that much scrutiny. The amount of photographers waiting for the new family outside the hospital probably meant that she turned down the customary Bounty picture and pack whilst inside. (A small victory for Netmums who are campaigning against pushy Bounty women; however, that does not mean they have won the war. No: even as I write,  new mothers up and down the country are having a Bounty pack forced upon them).

Thinking about this most recent Royal Birth has made me reflect on my earlier blogging, in January, about Queen Victoria's parenting skills. I have a feeling that our future Queen won't be a candidate for The Jeremy Kyle show like Queen Vicky would have been.

My top 5 companies cashing in on the birth of the new Prince are:

5. Clarks baby shoes (ahem) "Shoes fit for a prince!"

4. Mumsnet swears 'By Royal Decree'...A big vote for a Bundler at nighttime. When babies are tiny, they poo in their sleep and a bundler is easier to change than a babygro, so you don't wake them'. Somehow,  I can't imagine this 'decree' ending up on some board outside Buckingham Palace.

3. 'The Baby Show' fancy a 'Royal Trip'  (geddit) to Olympia in Kensington in October - I mean, October is nowhere near bloody July!

2.  BRITAX: A Prince is born..."The beaming couple were seen leaving hospital last night carrying the new prince in a BRITAX Babysafe SHR and Isofix base car" aarrgghh!!!!!

1. Thank the Lord for my beloved Cath Kidson who along with children's charity 'Banardo's' wanted to celebrate the Royal Birth by getting us thinking and digging deep in our pockets to help those children whose need for Clarks shoes, a trip to The Baby Show and a Britax car seat is low on their list of priorities.

Friday 19th July 2013

I think the word is 'vindicated'.

For months I have blogged about Katie Hopkins and her public outbursts that make her either a) a narcissist or b) a complete snob. Finally, however, it seems the rest of the world has cottoned on and our outrage has been personified by the unlikely heroine that is...Holly Willoughby

I refuse to dedicate too much more of my blog time to this woman, however, I feel the need to share a couple of recent Hopkins' Outbursts so that you can chortle at this modern-day Winnie the Shrew.

Story One: According to Hopkins, "ginger babies are harder to love" 

Story Two: According to Hopkins, the acclaimed linguist, "If you have a Northern accent you sound more stupid".

That's me buggered then.

___________________________________

It's my 35th birthday tomorrow and my leaving do tonight. The big question is... Will I finally get my Cath Kidston bag???

The other big question is, will I be sober enough to recognise the difference between a CK bag and an Aldi carrier?

Monday 1st July 2013

I had an interesting conversation with a good friend the other day about nappies; from this point further, I will refer to the following conversation as "nappygate". There are a few reasons that I need to work and getting away from conversations about feeding, nappies and general stay-at-home mum chit chat (in this case, via e-mail), is one of them. If I did, the red mist would veil across my eyes and I would say something that probably wouldn't go down well with a skinny latte and Belgium Bun.

My friend was saying that "nappygate" began by a fellow Alpha mum, who usually stands firmly in the Pampers camp, stating in a group e-mail that she had discovered how wonderful Aldi nappies were. I'm not sure what she was expecting; maybe because they are cheaper she assumed they would be a piece of tissue paper bound by cellotape?

Anyway, my friend replied back to the group that she agreed and said that she had been using them with her son since he was born. Subsequently, the Alpha Mum made a curt reply asking why she had failed to share this information with the group before? My response would have been "Because I'm normal and very busy and unless it comes up in conversation, I don't feel the need to 'spread the word' about nappies; especially via E-mail!" However, my friend is far more diplomatic than me and replied in a way that pacified the situation.

The "nappygate" conversation took an unexpected turn when one of the mum's, a stay-at-home Alpha mum, piped up about the conservationist implications of disposable nappies. Instead, she told the group that she used the re-usable nappies that you can now buy. You know the ones, they are like the terries that you used to wear as a baby with a fabric re-usable nappy over them. Unlike terries, you don't have to have them drying everywhere for example, over the boiler and there is no fear of mutilating your baby with a safety pin.

