| |
7,813 / 60,000 (13.0%) |
« September 2007 | Main | November 2007 »
I'm working on a story and I've just read the following on about ten different news sites:
"Babies born by Caesarean could be over 70% more likely to die than those born naturally, new research suggests."
And there was me thinking we were all 100% guaranteed to die.
Because I am a berk who scans the information handed to me by the preschool and then immediately forgets everything contained therein, I didn't realise today was an inset day, i.e. Harry is off school.
Luckily, I have recently befriended one of the other mums who texted me this a.m. (literally minutes before we were due to set off) to let me know. (Thanks, Jo!)
I have tons of work to do and very little time in which to do it, so I'll be awol for yet another day.
In the meantime, you can read my Strictly review here, my Dancing With the Stars review here and watch this and tell me if you think she faked it:
Sorry, still trying to stay offline as much as possible, but will be back tomorrow.
I absolutely love this new New York tourism advert. (And I'm finding it hard to believe I really will be there in less than two weeks. I'm also finding it hard to believe I'm really going to leave Harry for almost a week. Eep.)
The view at the end, of the Empire State building, is from Top of the Rock, where I'll be meeting Diane and her mum for lunch. We're so jetset!
Too busy. Work to do. Half term. Out tonight.
Will post forthwith.
(Don't worry Stella, I'm still speaking to you ... just.)
Oh, while I'm here, can I interest anyone in a movie poster for Gone With the Wind? I used to have it on my wall years ago, but it's been rolled up in the wardrobe for about five years now so I might as well send it to a loving home. Let me know if you'd like it!
Did you think I'd finished? Gosh, no. I watch a heck of a lot of TV. So Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. You know how much I love The West Wing (it's my favourite TV show Of All Time) and so I was gormlessly excited about Studio 60.
Then Stella (who, let me just say, once described The West Wing as a "travesty of television") told me it was awful and backed it up by telling me about someone who LOVED The West Wing, but thought Studio 60 was a smug wankfest or somesuch. I must admit, I was a little worried.
But I love it. I get the "smug wankfest" comment, I do. There were a couple of episodes there (the ones with John Goodman, if you've been watching too) that really annoyed the hell out of me because they were smug and condescending, but part of the script was about the fact that the show (the show within the show, I mean) was smug and condescending. I appreciate the fact that when Sorkin is being smug and condescending he knows it, admits to it and doesn't care.
The thing I love the most about Studio 60 (as with The West Wing) is the characters. I love Matt Albee and Danny Tripp (and Sorkin writes male friendship beautifully). I love Harriet Hayes and I love Jordan McDeere.
I loved in the first episode when Matt and Danny were sitting in the fake car and when they came to get out, Matt walked out through the open back, but Danny opened the door and so we learned a little bit about their personalities right there. I really loved the Very Model of a Modern Network TV Show song.
One thing that's missing from Studio 60 is momentum. Very little happens and the stakes are very low so when I finish watching one episode I don't have an overwhelming urge to watch the next (unlike Brothers & Sisters), but when I do watch it, I generally have a smile on my face throughout.
I do wish Sorkin would stop repeating plotlines though. If you've watched Sports Night, The West Wing and Studio 60, you'll notice a lot of the same stuff ... even some of the same lines. I know he used to write on crack, but that's not really an excuse now, is it?
On a related topic, every week when The Guardian previews 30 Rock, it blethers about how it's similar to Studio 60, but genuinely funny. First of all, Studio 60 isn't a comedy, it's a drama, so saying 30 Rock is better because it's funnier is redundant (although I do find Studio 60 very funny). Second of all, I watched the first episode of 30 Rock and, though I loved Tina Fey in Mean Girls, I was put off by the very first sketch being about "Pam - the overly confident, morbidly obese woman". Yeah, hilarious.
Last night, after I put Harry in bed and sang him a selection of requested songs (In the Night Garden theme, Peppa Pig theme, Pingu theme, Postman Pat theme ... do you sense a theme?), I said, as I always do, "Night night, sweet pea. Love you."
