keris stainton

Birthday weekend

It was my birthday on Sunday. I was - gasp! - 37. 37! Can you believe it? That's, like, almost old! Or at least middle aged. I feel about 15...

Anyway, on Friday evening we went to Toys R Us to get Harry yet more Thomas crap. He'd wanted a new Light & Sounds James, but it was £25. £25! So we got him a Thomas starter set instead. (Just found the James on Amazon for £15, so he can have that next.) Then I went in Borders and got my favourite magazines: Martha Stewart Living, O and Body+Soul. So happy.

Saturday, we went over to my family in Wallasey. We had lunch at my aunty's and then went to the fair (we'd been planning to fly a kite on the beach, but it was way too windy). Harry went on his first rollercoaster! It was only a small one, but still. And he loved it. My sister bought me the Marc Jacobs Daisy ring, the first series of Gavin & Stacey and - wait for it - Class! With Rob Lowe! I cannot wait to watch it.

And then on my actual birthday, we  met some friends for a lovely brunch at the Lowry in Manchester and then went to the in-laws for tea. Harry helped prepare profiteroles and strawberries for dessert. (His grandad called him for something and Harry shouted back, impatiently, "I'm doing the pudding!")

To cap it all off, yesterday we went to a farm and Harry fed some sheep and a cow. He was going to have a go on a donkey, but the queue was too big...

All in all, a top weekend.

York

Coo, meant to update about this last week, but the sunshine's got me wiped out.

So, it turns out we went to see Shawn Smith, not Shaun Smith. It was a really good gig, except that I only know one of his songs and he didn't flippin' do it! It's a lovely song though. Listen to it here.

Before the gig we had a lovely dinner here.

And the following morning we walked along the river and then went to a lavender farm. It's been on my list to do that for a while, but unfortunately the lavender wasn't out yet! It was still lovely though and I had a lavender tea in the cafe, which also served lavender scones with lavender jam and lavender cheesecake and lavender ice-cream with lavender biscuits. (David said if there'd been a suggestion box, he would've said, "Great place, but enough with the lavender!!!)

Then we got home and were greeted with this:

He looks a right pistol (as Grandma would say). But a cute one.

Yesterday...

I can't say too much about it - a) because I don't want to jinx it, and b) because the two lovely women I met have threatened to read my blog today to see what I say about them, so if I'm a bit bashful and self-conscious for a little while, that's why. (Don't worry I'll be back to talking about poo* and Dancing With the Stars - it's back on Good Friday! - in no time...) (*not really.)

All I'll say is that it went much better than I expected and I'm cautiously ... completely overexcited.

Before the meeting I met up with Emily and she was just as lovely as expected. I still haven't met any nutters via t'internet. One of you must be a nutter! Who is it? (Is it you, Jonathan?)

Afterwards I popped in to see my friend Jo who I haven't seen since the last time I was in London for an exciting meeting. (And I was wearing the same skirt. I'm such a fashionista.)

Then I picked up some Krispy Kremes (oh, Krispy Kremes, when will you come up north?) and got back on the train.

When I got home, David had bought me a bottle of my favourite red wine and a bar of good dark chocolate.

A lovely day all round.

Pillowy hills

When I wrote my inspiration list I included Oregon. We went there in 2001 as part of our Big US Trip and I loved everything about it. Not only did it inspire one of my half-finished books, if I ever needed a "happy place", Gold Beach would be it.

Apart from the glorious coastline, the other thing I loved about Oregon was what I took to calling the pillowy hills: rolling hills that looked like an unmade bed. I never managed to get a photo, but I found this one on Flickr - don't they just look like you could sink into them?

Christmas Part III: East Finchley

The place

On the way through London, we'd passed a sign for East Finchley and I'd said, joking, "Can we go and see our old house?" East Finchley was the first place me and David lived together and we were there for two years before moving back up north in - gasp - 1997 (I can't believe it's been 11 years!).

On the way back we were driving through Highgate when David said, "We could go to East Finchley if you wanted to..." So - after a few false starts, taking the wrong road out of Muswell Hill (which is still gorgeous) and heading for the wrong retail park (while we lived there, a new retail park was built within walking distance) - we found ourselves on East Finchley High Road.

And if we'd just driven through, I wouldn't have recognised it. There was a Costa Coffee! The take-out coffee phase hadn't even begun in the late nineties. We almost drove past our street (there was a new development of flats on the corner) and I didn't even pick out the house we lived in.