Suddenly, my friend became like Switzerland in the online conversation with both disposable and reusable camps throwing verbal, sudocream-lined missiles across the virtual space of the internet.

The whole online debacle got me thinking about priorities and whether choosing disposable or re-usable should be one of them. Initially, when I was pregnant with Bethan, I was completely committed to using the re-usable kind because it was ethically the right thing to; or so it had been sold to me.

However, when Bethan was born, what type of nappies she would be wearing was low on my list of priorities as I sat by her incubator and watched her fight for her life. In fact, I'm not sure in the haze of it all, how Bethan actually got her nappies. The only thing of interest to me was being able to see how much the nappy weighed and whether it had any poo in it and what colour the poo was. Green good: brown bad.

Maybe what I am trying to say is that although the "nappygate" issue maybe environmentally important, it's all relative. A great deal of new parents don't get the choice as to which type of nappy you can use. Whether it's due to circumstances or the fact you live in the middle of a war-zone, sometimes spending your time fighting over your choice in nappies isn't worth it. Use your time more effectively by really appreciating the baby that is in it.

As my friend and I finished the conversation she said something very pertinent; stay-at-home mums are not full-time mums. We are all full-time mums whether we choose to work or not. This enlightening conversation with my good friend made me realise that there are a lot of Alpha Mums of the different variety; we are the alpha mums who don't spend as much time as we should trying to out-do each other or make others feel crap about their parenting skills. No. We are the alpha mums who do our best everyday and hope to God that we get it right and gracefully and modestly learn from a situation when we get it wrong. So there! ;-p

June 2013: Week 4

The Dentist! Far worse than having a bloody haircut.

I have come to this decision because at the beginning of Week 4 I had my tooth extracted; the tooth that has cost me a few hundred pounds over the past couple of years has literally uprooted and left my jaw.

Mr Chicken, our wonderfully friendly neighbour who is 85, offered to take me in his wee Ford Ka. I am probably going to sound like the most ungrateful person in the world but I am just going to say it. I honestly don't know what was more scary: the prospect of having my tooth out or being a passenger in Mr Chicken's car. 

We travelled the whole way across Ipswich in 3rd gear. There were times I tried to get hold of the gear stick, willing it to go into 4th without the aid of the clutch but to no avail. When he dropped me off I was actually looking forward to the sedation to help calm me down.

Unfortunately, I have no idea what happened next because I was knocked out and when I came too, I just remembered the Dentist saying, "there is still lots of yellow puss". 

Then I remember Rob picking me up; then I remember trying to go to church the next day but falling asleep with my swollen jaw during the Act of Contrition; finally, I remember being at work on the Monday but have no recollection of how I got there.

Thank goodness I was allowed to come home. I dread to think what might have happened if I had stood up in front if a class of teenagers and keeled over as I read out their homophone spellings. 

I literally lost a week of my life because I felt so crap. It's a shame because I missed Rob's birthday. I'd even bought him a chocolate cake with a 3 and a 7 on it because he was telling everyone, including himself that he was 38. Actually, that's the best present you can get anyone. Giving someone a year of their life back takes some beating ('maybe an iMac?': Rob).

Because of the gaping hole in my mouth I couldn't even eat the damn thing until a week later and by then it was pretty stale and decided to reside in the place where the missing tooth once was.

Oh well, bring on July - the month in which I was born...

Below: The Gruffalo Family planner makes the understatement of the year so far

June 2013: Week 3

Mid-June at Chez Hillier began with a haircut - or half a hair cut in James' case. Even having Rob there couldn't stop the Greek Tragedy that unfolded before us.

Laurie, our wonderfully patient and talented hairdresser comes to our house every six weeks to give us all a cut and trim; everyone except Rob.

No. Rob's loyalties lie with his barber of 14 years. The man who makes more jokes about his wife and mother-in-law than Les Dawson and Bob Monkhouse put together. He uses all of the cliches to describe me, 'The other 'alf'; 'the ball and chain' and my favourite, 'the trouble n strife'. I take no offence at this last one as this piece of Cockney rhyming slang quite literally applies to me, at times, in a domestic and professional capacity. 