And Harry said, "Love oo."
I said, "Pardon? Did you just say 'Love you'?"
And Harry said, "Love oo."
And I had a little cry.
Okay, the toxic babies article also needs to include tips from "real" mums on what parents can do (or what she does) to keep their baby safe from any (or all!) of the following:
* Babies’ socks and shoes – can they cause permanent damage to babies’ feet and legs?
* Babies bottles – is the chemical bisphenol A (BPA) that they contain dangerous to your baby’s health?
* Lead paint in toys.
* Cleaning products and being ‘too clean’ in the home – could you be setting your child up for a life of allergies (eczema, food allergies, etc) if you’re over-zealous with your cleaning at home?
* Pesticides in food – how dangerous are they for your baby, and should you really buy organic food for him?
* Additives in food.
* Combined vaccines (eg MMR).
* Obesity.
Obviously that's a lot of comments, so I'd be grateful for anything any of you have got to say. Only names required, no pics. Thanks!
Saturday was David's birthday and he had requested that I accompany him to the football. It wasn't so much that he wanted my company, it was more that he didn't want to be a billy-no-mates on his birthday. So after a lovely lunch with the in-laws (no, really), they took Harry home with them and me and D headed off to Ewood Park.
It was a while since I'd been on t'match (as they say round these parts) and it was good to be back, even if there were quite a few players I didn't recognise. I did however recognise Roque Santa Cruz pictured because ... well, look at him.
Anyway, I got myself a hot chocolate and we settled in. It was Rovers v Reading and, part way through the first half, a white pigeon landed on the pitch. Well, I say it was a white pigeon, David reckoned it was a dove. A dove! I ask you. Anyway, the pigeon hopped about and pecked, seemingly unaware that 22 men were within stomping distance.
After a few minutes it flew up near the goal and Rovers scored. Once the celebrations were over, the pigeon returned to the pitch and Rovers scored again. I missed that goal because I was looking at the pigeon. Well, clearly this was no ordinary pigeon! Another flutter in the region of the net and Rovers scored again. "It's the pigeon," I told David. "Hmm," he said.
Just before half time, one of the Rovers players took a swing at the pigeon. "Ah, that's it now," I said. "He's jinxed it. You can't take a swing at a magic pigeon." A bit later, I added, "See, they scored three goals and then he took a swing at it and they haven't scored since. The facts speak for themselves." "You're an idiot," said David.
The second half kicked off. "Where's the pigeon?" David asked. It was still up the other end which was now, of course, the goal Rovers were defending. "It'd better get down this end," David said. See? He'd started to believe in the power of the pigeon. And then Reading scored. "Ha!" I said. And then Rovers got a penalty. "Ha!" David said.
And yet, "Where's the pigeon?" he asked me every five minutes. I had become pigeon monitor. Rovers were defending and the pigeon fluttered up near the goal mouth. "The pigeon's just fluttered up," I said. "Reading are going to score now." They scored. "See." I said. We watched the pigeon until the final whistle. It ended 4-2. I enjoyed it immensely. It's not every day you get to see a magic goal-scoring pigeon.
Back we went to the in-laws so I could watch Strictly and David could watch the rugby and all of us could eat cake. A fab day was had by all (except Reading F.C.).
While we were at the match we noticed a poster for a Family Fun Day today and so we decided to take Harry and introduce him to the Rovers. David got the morning off work and off we went. Ostensibly it was to watch the first team training, but that was a disappointment. There were only a few players and they seemed determined not to acknowledge the hundreds of fans who'd come to watch. It would have been a good opportunity to interact with the crowd and add a bit of fun to the training, but no.
David had taught Harry to say, "Get in, Rovers!" a while ago and H shouted it repeatedly and seemed rather excited. Although he was considerably more excited about the bouncy castles than the footballers. As we drove away, Harry said, "Bye bye, Get in Rovers." At some point we'll have to teach him that it's actually Blackburn Rovers...
Yep, my relationship with The Sopranos has been up and down too. Sometimes it's just been too dark and too violent for me to watch and yet I always come back to it.