The flat

We lived in the upstairs flat and downstairs was the owner's mother, Mrs Constantinou, which we shortened to Mrs C. She was so lovely. And not just because she used to bring us baklava, lemons, and kleftika (and once, some sort of rock hard biscuit that nearly broke our teeth - in retrospect, I think it was probably supposed to be dipped in coffee). She couldn't speak much English, but she loved David - she used to pat his cheek and say, "Lovely boy. Honestly." David's just reminded me that she also said "Nescafe" and "hospital" but that was about it.

Our flat was nice and it even had a roof terrace, but it cost us £680 a month. In 1995. (We thought we'd got a good deal because the agent had originally taken us to a "studio" in Swiss Cottage, which was £700 and didn't even have a bed - just a mattress.) We had a look in an estate agents and it looks as if it'd cost about £1000/month now. I was expecting it to be more, to be honest. I wanted to knock (having read Julie Myerson's Home), but David was too embarrassed. And there was nowhere to park. Every street we drove down was rammed with cars, which they  certainly weren't in "our day".

When we lived there, the area was almost entirely Greek. You'd go into shops and everyone was speaking Greek. It was like being on holiday. You could get all sorts of lovely Greek food, plus there was also a great Chinese, the best Indian I've ever been to ... and a StarBurger, where I once sat crying into my bun because I'd locked myself out, David was late home and I didn't know where he was. And, like most people in those days, we didn't have mobiles (yes, I feel old).

The StarBurger is gone now and there's a lovely cafe in its place. Not "gentrified" type lovely, but delicious cooked breakfasts (we each inhaled a full English) and mugs of tea lovely. But me and D laughed because they also had a wine list. ("What do you recommend with the bacon butty?")

The battered aubergine

One of the reasons I'd wanted to go back was to see if the takeaway where I had one of the most delicious things I've ever eaten in my life was still there. In my memory it was Greek (unsurprisingly), but it turned out to be Indian and - hurrah! - "Aubergine slice - 90p" was still on the menu.

I bought two and asked the guy how long the place had been there. 23 years. I told him I hadn't lived there for 11 years, but I'd come in because I remembered the aubergine. David called me a dork, but the guy thanked me for coming back, I thanked him for still being there and we were both very happy.

When I told my sister we'd gone back, she said, "Did I ever go there?" "I don't think so," I said. "I don't remember you coming." And then, "Oh yes! I remember getting you a battered aubergine!" "Oh yeah," she said, "I remember the aubergine."

I ate one on the way home and the other for my dinner that night. It's a good job they're a few hundred miles away since the paper bag they came in was entirely transparent and soaked with grease, so they'd need to be an occasional treat. Maybe more than once a decade though...

The whole visit

I was so thrilled that we'd decided to take the detour, I can't even tell you. My memories of living there are mixed. Of course, me and D were happy together, but we had no money and not much of a life. Like I've said before, Sundays were spent in the laundrette and we couldn't afford to enjoy the area. Plus every weekday there was the trudge down the High Road to the tube station for the trip down the Northern Line to work. Yawn. Oh and we both had more than one visit to hospital (mine in an ambulance - yay me!). But all that aside, it was our first home together and our last home in London.

We're so much happier now. Our quality of life is better. We own our own home (and our mortgage is less than our rent was back then!) We've been married for almost 12 years and, not only are we still together, we're happier than we were then. We're both much happier in our work (I'm much, much happier!). And we've got Harry.

I try not to take anything for granted, but sometimes you have to remember how things were to appreciate how things are. Walking around East Finchley, my stomach was bubbling with excitement. But not because we were there. Because we were on our way home.

Christmas Part II: the Wedding

Remember that hen night I went on? Well, the wedding was on the 29th December. So with barely time to unpack our pressies, we packed up again and headed London-wards (only stopping to drop Harry off with the in-laws and pick up a hire car ... long story).

Seven hours later we arrived at the Canary Wharf Hilton. Seven hours. Yes we stopped once or twice for coffee, hot chocolate, wildly overpriced sandwiches, but still. Seven hours. It wasn't bad (for me, I don't think David enjoyed it much) since I was reading this, but still. Seven hours. Lucky I hadn't been able to get tickets for Avenue Q since we wouldn't have made it!

