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We are back Holidays were nice. 2 weeks in France. First week at the seaside South of Cherbourg, just accross from the channel Islands which can be seen clearly from the beach. The local saying is: "quand on voie les iles c'est qu'il va pleuvoir, quand on les voie pas c'est qu'il pleut deja" (when you can see the isles it means it's going to rain, when you can't see them it's because it's raining already). As usual we forgot to pack something useful, the last time we went away we forgot to pack the bedding so this time I ensured it was accounted for, only to miss out something... towels. Obviously a non essential for a seaside holiday. Especially if like me you are a bit of a fusspot and prefer to dry yourself after a sower using a towel which has not previously been used on the beach, with not being a big fan of sandblasting as a form of skincare. Still as my dad had arranged for other family members and one of his friend's family to join us we soon scrounged the desired amount of towelling goods. The Boy has managed to turn an even darker shade of caramel than usual but with the tell tale signs of a keen bodyboarder ie distinctly paler from mid thighs up up to his neck and on his shoulders and upper arms. A bit like a cyclist's tan without the socks. I just hope his school short come down low enough. With 3 other children there to lead him astray his French has improved a lot. His only child ways were molified a bit and it was quite funny trying to spot the family ressemblance between him and my cousin's kids - some persistent genes there. We managed the whole week under my father's "guidance" without too much struggle. I suppose we were looking forward so much to a break and a rest that it was nice having everything taken care off for a change. Somehow my dad did a great "shepherd" number and kept his flock of 12 + pets under control (my parents, my uncle and aunt, 2 of their grandkids, my dad's friend, his wife and kid, The Boy, Him Indoor's, his mum and me + 1 dog and 2 cats and a flying visit of my sister, her husband and her daughter did increase the numbers for a couple of days). The timetable was: lie in while the kids up at the crack of dawn roamed free under the watchful eye of a grandparent or other, kids cycling to the village with grandfathers to fetch bread for grown ups to ea for breakfast, food shopping, quick dip in the sea, lunch, men going to do the dishes (and oggle the young dutch girls in the amenity block), coffee, rest/read/embroider/knit/nap - well quiet time really, beach again, showers, more food + dishes + coffee, chat + bed. Nice really. The place is great if you like the sea without the piers and amusements, just miles of sand and salty water, great produce (fresh veg, great butter and piquette from le Petit Manoir at Le Rozel, peace and quiet and you don't mind a bit of rain and the water rarely being above he 17oC mark. I used to go there as a child and did those same bike rides to the baker as my son has been doing with my father. I had the same fascination with Briquebec market as he has now, my little towny eying up sheep, chicken and rabbits for sale. I see in his eyes and in my niece's the same pleasure at the feel of the cold water, the waves and the soft warm sand and the colder wet sand at low tide I used to have myself (and still do). They have to be cajoled out of the water even when they are shivering and their lips have turned purple. There is a very simple pleasure which does not diminish as we grow older in trying to judge if a wave should be jumped over, dived into or used to carry us back to the shore. It is a great feeling to know how far out you can swim and remain safe, a distance which changes with the tides and the current but also with how cold or tired you feel. I am not the only one who has a soft spot for the area. I found myself swimming with somebody who looked familiar, he used to come as a child and now brings his children. When the weather defeated us we went to la cite de la mer which the children and grown ups enjoyed very much. Something else the children and adults enjoyed very much was the local pud: la tougoule (it's really a sort of rice pudding, only the long slow cooking gives it a very creamy texture and a light hint of caramel). The recipe is very simple, put 2 littres of milk in a dish (allowing a bit of extra room), add 200g of sugar (yes I know that's about 16 heaped tablespoon of sugar but you don't have to eat all of the dish in one go - although it may be tempting), 175g of pudding rice and a large pinch of cinnamon. Place in the oven gas mark 2 or 150o for 5 hours. A Bown skin/crust will form, underneath you will have the best rice pudding you have ever tasted. Don't let the kids get to the crust first, you deserve to have it because you are worth it. Eat at room temperature or cold.