Partly I think it's because of the amazing acting. James Gandolfini is incredible, but so are everyone else. There isn't one duffer in the bunch (A.J. was a bit wooden in his early teens, but he's going great guns now).
Partly I think it's because it's kind of entertaining to submerge myself in something so entirely amoral. Everything about it is wrong and so I don't worry about the wrongness of any particular event.
I think that might be why I've never really had a problem with the treatment of women. Of course, both Tony's wife Carmela and his therapist Dr Melfi (who was raped in an earlier series - interesting how male scriptwriters often choose to rape a strong female character) are well-drawn characters and both are brilliantly acted. Plus, rather than being decorative or irrelevant, the female characters - Tony's appalling mother, Livia, his sister, Janice, and daughter, Meadow, and particularly Adriana - have been integral to the plot.
Anyway, I seem to have gone off on a tangent - what I wanted to say was that the final series has contained some incredible moments that will go down on my mental "best TV of all time" list (Christopher's demise will be one of them; A.J.'s attempted suicide is another). When it's good, it's brilliant. I just hope the ending isn't too disappointing.
I'm writing a piece for a parenting magazine on the recent health scares relating to babies: lead in paint, toxicity of plastics, etc., and I need a case study of a mum (with a baby aged under 1 year) who is living a completely non-toxic life – i.e. organic diet, avoids baby products such as bottles/toys containing chemicals that may be dangerous, etc.
I'd need her to talk about her lifestyle, when and why she switched, and the benefits she believes non-toxic living has for her baby. Plus I'll need a couple of photos of the mum and baby.
Know anyone?
There is so much great American telly on at the moment, I can quite believe it. It reminds me of the glory days of a few years ago when there was something fabulous on every night of the week and each morning I would work out what day it was by remembering what I'd watched the night before ("Ally McBeal was on last night so it must be ... Thursday!"). Yes, I know my old life was sad and empty.
First up is Brothers and Sisters. Much like The West Wing, I resisted watching this one originally, despite the presence of the glorious Rob Lowe. I didn't watch The West Wing because I thought, "Politics, bleugh". I didn't watch Brothers and Sisters because they showed two at once and it was on past my bedtime. I didn't say my current life was exciting. Anyway, Gabrielle sorted me out with the first season and after watching the pilot I ended up watching something like 12 episodes in four days. (Screen in screen while I worked.) I love it. I love Sally Field. I love Kevin, played brilliantly by the Welsh - Welsh! - actor Matthew Rhys.
Of course I love Sarah played by Rachel Griffiths (though I do persist in thinking of her as Brenda). I love the family dynamic so much that I've actually dreamt I was involved. Yep. Sad. And I really love Rob Lowe's character, Senator Robert McCallister. I've been amazed at how different he is to Sam Seaborn (despite also working in politics albeit for the Other Side). Even after more than 20 years of loving Rob Lowe (admittedly at some times more than others, although that girl actually was legal in most States ... and the UK), I didn't realise he was such a good actor.
Next we have Rescue Me also provided by Gabrielle since it's shown in the UK on Sky One and we lost Sky One to Richard Branson's little spat. I've got mixed feelings about Rescue Me. At first I loved it. Denis Leary's great, I love the humour and the relationships between the firefighters, but then in, I think, the second series, it got too uneven. One week it would be slapstick and hilarious and the next it would be horrifically depressing. I mean, really depressing. I had to stop watching. But then, mainly thanks to Gabrielle's recommendation, I started again and the third series has been great. With one exception. A big exception.
First of all, let me just say that I have a problem with the women in this show. They're all completely insane. Insane in different ways, but, to a woman, totally hatstand. That bothered me at first until I realised that the men are all f*cked up too.* There have been numerous scenarios that basically seem like Denis Leary's w*nk* fantasies, but, you know, it's his show, that's okay.
* Who am I asterisking for? It just seems polite.