So we fetched up at the hotel and I asked where we should park. The car park was full. They didn't guarantee parking, didn't we know? But it was okay, we could park at a nearby hotel for just £6 per night extra. Since we'd already anticipated paying £15/night for parking, this idea didn't thrill us.  (They also tried to convince me it was actually the same price, but with the magic of reading, I saw through that!) Walking back to the hotel in the rain, dragging our cases and thinking about the £12 extra we'd had to pay for the privilege had me spitting feathers before we'd even checked in. What kind of customer service is that?! They'd never get away with it in the US.

Anyhoo. The room was absolutely gorgeous (there was a speaker in the bathroom so you didn't miss stuff on the telly when you were doing your business). So we headed downstairs to the restaurant. Which was only serving a buffet for £24.95 each. Each! We weren't that hungry, curse them. So after having a drink in the bar, we went back to the bedroom and ordered room service. I've never had room service before (I'm such a hick), but it was marvellous. And half the price of the stupid buffet and I could eat it in bed. In my pajamas. Result.

After a terrible night's sleep - terrible! - we went out for breakfast (in the Canary Wharf shopping centrey place - roof and Chrissy lights pictured!) and then into the Big City. I've written before about how when I used to go back to London it made me unhappy and then, more recently, I've started to see what I liked about it ... well, this time I could totally see why I was so desperate to live there. I'm not sure if it was Christmas or what. Luckily I've got David to remind me how grim it was actually living there...

The wedding was at Westminster Registry Office and it was lovely. I was looking at Sarah's mum as Sarah walked in and seeing her trying to not to cry made me fill right up. Probably the fact that Sarah is my second oldest friend (in years, not in age) didn't help.

From the wedding we got a Routemaster bus (so cool driving through London) to the reception at Browns in Covent Garden. Champagne (and wine) flowed, delicious food was scoffed (sticky toffee pudding!), the happy couple danced and then so did everyone else. Dancing to Don't Stop by S Club 7 should be compulsory for everyone. God, I love that song. My shoes were murder, of course, but I'd taken a little pair of ballet slipper things (£2, Matalan) and kept switching to them. Of course wearing them made me four inches shorter so I had to keep switching back.

Before we turned into pumpkins we trundled back to the hotel and had a marginally better (but still surprisingly crappy) night's sleep before hitting the road again (after rejecting the £19 each buffet breakfast). But before leaving London, we had a stopoff ... which I will tell y'all about in Part III!

Christmas Part I: um, Christmas

Yep, Christmas was in three parts this year! (Actually, probably more than three parts, but I'm combining so as not to bore you all *too* much...)

We actually celebrated Christmas the weekend before because David's brother and his wife came down from Scotland. We had Christmas lunch, lovely presents were exchanged and drink was taken (but not too much, surprisingly).

On Christmas Eve, we decided to take Harry to church. I know! Since the Nativity, he's been saying, "Church again?" and "More church?" and David's parents thought he might like the Blessing of the Crib, since it's a short service aimed at children. And I know what you're thinking. Yes, I'm an atheist. But Harry's not. And, as Stephanie Merritt wrote in the Observer at the weekend (pretty much perfectly articulating my feelings on the subject), "Christmas does become naff without the God bit."

So off to church we went. And I actually enjoyed it. In fact, I had what I suppose you could call an epiphany. No, not a religious one. But standing there, singing hymns, I decided to let go of my bitterness at being taught religion as fact rather than belief and instead to accept it as a good story. I mean, I write and read fiction for a living (okay, I read it for a living - but fingers crossed for 2008!), why can't I just enjoy it for what I believe it to be and let others enjoy it for what they believe it to be?

(Of course, if Harry asks a teacher where rainbows come from and that teacher answers "God makes them" as happened to another child of my acquaintance, my stance on the subject may well revert.)

Anyway, Harry wasn't too taken with the service, mainly because he doesn't like other people singing. He's always singing himself. In fact earlier this week he woke up singing Blockbuster by The Sweet. Seriously. David taught him it. Our alarm was Harry peeping out, "We just haven't got a clue WHAT to do!" But everyone singing hymns in church? He kept whimpering and putting his hands over my mouth. Eventually, I won him round by draping my beads around his neck and dancing with him. I bet we looked a picture.

It was pretty funny too since when we sang We Three Kings, the congregation kept coming in before the organist (I say organist, the music was actually on a laptop. A laptop!) so each chorus went, "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ... star of wonder, star of night." Yep, me and Harry dancing and me and David sniggering. We weren't very churchy...

