Call from the Police....

Picture the scene......

A kitchen that looks like a man has been in it for a few hours (oh sorry- this is true), three children doing their   own thing on Saturday morning without Mummy reminding them about homework, reading and brushing their teeth, leaving the Sudocrem alone etc ............ and a lone white telephone on the kitchen table.

(In case you wonder, I was running around an astro-pitch at Glamorgan University Sports Ground and had left the house early and proceeded through permafrost towards Treforest to play hockey).

Imagine the same phone ringing later that morning and my nearest/dearest answering it with his usual cheery "Good Morning! although he may have had to hunt for the phone amongst the bloated cheerios, toast crumbs and Marmite, but needless to say - it was answered.

The conversation apparently went a bit like this.....

• Nearest/Dearest - "Good Morning!"
• Policeman (Cool Tone)- "Good Morning - we have received a 999 Distress call from this number."
• Nearest/Dearest - (Pause with likely thought of "Oh F***) -         Oh.......?
• Policeman (Still Cool)  - "Yes - can you confirm that you do not require this service Sir?
• Nearest/Dearest - "No, sorry, we have no emergency at this number, it must have been my daughter.  Sorry"
• Policeman - "OK, I need to confirm your Name and Address"
• Nearest/Dearest confirmed details, apologised again and the conversation ended.

When I found out, I immediately asked whether we were going to be fined but it would appear that on this occasion (our first ever and last hopefully) we have escaped what appears to be legitimate fine.

You will be pleased to hear that the phone is being relocated immediately to ensure no further calls can be made to jeopardise those who really need it.

Tri Poo!

We recently braved a family visit to London over half-term as #1 wanted to see Big Ben and #2 wanted to see the Queen at Buckingham Palace - as you do being 5.

Thankfully we have dear friends who live on the outskirts of the big city and we were lucky enough to park and leave the car on their drive after a really EASY drive around the M25 to get to them....Yes - it really is possible!!

Anyway, we alighted in Waterloo after a short train journey and then proceeded to walk around the London Eye, Big Ben and Buckingham Palace - the children had been cooped up in the car all the way down the M4 and deserved a good run around.

The prompt for tea from all three of our little cherubs whilst hitting Leicester Square around 1630 was rather stressful, given that we had just negotiated the tube with a buggy and x2 overnight bags so we ended up traipsing into Bella Italia which seemed to offer a reasonably decent children's' menu.

It was then that I noticed that all the tables had been set romantically for two as we (being parents of young children) had not considered the impact of Valentines night......we were however given a table, tucked away where noise levels could hopefully be maintained to a reasonable level.

Our children did us proud.  They were polite, well-mannered and even kept their bottoms on seats throughout the entire meal, except their compulsion to have to go and "check out" the toilets downstairs.  
Naturally they could not go on their own so I was elected to escort both #1  #2 to the depths of the building to probably one of the smallest toilet cubicles on earth......both decided that I had to wait whilst they saw fit to fragrance the air.  I felt like a furtive thief waiting outside their toilet doors, praying that nobody would come in and think I was responsible for the smell....

Upon returning to the table, I whiffed the unmistakeable "poop de Nappy" of #3 which the nearest and dearest was kind enough to contend with whilst I attempted to complete my meal.

You would think this was the end but before the bill arrived, #3 darted under the table and again I suspected "movement"......yes, this time it was my turn to try and change the nappy of a 23 month child, who is happy to tell you she has done a poo, whilst you try and bend your body into a cubicle with no baby changing facility.

10 mins later, we emerge into the wash-room where one of our "table neighbours" breaks London tradition and actually talks to us....."I must say that your daughter here and your children upstairs have really made my husband and myself smile during our meal and we were surprised to hear her (#3) name as its the same as mine and we don't know any others!"

#3 looked at the lady and gave that baleful look that can induce paranoia into the most confident of individuals but I was so pleased to hear friendly feedback from a complete stranger on my young family and their behaviour in public.   It really was a Valentine's moment for the parents but not with the smell of roses...

Image below from http://crappypictures.com/images/old/6a01538f62421f970b01538f666de5970b-800wi.jpg.......says it all!

Miss Mouse and the sore Foof

Ah - the joy of half-term.

Day two and other than swimming, a little light shopping, tea at friends and optician appointments, we have been taking it easy.

This afternoon, whilst upstairs sorting old clothes (a great way to enjoy annual leave)  I heard little footsteps on the stairs, then heard the little voice of #3 (who is not yet two) informing me that she had "ceem on hands mummy, ceem on hands"

I  then saw little fingers, smothered in a white substance,  rise up like ghost posts through the slats in the stairs.