However, I do take issue when Rob's barber says, "Is the trouble n strife at home with the bin lids?". Now Sweeney Todd, you can call me what you want but associating my children with refuse disposal is one step too far. I know he is the one armed with sharp blades but I pack a mean punch!

Mind you, on our wedding day 5 years ago, at least the barber gave Rob a free haircut; I can see his strapline now, Come to the barbers for 9 years and get 1 haircut free! Like I said, Rob is a very loyal person and that's why we're married.

However, this admirable quality of loyalty was of no importance to me 2 months ago. To summarise, I was trying to console James whilst I was in the middle of having my hair cut. This is no mean feat I can tell you. Trying to calm a strong and feisty one year old whilst there are scissors, hair products and blow-driers about, behind a cloud of crocodile clips that framed my sodden head, was one of the more challenging episodes I have experienced as a mother.

In desperation, I called Rob at work and all he could hear was James wailing and me shouting, "Help! He is pulling on my crocodile clips!" which meant that Rob had to do a SOS call home; consequently, he had to leave the office during an important meeting. I can tell you - no meeting with fellow computer blokes could have possibly over-shadowed the hysterical scene that he encountered when he walked through the front door. I honestly have no idea where Bethan was during all of this.

Following this particular distressing experience, I insisted that Rob was there to help me restrain James whilst he was having a haircut. It made no difference. At least this time we managed to get James to have half a haircut; it's just a shame that one half of his head is trimmed and neat and the other half looks like an overgrown meadow in the summer.

Poor lad.

Dentist or hairdresser? Dentist or hairdresser? Hmmm... which is worse?

June 2013: Week 2

I suppose Week 2 can best be described as the week where the carbonite set in; everything from this week onwards is pretty blurry.

Having consulted 'The Gruffalo' family planner, I see that we went camping at the beginning of the week with friends of ours and I recall that this was a very happy experience. Looking at photos to confirm what happened 3 weeks ago, it is clear that James and Bethan are in their element when we go camping.

Although we seem to have taken 2 steps forward and 1 back with James as sleeping when we are camping is a problem; in that he doesn't.

When our little night owl is up and my arse is frozen like glue to the floor because our over-priced air bed deflates (always on my side. Should I be paranoid about my big arse causing the problem? If so, unlike the air bed, it doesn't come with a receipt so I can't return it. Unfortunately.),glamping doesn't seem glamorous and the comfort of my own bed beckons.

I recall, somehow, that the beginning of the week was somewhat hazy because of this lack of sleep. 

However, the epi-centre of my memory mistiness comes from the Tuesday of that week when we finally received the 'call'. In teacher-speak that means, 'Holy crap! Armageddon is about to begin as human clipboards come and see how good we are. Ahem. 

Yes, June 2013, Week 2 has a lot to answer for in terms of how inefficient my working memory was. Let's put it like this. A goldfish has more chance of recollecting what it did after a frantic lap of the bowl than I have of what happened the rest of the week.

The only thing I can remember is bring observed and saying something along these lines to the kids at the end of the lesson, "You'd better of learned something, otherwise I will need to get a new job". 

Clipboard Lady - 1

Me - 0

Note to self: Definitely need to consider getting a new job that involves using a clipboard.

June 2013: Week 1

Even though week one was only 27 days ago, it feels like an eternity (the sedation from having my tooth taken out at the weekend has lost me at least 3 days). 

To jog my memory, I decided to consult the free family 'Gruffalo' planner that I got   avec Axel Scheffler inspired stickers (which make the craziest of weeks seem jolly) just to see if anything came back. 

Seriously, this past month has made me feel like Hans Solo in 'The Empire Strikes Back' when he is incarcerated in carbonite and makes a scary but interesting post-modern wall hanging in Jabba the Hut's palace. 