Christmas Day we were back at David's parents. This time for a curry cooked by David. Boxing Day we went to my family's annual party and ate and drank more than was sensible (but not as much as two years ago when I went to the pub with my little cousins - now in their twenties - and got so hammered I walked home carrying my boots, crying because it was far and trying to get David to carry me. I then, when we got back to the house, woke up an 18 month old Harry and passed out, leaving David to spent the next five or so hours trying to get H back to sleep. Oh and I spent the next day throwing up...

[The first two photos were taken on the Santa train, which was fantastic. I don't know where Harry gets that cheesy grin from, do you?]

Things That Make Me Happy No. 9: New York (obviously)

Every time I go to New York (and I've been five times now), I find something else I want to do and think, "Oh, well I'll have to come back."

I still haven't been to any of the galleries or museums (no, not even the one in When Harry Met Sally!) and, talking of WHMS, I haven't been to the Boathouse Cafe (where Sally tells Carrie Fisher and the ginger one that she and Paul have broken up and Carrie Fisher gets her Rolodex out) or to Riverside Park where Tom'n'Meg meet in You've Got Mail.

I'd quite like to do that trapeze thing that Carrie Bradshaw did once, plus I *still* haven't spent enough time in Lower Manhattan, Tribeca or the Meatpacking District, or the Upper West Side, where I'd rather like to pretend I live. Or Harlem. Or Brooklyn. Or Coney Island.

And then I read this post on the fabulous The Amazing Adventures of Dietgirl, which I've only just discovered (thanks, Claire!) and I have to add bike-riding to the list. Sigh. It's a hard life...

Oh and finally here's the other side of Top of the Rock (with a quick glimpse of Diane - in the pink hat - halfway through).

Top of the Rock

I've been trying to upload one of the other side (with the Empire State Building), but it doesn't seem to want me to. So more tomorrow. I like how this one looks a bit seventies...

New York, baby!

I've finally managed to get the pics uploaded (by deleting a bunch of photos of Harry - you know, we've got squillions the same from when he was a baby). So, cast your mind back to a couple of weeks ago and I was off to New York...

Since David's mum had gone out, we couldn't drop Harry off as planned so he ended up coming with us to the train station.* H was totally cool with it and I was surprisingly okay too. I only had a little cry, honest. And then a laugh when I found Harry's Thomas the Tank plastic camera in my coat pocket.

In leaving Harry, I hadn't really thought about the journey, but I had my books and my iPod so I was fine. I got the train to Manchester airport and then waited for my flight. Which was delayed. I was supposed to take off at 7.40, we actually took off at 9pm and then couldn't land at Heathrow and so had to circle for half an hour. Anyway, finally I dragged myself up to the door of the Jurys Inn and knocked...

And there was Lisa! We've been emailing for a while, but had never spoken, but I swear, we started talking before I was through the door and didn't stop for five days. She was taller than she looks on her blog (!) but apart from that she was just as fabulous as I expected.

The following morning we got up at stupid o'clock and a mere 12 or so hours later we were in New York! We checked into the hotel - which was the nicest hotel I've stayed in in New York (the pic at the top is from the rooftop bar and restaurant) - and then wandered up into "town". We were about four blocks from Bloomingdales, but we didn't actually make it in! On Friday night we spent about two and a half hours in Barnes & Noble and then got some dinner, before falling into bed (separate beds, that is!) at 9.30pm.

The following day was walking day and we were surprised to find we were simply given maps and left to our own devices. Fortunately they were pretty easy to follow and so we spent the rest of the day following them! The route took us out onto the Brooklyn Bridge and then past loads of sights and areas of interest, so it was actually a great way to see New York, as well as being the thing we went to New York for!

Exhausted, we fetched up at the hotel at about (I think) 5.30pm and then Lisa went out with the guys from Fred Flare. I was too tired and spent the evening relaxing in front of Scrubs and Will & Grace and reading Meg Cabot's Size 14 Is Not Fat Either. I did argue with myself at one point that a drink in the rooftop bar with two cool gay guys would be a better use of my time than basically doing the same thing I do on a Saturday night at home, but I was just too tired and I actually fell asleep at 9pm!

Sunday me and Lisa did a bit of shopping (mainly in the Hershey's store) and then I met Diane and her mum up at the Rockefeller Centre. After a delicious and hilarious lunch we headed for Top of the Rock. Now I've been desperate to go there since reading about it a couple of years ago and it didn't disappoint. In fact, it was so good it's getting a post of its own tomorrow. With movies and everything.