But then in the third series the character he plays, Tommy, went round to see his miserable ex-wife who had recently begun a relationship with his brother. And raped her. And left, clearly pleased with himself. The brother came home and the wife, instead of being devastated, had tidied herself up and greeted him with a smile. Then, a few days (presumably) later, she comes round to see Tommy and she's wearing a mac. She drops the mac and she's in her underwear. She pushes him down on the sofa, mounts him, rides him and then leaves saying, "Payback's a bitch." Payback's a bitch? We were supposed to equate that with his rape of her? That was her revenge? Seriously? It plays in to the belief that women actually enjoy rape and it disturbed me profoundly. Oh and of course, it left Tommy smiling again.
And yet, despite the above, I haven't stopped watching. I feel like I should have, but generally it's so entertaining and so well-written that I can't. I need to be more like Meg Cabot and have a definite cut-off. Hers is if a child is killed, she's out of there (and she actually stopped watching Rescue Me when Tommy's son was killed by a hit and run driver). Mine should be gratuitous violence against women and I'm out of there. I'll work on it. Which leads me to...
Well, I'll have to keep you in suspense cos I've got to get Harry out of the bath (don't worry, he's not alone, but David's going off to make dinner. Yes, I know I have an easy life).
I got this from Gabrielle's blog and I thought it was a good way to kill two birds with one stone. Actually, three. There's Gabrielle's desktop meme, the fact that I wanted to show you my inspirational women (and one man) desktop collage and it also gives me the opportunity that one of the women on the collage has been in touch with me - me! - twice in the past week.
So first of all, the meme!
A. Upon receiving this tag, immediately perform a screen capture of your desktop. It is best that no icons be deleted before the screen capture so as to add to the element of fun. You can do a screen capture by going to your desktop and pressing the Print Scrn key (located on the right side of the F12 key). For Macs, press shift-option-3 then look for the .png file on your desktop. Open a graphics program (like Picture Manager, Paint, or Photoshop) and do a Paste (CTRL + V).
If you wish, you can “edit” the image, before saving it.
B. Post the picture in your blog. You can also give a short explanation on the look of your desktop just below it if you want. You can explain why you preferred such look or why is it full of icons. Things like that.
C. Tag five of your friends and ask them to give you a Free View of their desktop as well.
D. Add your name to the list of Free Viewers below with a link pointing directly to your Desktop Free View post to promote it to succeeding participants.
The list of Free Viewers so far is:
iRonnie - I Set No Corner
Thess - Thesserie
Rebecca - Skippy Heart
Knoizki - A Dialogue With K
Beng - Kauderwelch
Tina- My Good Finds
Rachel - Heart of Rachel
Alice - Hello, My Name Is Alice
Julia - Julia's Books Corner!
Darla - Nichtszusagen
Marg - Reading Adventures
Holly - What Were you Expecting?
ames - Thrifty Reader
Dev - Good Reads
Rosie - Nobody asked me...
Gabrielle - Diary of an Adult Runaway
Keris - Keris Stainton (I need a better blog title...)
And here's my desktop (click on the pic for a bigger version):
From left to right and top to bottom there's me (I'm not just a crazy egotist, I read that it was a good idea to make this collage and to include my own picture), Lola from Charlie & Lola, Oprah (bien sur), Nora Ephron, Meg Cabot, Martha Beck, Marian Keyes, Amanda Peet*, Amy Sherman-Palladino, Allison Janney*, Aaron Sorkin and Lauren Graham*.
*They're on there for their characters rather than themselves, since I don't know that much about them as women, though I'm sure they're fabulous.
As always, I've got tons of stuff open. Firefox, word processing docs, iTunes (for podcasts to update) and my calendar. That little cone is for watching the DVDs Gabrielle gave me (thanks, Gabrielle!). On my desktop are also Notes and Priorities docs, which I keep there supposedly to remind me to open them more frequently, but it doesn't really work.
There's a West Wing DVD in because I generally have a TV show playing in the corner of the screen while I work and I'm working my way through The West Wing at the moment (more about that tomorrow). There's also the icon for Scrivener, which I downloaded on Tuesday, but haven't yet opened.