I too have had that pained look on poor Hans' face and felt shivery and blind when I finally come to. Except in this instance, I haven't woken up into the arms of a faux bounty hunter; no, generally, I wake up to being jumped on and attacked by my wee ones which I whole-heartedly prefer :-) 

Week One began extremely well because on the 1st June we held a Cath Kidston-esque/high tea inspired, surprise baby shower for my good pal and fellow Manc living in Suffolk, Lisa. 

Lots of frivolity ensued as we prepared to change our back garden into something that remotely resembled The Dorchester. Ok, a little ambitious but the bad weather worked in our favour as we all ended up huddled around the patio heater eating cakes and finger-sandwiches; drinking tea, Pimms and Prosecco (for the non-pregnant women; we wanted it to feel like The Dorchester and not The Jeremy Kyle show).

Party games and pressie opening capped off a fine afternoon. Even though we had to drag guests from the street so that Lisa didn't see them before she arrived, our covert operation had successfully worked. 

It may not have looked liked The Dorchester but who cares? We wouldn't have been able to play games such as, "Spit the Dummy" at that great London hotel and where would the fun in that be?

Monday 17th June 2013: Where on earth has the time gone?...

...as somehow it's gone past the middle of the month and I have written diddly squat for 17+3 days which is 20 days which is nearly 3 weeks!!! (Carol Vorderman has no worries about her day job; clearly).

There is only one way to describe the severe lapse of cathartic writing and that is via the mode of a diagram: (Please see Fig.1 below):

Diagrams! Ahhhh...how Mr HMI. Sted loves them - especially Pivot Tables (I once again reiterate me+maths/diagrams=BIG Mess).

There is only one way to get through the information from June and that is by splitting the following entries into weeks rather than days because a) I have forgotten most of it (although I have a vague recollection that I remembered getting incensed with seeing Katie Hopkins sofa twice in one week) and b) If I was to write what has happened in this most eventful month, my Blog page would probably resemble the length of the Magna Carta and we know what a riveting read that is.

Here goes...

Saturday 25th May 2013: London, Part 2. A Family Affair

I've been to London many times but going with my own little family and my brother's family was the best. It reminded me of going to the zoo and not because the Capital is full of animals. No, it reminded me of when we went to the zoo last year for the first time with Bethan. Seeing something that you have seen many times before and taken for granted each time, suddenly becomes a whole new world when looking at it through the eyes of a child.

The journey was indeed an intrepid one. It involved: The train (by the way, if you upgrade to First class for an extra £7.00 why do all the people who have paid in advance look at you whilst your children are climbing the table as if to stay, What on earth are children doing in First Class?); the tube; an open top-bus; a taxi (the driver told us off because Bethan had a wet bum. I tried emphatically to reassure him that she had spilled orange juice on herself in the first class carriage on the train but I'm sure he thought it was wee) and a boat trip.

First stop was the greatest toy shop in the world: 'amleys (Still dropping those /h/s). I don't know who had the most fun; Rob and my brother or the kids! The fun continued on our preferred method of transport - Open-top buses are certainly the best way to see a place: Final. I always thought it was such a 'touristy' thing to do and felt like a bit of an inverted-tourist snob but no, it was brilliant because we saw EVERYTHING! We even witnessed Crystal Palace fans singing and cheering on their way to Wembley (they eventually beat Watford 1-0 and I was very pleased because their singing and chanting far exceeded those of Elton John's chosen football club). Apart from being a little wind-swept and having chapped cheeks, it was so much fun.

Favourite time of the day was by the Tower of London because: a) We changed James' pooey nappy outside it and we didn't get arrested for bum exposure in public (according to our own tourist guide, Mr Robert Hillier the Tower is still a prison) and b) We befriended 3 Chelsea Pensioners who humbled us. In fact, one of them, Joe, invited me to visit him at The Royal Hospital in Chelsea. Rob said that only I could visit London with my family and befriend a Chelsea Pensioner.

Lots of amazing memories were made that day. Even the English Defence League who were 'protesting' outside Parliament Square with a huge police presence, couldn't spoil our day. It's ironic really considering they were protesting loudly in one of the largest multi-cultural and diverse cities on earth. Their need to push, shout and generally try to intimidate those who were around (they failed by the way) reminded me of the quote made by Archbishop Desmond Tutu's father who said to him, "Don't raise your voice. Improve your argument".