Sunday evening was the Gala Dinner with the rest of the walkers and this took place on the Spirit of New York harbour cruise. I was looking forward to this so much (I actually squealed when I found out we were going on it) and it was so good. There was cheesy entertainment, good food and cocktails - what more could you want? We sat with a really cool couple of women and spent the whole evening laughing. We were definitely the raucous table, particularly when it came to singing New York, New York at the end of the cruise.

As we drifted past the Statue of Liberty, the PA was playing America the Beautiful and I had a little weep. And I'm not even American! I did try to take a photo of the Statue of Liberty, but it was so cold out on deck, that all I managed to get was a green blur.

Monday morning, Miss Lisa had a flash meeting, so I waited for her in Borders (picture on the right - coolest Borders view ever!). I know it seems crazy to spend so much time in bookstores in New York, but it was actually my fifth time there and I've done (almost) all of the touristy things I want to do so I was happy looking at books and drinking a chai latte while making planning notes in my new Sesame Street notebook (Virgin Megastore, Times Square).

When Lisa got back from her meeting, we spent another happy hour perusing the YA fiction shelves and gossiping about books and authors. See, that's my idea of a good time!

After a completely fabulous lunch at a diner near the hotel (I had a turkey burger on rye! On rye!), we picked up our cases, hopped on a coach and headed back to the airport. I do so hate to leave New York. It was easier this time because I knew I had Harry waiting for me at home, but it's still hard to watch that skyline recede...

So flight to Heathrow, which was (hurray!) early, except (boo!) that meant I had even longer to wait for my flight to Manchester. How did I spend the time? Reading, drinking hot chocolate, eating pastries and checking my emails, of course. And then, finally, I was in Manchester and running into the arms of my cute little boy.

Me: Harry!
Harry: Middy! Elmo's World?

* I just wanted to say something about all the plans and pondering relating to me leaving Harry for five days. Maureen left a comment that I should have just sneaked out in the night and, although I think it was tongue in cheek (!), it is something I feel strongly about. Me and David always tell Harry exactly what we're doing whether we're leaving him for a couple of hours or a night or five days. We did try the sneaking out thing once or twice when he was little, but we didn't feel good about it and we'd never do it now. Imagine if you woke up one morning to find that your partner had buggered off to New York for five days without telling you. Why not extend the same courtesy to a child as you would to an adult?

Plus, it's self-defeating anyway since it just makes them insecure. Harry can trust us that if we say we'll be back in a couple of hours, we'll be back in a couple of hours and if we say we'll be back Tuesday, we'll be back Tuesday. It's important to me that he feels secure and it seems to work really well since whenever either of us goes anywhere, he just takes it in his stride. Although I do think he'll permanently associate Tuesdays with airports now...

First New York photo!

I haven't tried my camera on my computer again because I'm frightened to upset it (it's not a happy pooter), but the charity sent me this photo of the whole bunch of us before we set off.

Look at the Statue of Liberty! It really is appalling tiny, isn't it. So disappointing. Anyhoo, if you've got good eyes you can see me crouching a bit between the front and second rows about fifth from the left. Lovely Lisa's head is almost directly under that tiny statue thing.

I'm back

I'm tired. I'm bloated. I'm about to have porridge for my dinner.

Harry's absolutely fine. Happy to see me, but happier to see his Elmo stuff!

More tomorrow.

Start spreading the news...

Photo (of my favourite, the Chrysler Building) taken from New York Daily Photo, which is just the best photo blog I've ever found: fantastic photos accompanied by really interesting and inspiring writing.

Anyway ... I've finally chilled out and started to wind down (well, apart from all the advance writing and shopping I need to do) and I've begun to realise I'M GOING TO NEW YORK ON FRIDAY!

I want to say a MASSIVE THANKS to everyone who has sponsored me (and a big "pttthhtht" to those who haven't ... only joking). To date I've raised £1,557.40 which is just fantastic. So thank you. :)

In 12 days I'll be there

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!

Recommendations, please

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!

Are you bored of this yet?

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?"

Woah, we're boring!

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...

Holi day out

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.)

And so it begins...

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.

Hooray, hooray!

We're on our holidays! Me, about to drink cocktail, just out of shot.

I've put up some timed posts for the next few days - I didn't wanna leave you hangin'!

Have fun. :)

Big weekend

Remember when David booked me a surprise birthday present and I wasn't surprised because it took us overdrawn and we got charged £78 by the bank? Well the present was an outing and it took place last Thursday - just a scant three months after my birthday.