I'm not going to tag anyone (too lazy), but I'm very nosey, so please do join in!
As for the inspirational women (and one man), my YA writing hero, Meg Cabot has this week left two comments on Trashionista. The first one said, "Love your site, it's such a pick-me-up every day. Keep up the great work!" and you can read the second one here. Made. My. Week. Now I wonder when Oprah's going to come a-calling...
We've had a new fridge/freezer for a while now so I finally rang the council to get them to come and remove the old fridge and freezer.
The chest freezer was in the cupboard under the stairs, but plugged in in the lounge. The guy we bought this house from thought he was good at DIY. He was not. He'd actually drilled a hole through the wall and threaded the wire through. Because I couldn't get the plug off, I borrowed some wire cutting things from the father-in-law and cut the plug off. When I pulled the freezer out I discovered that it was actually plugged into an extension cord under the stairs and that was what I'd just cut the plug off. Doh.
The fridge in the kitchen was built in (there's a fancier word for that, but I can't remember it). I couldn't pull the fridge out because there was a little wooded lip at the bottom which had been cut out of one massive piece of wood for that entire side of the kitchen. "They usually lift out," said the father-in-law. This one did not. I borrowed a saw and cut it out. I yanked the fridge part way out, but couldn't get it all the way.
David came home. He managed to pull it further out, but couldn't get it all the way out because the washing machine stuck out too far. He pulled the washing machine out. He pushed it back in. He pulled the fridge out. It was still plugged in. It appeared the kitchen had been built around it, because that plug wouldn't come through either. David cut it off.
Then he realised that, thanks to our new fridge/freezer, there wasn't enough room to get the fridge out of the kitchen. It would have to go out of the back door. Except the council are picking it up from the front. And we live in a terrace so we'd have to carry a fridge right round the block. Hmm.
But, hey! That's not going to be a problem! Because the back door opens in and our kitchen is so small that if the back door is open there's no way to get the fridge past it. And if we get the fridge in place, we won't be able to open the door! We could potentially take the back door off the hinges, but I fear that way madness lies and soon the three of us would be left sitting in the pile of rubble that used to be our house. No, a line must be drawn.
Do you think I can just give the fridge a damn good clean and use it as a cupboard? I mean, if Carrie Bradshaw can keep shoes in her oven...
I feel funny. Not funny ha ha, no. Weepy. Jittery. Anxious. Deranged.
Poor Harry is tired of being kissed, cuddled, squeezed and told how very, very, very much I love him and how very, very, very proud of him I am and how he's just the loveliest little boy.
David is tired of me crying for no apparent reason (to be fair, that's usually his schtick). Last night I nigh on cried myself to sleep because I'd shouted at Harry for spitting his juice out on the carpet. See, he'd only done it because earlier he'd spat his juice out by accident when I'd made him laugh and he'd just done it again to return the favour and instead I shouted at him. "He was just trying to make me laaaaaaaugh!" I caterwauled repeatedly. "And I shouuuuuuted at him....!" "Get over it," said David. More than once.
If there is going to be pre-menstrual, menstrual and post-menstrual, what do I get - one day a month when I feel like myself? And why is it getting so much worse month after month? Is it my age? Is it because I'm only just becoming aware of it and in previous months I just though I was losing my mind? Is it too much sugar? It's probably too much sugar. Everything's blamed on too much bloody sugar.
I'm getting a biscuit.
... can be found here (Dancing With the Stars) and here (Strictly Come Dancing). My favourite dance from both shows was, I think, Mel B's jive (although there were so many great dances it would be hard to pick just one), but my favourite dancing overall (dancing overall?) was Harry's.
He became frenzied from the opening titles of the Strictly results show and by the end of the 45 minutes we were both exhausted. We rumba'd (pointing our toes, stretching our arms, even doing back bends), we quickstepped (running and hopping up and down the room, holding hands) and I took a breather and filmed him for your viewing pleasure.
... that Junior Andre was so bloomin' gorgeous!