If only...

Beth's interpretation of her trip to London
(with a little help from me ;-)

Our new friends: Joe is the 3rd in from the left

Wednesday 29th May 2013

What a week!

1. I found out that there is a toilet-paper-holder-stand for the ipad :-)


2. I've become an official campaigner for BLISS. Can't wait to start lobbying the Right Honourable MP for Ipswich, Ben Gummer. Again.  :-)


3. I got me a new job :-)

Saturday 18th May 2013: London, Part 1. A Girlie Affair

After a pretty turbulent week (turbulent in terms of western standards), Rob gave me a day pass and not just of the Oyster variety, so that I could spend time with my nearest and dearest in London.

Think Sex and the City meets Manchester in London and you are close(ish) to setting the scene for the day.

Just back-tracking to the turbulent week.  I think the level of turbulence can be easily summarised by the fact I nearly ran myself over with my car.

As I was getting the shopping out of the boot, I could hear Rob the Wise's wizened words, "Will you please remember to put the hand break on when you park the car". Yes, even writing this I can feel the fear unfolding again in slow motion...

Open the boot of the car; Sainsbury's bags in my hands, clinking; car moving towards me and increasing in speed; drop the bags - find the time to put the clinking one somewhere safe; open the passenger seat door as car is still in transit; spread-eagle myself across the passenger seat as I heroically dive for the hand-break; cheering in the background (err, that never happened:Ed); neighbour walks past to see Sainsbury's bags strewn across the car park floor and me, legs akimbo, facing down over the passenger seat.

Yes, a shopping trip with m'mam and lovely sister-in-law in Covent Garden (or 'Coventry' Garden as I later found that I had been telling everyone via the wonders of predictive text) was just the tonic needed. 

As I arrived at early o'clock in Covent Garden, it was so peaceful and calm. Whilst waiting for the others to arrive, I spied the Disney Store in the corner of my eye and thought to myself, "I will pick up an over-priced Minnie Mouse toothbrush which glitters and sparkles whilst you brush your teeth". I hasten to add that the toothbrush was a gift for Bethan as they don't do an adult one...unfortunately...

Anyway, I saw a very long queue of people outside of the Store and considered if it was really worth queuing for a bloody toothbrush? I decided it was and joined the queue. 

As I stood there, patiently, I was people-watching along the queue for quite some time (people watching - a favourite past-time of mine; especially as I make up stories for the people I watch much to Rob's annoyance) and was disconcerted to see that most of the people looked liked they were of high intelligence and had copies of Tolstoy's War and Peace on their person; I started to consider that the Disney Store would be the last place on earth that they were visiting, never mind queuing for. "Hmmm", I wondered and decided to ask the academic-looking man in front of me (who vaguely resembled Bamber Gascoigne) why they was such a long queue for the Disney Story to which he replied in a very posh voice,

"There isn't daaarrling...Ha! Ha!...we're queuing for tickets at The Royal Opera House so we can be assured of seats to watch Verdi's Don Carlo which has been directed by Nicholas Hytner".

"Doh!" came my reply.

Later that afternoon, we went to 'arrods to get m'mam a bag and looked in 'obbs at some fancy dresses - yes, it was not the time and place for me to forget about dropping my /h/s; however, I was so excited to be with the girls shopping and dining in London with my free day pass that I didn't give an 'oot.

This is my 'Arrods bag from the Mancunian Branch of
the famous London Store. M'mam doesn't know what she's missing :-)

Sunday 5th May 2013: Day Four: No visitors today, just us (eek!)

Today was the first day on the campsite where we four were glamping, sorry, camping alone. For the previous couple of days we have had some visitors and it was fantastic to see them as they really helped with "Stop! James" who had a penchant for pulling himself up onto the free-standing and slightly unstable, gas cooker.