It was Chester Races (which was even less of a surprise since David had written it on the calendar - he's a genius, I know). He'd told me I needed a dress so I bought one and I wore the lovely lovely red shoes I bought ages ago and hadn't yet worn. I didn't really want to wear them since a) they're open-toed and I had to wear tights (yes, I know it's a fashion faux pas, but it was unavoidable) and b) they're really high and uncomfortable, but they were the only shoes I have that actually went with the dress.

So off we went to Chester, where David had booked a gorgeous B&B. I got changed into my uncomfortable outfit and we went out into town. There was a European market so we had a sausage and some beer and then met up with some people David used to work with. They were all in jeans. Jeans, t-shirts, flat and comfy shoes. And there was me, tottering along like a Geisha and feeling like a twit.

We hobbled down to the races and found that, whereas David had assumed we were in a relatively posh stand, we were actually just standing on the unposh and rather muddy grass. Delightful. We had a good laugh though and a couple of wins (including one on a horse named Harry G - what are the chances?) and then David's friends went to the pub and me and D went for a romantic meal. (After staggering back to the hotel - carrying my shoes - to get changed into something less agonising.)

Dinner was delicious and then we decided to go to Reflex. In case you've never graced a Reflex, it's an 80s bar and what I would call disco. I'm always up for a dance to some cheesy music and since David spent quite a lot of evenings in Reflex when on a course, he wanted to show me how cheesy it really was. And it really was. Of course, we were about 10-18 years older than most of the rest of the clientèle, but I didn't mind. I danced while David stood next to me looking disapproving (he was particularly upset that the playlist wasn't strictly limited to music from the 80s, the dork).

Do you know what they all went mad for? Five's Got the Feelin' ("If you've got the feelin' jump up to the ceiling"). How do they even know it? I barely remember it and I was 27 when it came out. Most of them were probably about 10 ... oh, I see. David dragged me out (even though I'd requested Livin La Vida Loca and it hadn't yet been played) and we went home to bed.

You'd think I'd have taken some photos, wouldn't you? Not so much. I think the combination of beer, Pimms, red wine and embarrassment distracted me.

The shoes are going on ebay.

Paris Part IV

I told you it was quick...

Paris Part III

Um. What else did we do? Monday we mooched again. To the Marais, the Bastille, Montmartre. A lot of walking. A llllllotttttttt of walking.

Then we met up with Gabrielle again and had a fabulous meal in Montmartre. A lovely time was had by all and a lovely chocolate mousse was had by me.

And then the following morning we got up tres early and dragged ourselves to the airport. And here comes another whinge ... our flight confirmation said Terminal 2B. We went to Terminal 2B. An A4 piece of paper stuck to a pillar said "All FlyBe flights will now leave from Terminal 1". Had they emailed to tell us that? Not so much. So we dragged ourselves to Terminal 1, which took about 20 minutes - good job we got there in good time, eh? Bloody customer service.

Anyway, Gabrielle's not well and I really hope it's nothing to do with us. Send good, healing thoughts Gabrielle's way please. Merci.

Paris Part II

So when we walked, walked, walked, we ended up (of course!) by the river. Paris has this big summer festival going on and part of it is the Paris Plage - a fake beach area by the river. There was a decked area for T'ai Chi in the morning and ballroom dancing in the evening. I've got a short film of some rather fabulous(ly awful) dancing, which I'll update one of these days, but here's the boules bit.

The following morning we met Gabrielle at the cafe from Amelie. I wouldn't have recognised it because they've taken out the booths and the tabac. Sacrilege! But it was still cute. Then we headed off to the Champs Elysee for the Tour de France.

It was pretty busy, but not too bad. The Dutch had the right idea: they'd set up camping chairs, cordoned their own area off with tape and stacked three crates of Heineken! We walked about halfway down and set up our own sad camp: David standing by the barrier and me sitting on the floor reading Harry Potter.

We waited about, um, three and a half hours and then the peloton (most of the cyclists in one big clump) went past in ten seconds. Seriously. David filmed it. Luckily they went round about 15 times. I won't bore you with the photos. Even so, it was exciting to be there and we had a good laugh.

More tomorrow... (sorry, tons to do)

Oh, just remembered, I promised another small whinge: you'd think a Best Western hotel would have spare pillows, yes? No.

Paris Part 1

Yep, I've stopped whingeing now. I feel fine today, but yesterday I was rather tearful. Whether it was the emotion of coming home to Harry (you know how kids often cry when you come back after you've left them?) or whether it was just the back to work feeling (even though I love my work), I just felt a bit feeble. Full of the joys today though and am looking forward to making some changes (I think...)