Just look at that little face!
Almost as cute as my kid...
It's impossible to be miserable when Harry's around. I was just getting changed into my slobbing around the house clothes (it's raining, I'm not going anywhere else today) and, as I stood there in just my knickers (which, trust me, is not a great look), Harry shouted, "Toes!" and ran over, crouched down, sniffed my feet and pretended to sneeze. Then he stood up, grabbed a nipple in each hand (ouch) and yelled, "Boobies!"
To continue the earlier post (no, I haven't remembered 4, I've just thought of something else), I just noticed Marian Keyes' newsletter in my inbox. "Ah," I thought, "isn't it funny how every time I'm feeling down I get Marian's newsletter to cheer me up." No, it's not funny, you idiot! It's the same time every sodding month!!!
Oh and we've just had a new TV delivered. (I want to write about how fabulous TV is at the moment, but that'll have to wait for another day.) We rent our TV because I wanted to be able to keep up with technology without having to keep buying new tellies and so we've got some flatscreen, LCD, HD thing that's actually costing less per month than the 10-year-old monstrosity they've just taken away (complaining how it's the "worst TV ever made" - funny how they didn't tell me that when I first hired it!).
Anyway as the delivery dude left, he told me that the screen must never be touched. Never. If touched, it will shatter like a car windscreen into a million tiny pieces (behind plastic, thankfully). Now he saw Harry. And yet he still left the TV. So what's it to be? Some sort of TV guard or a TV-watching straightjacket for H? (Of course, I will no longer need to clean snot off the screen with baby wipes, so it's swings and roundabouts really.)
Okay, two things. Okay, three. Or maybe four. Right.
1. This morning I snapped at Harry and thought, "Why am I snapping at him so much? He's so sweet, he doesn't deserve it. I don't know what's wrong with me. Why can't I cope? I used to be able to cope. I'm losing it." Then I filled up. Yep, you've guessed it. It's that time of the month again. When will I learn?
2. Anyone got any advice on potty training. I've finally begun to accept that I can't put it off forever. (Why can't I again? Oh okay, I know I can't.) But I know boys tend to be more troublesome than girls and the whole Harry not really talking thing is a bit of a puzzler. Recommendations for methods gratefully received. Plus should we buy a potty? A thing that goes on the loo? A potty that's built in to a chair? What?
3. This morning I went to see the school we'd like Harry to go to and the headmistress must have thought there was something wrong with me because I kept filling up. Yes, it's probably related to 1, but also primary schools are just so sweet and heartbreaking, aren't they? The kids are so earnest and I can't believe Harry's got to go off to school at all and just ... ugh.
4. What was four? I can't remember what it was. Did I mention that the time of the month thing makes me forgetful too? (I didn't actually plan this as a bit of a gag, I really have forgotten the other thing. Curses.)
Has anyone ever stayed in a decent Heathrow hotel?
I can't find anything on TripAdvisor and I don't want to stay in a hovel. Thanks!
I can't believe I forgot to mention this!
Walking down the roughest (but, funnily enough, the flashest - satellite dishes and everything!) row of "chalets" towards the end of the holiday, we heard a woman say, "Have you done that, Jamie Lee?"
David crammed his fist in his mouth to stop himself laughing, but I didn't think it was so bad. There are worse people to be named after than Jamie Lee Curtis. It could have been Jamie Lynn (Spears).
But then I heard (and thankfully, David missed it because I don't think his fist could've saved him):
"Put your flip-flops on, Shania."
Genius.
I've written before about how we were taught Larkin's Toads at school and how ridiculous it is to teach it to kids, but watching Weeds I was reminded that we also learned the song Little Boxes (along with Lady Madonna, I'm the Urban Spaceman and Both Sides Now ... methinks someone had picked up some sort of hippy songbook in an attempt to teach us something "modern").