Upon quickly placing her on my hip and from just the smell alone, I knew immediately that the Sudocrem pot had been left lying around.......the conversation went something like this:

• Me - "#3, what have you been doing?"
• #3 - "Put ceem on hands mummy"
• Me - "Why #3?"
• #3  - "Mousey sore foof, mousey sore foof"
• Me - Oh no...........

We then moved into the kitchen, where I discovered "Miss Mouse", her favourite woollen friend, propped up against the wall with her legs akimbo.

Miss Mouse looked something like this.....

I guess it could have been worse.....might have been a sore bottom too.

Cruel words....

A quick post based on the observations of #2 when she recently helped take  #1 to a mid week event.  

I was only told about it whilst out on the weekend with my husband (who like me) inwardly winced at the distinct reasoning behind the open comment.

Apparently it went something like this....

• #2 (with loud voice) - Look Daddy, that person looks like Hagrid!

This comment is unfortunate on a few levels:

1 - The person was a woman.  (The comment was made  in a quiet queue)

2 - Hagrid, as all Harry Potter fans know, is not particularly svelte or feminine

3 - Our failings as parents to encourage our children to keep such pertinent thoughts to themselves

4 - Worse...I immediately realised who #2 was referring to as I have had a similar thoughts myself but could not succinctly place the character.    Shame on me.......

Made some Marmalade!

Its amazing what a spell of bad weather will bring on and in my case this weekend, whilst watching with glee, the melting of the wretched white stuff, I came upon a bag of summer in the form of a netted bag of Seville Oranges.

Now normally I would not have given the bag a moments thought but next to it (product placement in a huge vulgar fashion) were boxes of Preserving sugar......and my mind said "Ooh - Lets Make Marmalade!"

I have never made marmalade before but have watched my Mum over many years creating slightly different variations of what to place on my toast, so I thought, lets have a go.

Trusty Delia's Complete Cookery Course came out from her hiding place in the cupboard and the session began.  It was very therapeutic cutting up the oranges, wiping my smarting eyes when a few became over excited and squirted juice into my retina, but within minutes of the boiling process, my house became infused with a smell of hope.....sunshine and warmth.

Note for next-time - I will remove all the pips like Delia suggested before getting to the stage of testing on a saucer.

After sterilising some old jars (Yes, it is worth keeping some back instead of recycling, but maybe not Pickle Onion ones), I felt rather satisfied with a few hours work - see below for evidence.

Tastes good too according to my highly critical testers.

Snow Kayaking in Crickhowell

To avoid the onset of cabin fever brought on by the recent snowfall, we decided to pull on extra socks, pack a flask of coffee along with a  huge slice of leftover Christmas cake and made our way up to the Table Mountain overlooking Crickhowell.

It was a rather cold slog up through some impressive snow drifts and the temperature chilled as we progressed towards the top but the views were spectacular, not least because we could enjoy them in peace (the children were kindly being looked after and we discovered after, had enjoyed their first ever viewing of Teen Wolf).

The coffee and cake came as welcome relief in the little rocky shelter on the top, not least because the wind had teeth and was positively gnawing away at my nose and ear lobes.  It dawned on me that I should have worn a balaclava perhaps but I always feel I should be wielding a gun and painting my face with mud in order to justify this "look".

Anyway - on our descent, we came across two young men who were clearly up to fun and by this, I mean placing their bottoms into kayaks and then paddling down the snowy steep slopes.  At first I will admit to thinking that perhaps this was not a sensible idea but when I actually saw the one boy travelling at break neck speed,  his paddles acting as both brakes and ballast, I did have a severe moment of "extreme fun envy".    It looked totally exhilarating.    We did wonder at how he would stop prior to slicing through the hedge and potentially decapitating his head but after a few controlled doughnuts, he came to a perfect parallel stop.

I really wished I had been able to film it on my phone but my hands were bloody freezing.  This winter sport appears to be quite popular and when you see it in first person, you really can see what all the potential fuss is all about......Fun Fun Fun.

It's not going well......

Well - I have to admit to not behaving particularly well on the plan to limit my intake of "crap" since my last posting.

It all went wrong when a colleague brought a load of semi-out of date mince pies into the office and I fell at the first hurdle.  In my defence I was sat in a freezing office in one of thee most depressing areas on earth and my cup of tea craved company whilst it travelled down my oesophagus.

Since then, I have also eaten some Celebrations (mostly Twix and Mars) whilst holding back tears when watching the baby elephant starve and die on the recent episode of BBC's brilliant new documentary Africa.

Today, despite the fact that I have eaten a load of dried Apricots and raisins at the desk, I now feel bloated, full of "farts with teeth" and cannot bring myself to get Davina out of her box.

I am planning a muddy run on Sunday.....does that mean I can have a slice of Christmas cake?