So Paris. Well first there was the hotel cock-up. To set the scene: I booked online with a card that I didn't intend to use to actually pay for the hotel. On Thursday the hotel emailed me confirmation of the reservation. So on Saturday we turn up and the woman on the desk says our reservation has been cancelled. Why? Because they tried to charge the card and it didn't work. Did they bother to inform us? No. Why? Because there are too many guests and it would be too much trouble. When did they cancel it? Same day they sent the confirmation. Now wouldn't you imagine that more guests get confirmations than cancellations? So if it's not too much trouble to send confirmations, you wouldn't think it would be too much trouble to send cancellations. And the hotel was fully booked.

After ranting a bit - this was a hotel I spent ages choosing, booked a couple of months ago, paid extra because it was in Montmartre and booked a Superior City View room - I finally said, "I'll just put a bad review on TripAdvisor with all the others!" (the bad reviews are all related to lost/cancelled reservations rather than the quality of the hotel) at which the woman who, up until that point had been rather frosty, said she'd try and find us another hotel. To be fair to her she found one for the same price, but with breakfast included and booked and paid for a taxi to take us there, but instead of a Superior City View room in Montmartre we had a plain room, no view in a nondescript part of Paris. I'm not embarrassed to say I had a little cry.

So from the hotel disappointment we went to meet lovely Gabrielle for lunch and then, after checking in to the blah hotel, walked and walked and walked and I got a bit fixated on shopfronts:

More tomorrow (and no more whingeing, honest!) (well, maybe a teeny bit).

I guess that's why they call it the (post-holiday) blues

Am feeling a bit bleurgh.

Had a lovely, lovely time in Paris (despite upsetting hotel arse-up) and am very happy to be home to the boy (who, when we walked in, just glanced up at us like, "Hi. So you're back then."), but feel ... bleurgh.

Will try and update later with photos, etc., but am just as likely to curl up with this and stay offline until tomorrow.

Call me Amelie

As of today, me and my husb are in Paris having a Bridget Jones-style romantic mini-break, but because I'm such a conscientious blogger I've put up some timed posts for your enjoyment.

See you next week! :)

The happiest "hag" in town

How happy do I look? I look like an overexcited chipmunk! This, for the philistines among you, is Armistead Maupin, probably my absolutely favourite author.

He read from his fabulous new book - Michael Tolliver Lives - and then answered questions. He was extremely funny, charming and open and it was a lovely, lovely evening.

Gabrielle, I really wanted to ask him your Kool-Aid question and I practiced it in the queue, but when I got to the front I was just too shy. (I know!) I also wanted to ask if it was as emotional for him to write the book as it was for me to read it, but I just dribbled instead.

And he signed my gorgeous Tales of the City first edition, see! 

As you an imagine, there were a lot of them there homosexual types there and it reminded me of something my mother-in-law once said. We went to see Bjorn Again and afterwards she commented that she was surprised to see so many men there without their wives. Ah, bless.

Another request!

I'm starting to feel like Simon Bates! This time it's from my friend Joanne:

I seem to remember you lived in London for a while before moving back north.  Can we have something on how much nicer it is outside London?  Am contemplating a move and need some inspiration!

Yep, I lived in London for 8 years from age 18 to 26, which means that I've actually been back Oop North longer than I lived in London (this surprises me since living in London was such a defining period). I'd wanted to live in London from the age of 10, but the dream was much better than the reality. I do think it's a nice place to visit and I think it would be a great place to live if you were rich. But we weren't rich. In fact, we were pretty poor.

The biggest difference for me is quality of life. In 8 years in London I had one holiday (which I got my mum to book for me in a Northern travel agent because they were cheaper than London agents). Since moving back we've had a holiday every year.

In London we couldn't afford a car (and, to be fair, you don't need one) but it meant that at weekends we were limited by public transport (and lack of funds). Sundays were often spent in the laundrette.

Now I know that some people think Northerners are friendlier*, but I didn't find people in London to be unfriendly (then again, I mostly lived in areas populated by immigrants rather than "Londoners"). I do find Northerners to be incredibly friendly though. Strangers talk to you in the street (and not to say "I want to lick you all over" as a stranger once said to me in London) and on public transport, etc. Actually, that was a massive shock to me when we first moved up. On the bus one day someone asked the driver to stop at "first lane, second ginnel" and he did! Not at a bus stop, just at a random point!!