As for Little Boxes, I can't decide whether this is a great or a terrible thing to teach to 10-year-olds...
|
1. Little boxes on the hillside, Little boxes made of ticky-tacky, Little boxes, little boxes, Little boxes, all the same. There's a green one and a pink one And a blue one and a yellow one And they're all made out of ticky-tacky And they all look just the same. 2. And the people in the houses All go to the university, And they all get put in boxes, Little boxes, all the same. And there's doctors and there's lawyers And business executives, And they're all made out of ticky-tacky And they all look just the same. |
3. And they all play on the golf-course, And drink their Martini dry, And they all have pretty children, And the children go to school. And the children go to summer camp And then to the university, And they all get put in boxes And they all come out the same. 4. And the boys go into business, And marry, and raise a family, And they all get put in boxes, Little boxes, all the same. There's a green one and a pink one And a blue one and a yellow one And they're all made out of ticky-tacky And they all look just the sam |
You see, now I get it, but I'm fairly sure that at 10 I thought it was ... what's the word? Prescriptive? It makes me wonder, if I hadn't been taught stuff like this when I was too young to understand it, would I have spent the first 30 plus years of my life squatting under "the toad, work" and keeping myself (figuratively, not literally - ha!) in a little box?
About Last Night is one of my favourite films (Rob Lowe - duh!) and it was Elizabeth Perkins' debut. I remember watching Big a few years later and not believing it was the same person - she was transformed.
I've just started watching Weeds and there's Elizabeth Perkins again, looking fabulous. What happened? Could I look like this if I got my hair straighted and lightened? (And lost, um, four stone...)
If you didn't see it last night (or the night before if you're in the US), then please go to the Comedy Central website and watch the John Oliver Tortured Logic clip. Brilliant.
I'm reviewing both Dancing With the Stars on Friday nights and Strictly Come Dancing on Saturday nights for TV Scoop.
No, David is not thrilled. But I am. I thought I'd stick my fave dance of each week here (you know, at the same time as the BSP of my reviews!). So here's last week's:
The diary is soooo boring, so I'm editing drastically.
One day I asked David, "Do you want a cup of tea?" and Harry said, wearily, "No." Me and D both laughed so then, even more wearily, Harry said, "Okay then, Middy. Thank you." Heh.
During the holiday he also learned to say (thanks for Finding Nemo) "Do you? Do you? Do you?" in response to the question, "Do you wanna piece of me?"
Reading my diary of the holiday has made me realise just how little we did: went to the beach, went to the pool, read books, watched DVDs (Chewin' the Fat most nights) ... went to the beach, went to the pool, read books, watched DVDs ... every flippin' day. So here's a couple of photos instead:
Harry is obsessed - *obsessed!* - with windmills. He basically helped himself to this one in a shop and, because we are loons who are continually making a rod for our own back, etc., we didn't have the heart to say he couldn't have it.
We also bought him a banana split, clueless that it would turn out to be the world's biggest banana split:
Of course, being a divvy kid, Harry's favourite thing about it was the umbrella.
"Middy" and Daddy ate most of the ice cream...
We decided to get the bus to Tarragonna and once there remembered the difference in holidaying with a kid - we would've gone to the Historic Quarter, but it was too far to walk. Instead we walked down La Ramblas (it was very similar to Barcelona), had lunch and walked back again. And that took two hours!
After getting the bus back, David took Harry to the playground while I sat in the sun, read my book (Twenty Times A Lady) and had a beer. Bliss.
The following morning, after I noticed that David had been using my white linen skirt as a pillowcase ("I wonder why it opened both ends!") we set out for the morning.
After a lovely wander on the beach - warm and breezy - we walked along the prom to a kids' playground, then back and to the pool.
Now I'm no snob (actually, I am), but I have to say there were some really rough people there. And if you think I'm being too judgemental, how do you feel about a toothless and tattooed guy who got into the jacuzzi with his little daughter (she looked about 8) and said, "It's f***in' lovely, innit?"