One of my friends who came to visit, brought her beautiful little girl who has been friends with Bethan since they were about 6 weeks old. This particular friend who I met when the girls were still babies completely knows and understands the PTSD I suffered in those first few months following Bethan's difficult birth. I credit meeting her and the other 3 mothers that I also met at that time with helping me learn to laugh and relax around what I considered to be my sick baby.

Back to the campsite.

So, this friend is a Therapist and I was telling her about the difficulties that I thought I would have with my OCD whilst living in a tent on a campsite. Let's face it, campsites aren't known for their 5 star award rating for cleanliness and my knuckles were already cracking and bleeding from the amount of washing and cleaning I had done in the lead up to our camping expedition. Unfortunately, this need to wash my hands before layering on copious amounts of anti-bacterial gel in addition to cleaning door handles at every possible opportunity, stems from being institutionalised on a neonatal ward where the cleanliness has to be meticulous, especially around the premmies.

However, my friend praised me for going on the campsite with my baby and embracing the whole 'back to nature' thing (even though we had an electric fridge and heater, to me I was still heading 'back to nature'). She continued to say that it is good to get out of your comfort zone and build your confidence and the children will benefit from that confidence too.

I'm not even going to suggest for one minute that my OCD is cured as I was on pins about not being able to sterilise (even though James was eating soil sandwiches) but I started to become accustomed to the fact that you can't control everything and dare I say it; I started to relax! Watching Bethan and Rob relax (James kind of did but he was on a Dora and Diego mission to get to the gooey geyser most days; at one point he crawled and climbed through our picnic so he could get to the purple, plastic spoon) really helped and for the first time in about 20 months, I managed to read my 'Time' magazine from cover to cover in one sitting. However, we still brought the cordless Dyson; just in case.

------------------------------------------------

Camping Etiquette - the children's playground *9

*Rob said that I forgot to include this in my previous camping etiquette guide. When on the children's playground, know your place. Priority for the swings and co goes in the following descending order:

1. Recurring visitors to the campsite.
2. Age - the older you are, the more likely you are to be able to go on the swings and flirt with the other teenagers from Meadow 4 who you see each Bank Holiday.
3. Bog - standard young campers like Bethan and James. They didn't care as Beth loved running after the frisbee, bat and ball and plastic skittles that we had brought with us and James enjoyed eating them :-)

Friday 3rd May 2013: Day one in the tent

He-di-hi campers!

Yes, we the Hillier family, have finally made it camping. Well,'Glamping' actually-the negotiations that took place between Rob and I prior to the trip included making sure there was an electric hook up so I could straighten my hair. Which is ironic as I never actually get to do my hair at home. Plus, the fact that I can write this post with a very good 3G signal suggests that we are no where near a forest that harbours bears and things.

Unfortunately, we are more like Ted Bovis and Gladys Pugh than Bear Grylls the Chief Scout dude and that lovely Blue Peter presenter Helen who sailed down the Amazon in a canoe. Even the fancy fleeces that we are wearing, apparently a campsite fashion must, can't disguise the fact that we aren't seasoned campers.

Never mind! All that matters is that we 4 are here to spend quality time together!

Fortunately, we have managed to drag ourselves away from a ballroom lesson with Barry and Yvonne in the 'Club House'. For now, anyway.

We arrived yesterday afternoon at the campsite to a meadow and a pitch that was basked in sunshine; we were all alone and the smell of freshly cut grass made us feel that summer was finally attempting to show its face after such a grizzly winter. Immediately I fell for the romanticised depiction of camping.

That was until we started to put the 6 man tent up. Two and a half hours in the blazing heat and 2 very miserable young children later, we finally had our home for the next few days (don't even get me started on the awning).

If you ever find your relationship in crisis don't bother with expensive therapy. Get to 'Go Outdoors' immediately and buy the cheapest but more importantly, the biggest tent you can find. Two hours later, if you haven't impaled each other with tent pegs, it probably means that this one is for keeps.

Anyway, I didn't cook as I had anticipated. We had chippy from 'Fish'n'Chicken' and went to bed, wondering what our first full day would bring ...