Um, what else? Well it depends where you're going to live, but the countryside is much handier. Yes, it rains more, but not that much more. Probably.

Does that help?

P.S. I was actually massively shocked by Evil Katie in The Apprentice's comment about Adam: "I would like to be the person that secures Adam's exit and his route back to the north and his northern chums where, I do feel, he rather belongs." WTF?  I was genuinely unaware that such a divisive attitude still existed in 2007. Staggering.

* Shopkeepers in the North are Nice by John Shuttleworth

When I go shopping in the North I find
the service is always splendid
A cheery smile you can count on while
the right change is being tended

If anyone dares criticize their wares
they never will be offended
If it needs repairs they'll even lend you theirs
while yours is being mended

Shopkeepers in the North are nice
They ask after your kids and wife
And when you've had a good chinwag
they pop your provisions in your bag.

But when I go shopping in the South I find
the assistants are so haughty
Standing there with their nose in the air
as if you've done something naughty.

My "how-do-you-do?" in the chipshop queue
was received in total silence
My "take care, cock!" in the butcher's shop
was met with a look of violence...

Woo-hoo!

Received my fundraising pack this morning and discovered that (as I'd hoped) we'll be walking over this! That's the Brooklyn Bridge! Woo-hoo!

Hopefully there'll be a fundraising widget over there on the right (there'd better be, I've been faffing with it for the best part of an hour) and if you'd be kind enough to sponsor me I'll love you even more than I already do. And, to be honest, I didn't think that was possible. Let me know if the sucking up works for ya! Thanks!
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I *heart* New York

This is one of the pics on my changing wallpaper thingie and every time it comes up it gives me butterflies. So how could I resist another trip to New York, this time with Lisa Clark and for charidee?

Well, I couldn't, could I.

So in November me and Miss Think Pink are off to the Big Apple for a 13 mile sponsored walk. PLEASE consider sponsoring us (though you'll have to choose between us, because we each have to raise the £1400 required sponsorship). Once the pack arrives from the charity I'll set up a JustGiving page and then try to come up with some treats, incentives, etc. (Any ideas very gratefully received!)

Oh and if that's not exciting enough, turns out my friend and Trashionista co-editor Diane and her lovely mum are going to be in New York at the same time. How exciting is that? Look out, Magnolia Bakery, here we come!

Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeal!

I got my name in lights with notcelebrity.co.uk

Me and lovely Lisa "Think Pink" Clark are off to New York. More later.

Last weekend

I'm very slack at blogging at the moment, got a lot of work on, sorry. Will try and do a few updates this evening between watching My Name Is Earl and, er, working. Yes, working. Anyhoo. This is what we did last Sunday ...

We drove to Crosby and headed down to the beach. Harry hopped out of the car giggling, skipping, all excited, despite not having any idea of where we were going or why. Me and D both loved the fact that Harry trusts us to take us fun places. Then again, Harry can have fun in an empty room. He's daft as a brush. Oh and this pic features Harry's best friend in the world - his toy dog, Buster.

We've been talking about going to see Antony Gormley's Another Place for ages, and finally we did. Made me think of The X Files to begin with ...

But then I started to find them quite moving, though I don't really know why. I don't have the vocabulary to talk about art, but they seemed ... important and human somehow. Hope that doesn't sound horribly pretentious. (Eep.)

Harry, of course, provided his own interpretation ...

I'll stick some more of the pics in the Lancashire (I think Crosby's still Lancashire, though it might be Merseyside; I can't be bothered adding another album either way) photo album (over there in the sidebar) in case anyone's desperately interested.

On the way home through Liverpool, I snapped this through the windscreen. Pretty cool. Reminded us of The League of Gentlemen.

A fun day was had by all. But especially Harry.

Which witch?

I spent ages making this slide show last weekend and then forgot to post it. Doh. We followed a Pendle Witch car trail on a gorgeous sunshiney day and read about the witch trials on the way. Harry slept most of the way so we couldn't get out and investigate, but it was very intersting all the same. Amazing to think of the appalling things that took place in these sweet little villages.

The Birds

We went to Martin Mere bird sanctuary on Saturday. David - being a bit of a twitcher - has wanted to go there for a while and I thought Harry would like the ducks so off we went. When we first got there the information lady told us that the starlings were roosting there and Bill Oddie was there to film it. Now I remember seeing this on Bill Oddie last year and thinking it would be an amazing sight, so we decided to stay and wait for it (they don't start coming in until dusk).

Fortunately, there was plenty to keep us occupied, including a kids' playground.