Back at the chalet, David got the DVD player working (woo-hoo) and then went to the pub to watch Chelsea v Hull and I took the opportunity to watch The Secret. Finally. And I loved it. There wasn't really anything I didn't already know, but it made the whole thing much clearer to me than anything I've read and I ended up feeling excited and optimistic. Quite a lot of it fitted with what I've been (re)reading in Martha Beck's Finding Your Own North Star and together I've got quite a solid plan for the next few months.
(Incidentally, I do know that's not my picture on that column. I'm trying to get it fixed.)
A short interlude from holiday blogging to ask ... has anyone else seen a white wasp?
I saw them in the park last year and I've just seen a few this evening. They look just like wasps except they've got white backs (but stripey sides). Kind of like a wasp with a white bodywarmer on.
I'm assuming they're not actually wasps, but does anyone know what they are? Thanks!
Yep, the seemingly endless blogging about our holiday starts here. Luckily for you lot, I kept a diary while I was away. I know! I took loads of photos too and 98% of them are of Harry.
Okay, so cast your minds back a couple of weeks ... our flight was at 6.30am, which meant we had to be at the airport at 4.30am, which meant we had to leave at 3.30am, which meant we had to get up at ... well, the first of two alarms went off at 2.55. Yes, am.
Once me and D were ready to go, I lifted Harry out of bed and he snuggled down against my shoulder. At the bottom of the stairs I sat him on my knee to put his coat on and, at the same time, David walked in. "Hello, Daddy," said Harry, sleepily. I carried him out to the car and he said, "Oh, wow!" Putting him in his seat, he spotted his Trunki - "Oh, wow!" All the way to the airport, Harry - a 3-year-old, woken up at 3.30am - chatted happily about owls and the "Night Garden". He really is the sweetest kid. (His dad at 3am, however, not so sweet.)
Our plan to check in online and only take hand luggage fell apart when I discovered RyanAir wouldn't let us, so we ended up rearranging our bags in the queue and checking two bags in anyway. Of course, if we'd known about this in advance, we could've taken more stuff and some, you know, toiletries, but whatever.
Harry had the patience of a saint (well, a saint with a small, red, wind-up train) in the various queues and then we finally made it to the plane. Isn't it funny when you think "Oh, it's only a two hour flight" you forget the two hour check in and the hour's journey at each end? H was very excited during take-off and landing. In between he watched In the Night Garden on the portable DVD my sister loaned us. A godsend. I'm never flying without one again.
I read Dear Zoe on the plane (on Diane's recommendation) and I had to keep putting it down to compose myself. Fabulous book, but oh my god - sad.
We arrived at the site at 11am and tucked into a full English breakfast (well, you have to on holiday, don't you?) before heading off to the beach, a full five minutes walk from our chalet thingy (like a static caravan). Harry took to sitting down, burying his feet, getting up, running a couple of yards, sitting down, burying his feet... it was very boring, but he enjoyed himself.
When we got back we found that the DVD wasn't working. David went off to buy provisions while I listened to Harry saying "DVD?" about three hundred times. When David got back, Harry greeted him with "Daddy, DVD?" but to no avail.
Early to bed for all of us and none of us woke up until 9am. 9am! After breakfast we packed up to go down to the pool. Fortunately, just before we left, I noticed the book David was taking with him - Achtung, Schweinehund. To the pool. In Spain. Good grief.
Once David had chosen a less imflammatory sounding book, we spent the next couple of hours escorting Harry from pool to pool. Despite the flotation suit (which more than one person suggested should come with a detonator), he wouldn't let go of my in the pool ... which was absolutely freezing.
After dinner by the beach, we put Harry in bed and me and D read until ... ooh, it must've been half nine. We're wild. We are.
Hello everyone! I'm back, but I've got loads of catching up to do (not least a couple of hundred emails to reply to ... or at least read) but will be updating soonest.
How've you all been?
Mark Malkoff came up with the completely insane idea of visiting every Starbucks in Manhattan in 24 hours. All 171 of them. Pointless, but strangely compelling.
Oh and look out for an appearance by Mark Linn-Baker - Larry from Perfect Strangers. Remember Perfect Strangers? How I loved Balki Bartokomous. "Don't be so ridikalous!"