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1.9.04 23:34 |
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I wish I was still there
We spent the second week of our holiday in the Auvergne. This is the sort of scenery volcanic activity can through at you. I will talk more about it when I retun from the conference I am going to for work. Otherwise quick update: Childcare: Him Indoors' mum has kindly delayed her return to Cornwall by a week. Christine will step in if no long term solution has been found by Thursday. Growing desire of independance from child: still debating if he is old enough to walk to Christine's on his own as a first step towards going to school unaccompanied. Case for: he is a sensible child, the route is part of the school run so he would be with other mums who would keep an eye out, it is just roun the corner, if I make him cross the road he does not have to cross any more after that, there is only residents traffic as there are no through roads on the way, he would be expected at the other end, he thinks he is ready as he has been bugging me for a year. The case against: he is my baby and I am a neurotic mother. Uniform: all items labelled, only missing PE t-shirt with school logo. How could I guess the one I bought when he started recepion would be way too small by the time he started Junior school ? Remembered the school shoes Saturday rather than Monday first thing wich in my books is rather good on my part. Yet another opportunity to be baffled by customer service. Picture the scene - Saturday - Clark's: Sales assistant: "he is a 13.5." Me: "How strange, his father bought him new rugby boots is morning and they are size 2 and his school sandals are a 31 and they are to small". Sales assistant: "that's what I measured, which ones did you like ?". Me: "these but ou really ought to bring a bigger size as well to save you a trip" Sales assistant: "size can vay from brand to brand and he is a 13.5". Me (happy to humour her): "I always though clark's sized quite small but I'll give it a go". Child tries shoes on with difficulty, child whinces, child does as he is told and walks around with shoes and returns claiming they hurt there, there and there and his toes and hills and all squished. Me: "how about we try on a 1.5 or a 2 as they look way too small". Sales assistant: "I cannot sell you shoes more than 1/2 a size bigger than what I measured". 1 Sale lost. Compare with following scene today in Bentalls: Me: "do you have these in a 33", Sales assistant: "I think so, I'll go get them for you", shoes fit, child is happy, a painless sale of lovely (read on the pricey side) italian shoes in less than 10 minutes including wriggling toes to check fit and putting shoes back on and child tying up his own laces in a painfully slow manner. Hopeless mum status: missing first day bak at school and tales of woes in the evening becase of work conference - bad, paying with guilt and woodden train in bright TGV Lyon colours for brio style train set. Having written the correct start date in the calendar and checked time for start and finish before the actual day - good. Preparing book bag and PE bag before the actual day - good. I am learning. Maybe by the time he goes to university I'll have figured out the whole going to school thing.
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6.9.04 00:21 |
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More volcanoes
This one is "Le Puy de la Vache" so I just had to put it in. If you decide to walk the GR30 you may want to take a slight detour and walk up the ridges of it and its neighbour the Puy de Lassolas. When you get back to the bottom you can pick up the GR30 trail again. If you just want a short holiday stroll go for it on its own. Great views (if a bit exposed) and the path is clearly marked and well maintained. Mind your step on the descent of the western flank o Lassolas as the fine volcanic powder is rather slippery. There are also a few features complete with explanatory signposting which gives excuses to go even slower and have more breaks. One such features:
Enough holiday pics for today so quick update: Childcare: sorted, thanks to Christine we have found an after school club with a spare place. Him Indoors' mum got home safely and shall be missed very much. When you have had to deal with somebody like The Boy's father's mother (Evil incarnate) you learn to really appreciate a partner's mother who does not interfere and is just genuinely a nice person. Mount Vesuvius of Ironing which erupted on our return from holiday was tackled by Him Indoor's mum while I was at work so we are now up to date on the washing/ironing front. Conference was great, learned quite bit and found out that it is possible to get the message you want to convey accross in a 5 minute presentation (with the help of my colleagues who showed they have a great flair for acting in role play). Despite not being the most sociable person in the universe I enjoyed the company and the play hard part of it too (played drunken girly games in the evenings which I had not done in a long time). The Boy has a half brother born last Friday and will see the baby for the first time this week-end. I failed to enthuse while The Boy's Father was gushing over the phone. Could not leave She Who Married Him alone with his mother to pick up the Boy last Sunday for an early quick peek and turned down our offer to make our way accross London to drop him (I can see how she would have not been keen to spend to long with the mother in law from hell but still find his double standards grate on me something chronic. He never minded leaving me alone with The Boy, so much so that my brother came to stay and help for a week while he was working and wetting the babie's head and playing football). Enough ranting, I am sure the baby is lovely and The Boy is really excited at the idea of meeting him if a bit nervous about his new place in his father's heart and family. With a bit of luck it will all turn out fine. Garden: looking lush but tomatoes are still refusing to redden, it's a real shame because the basil is plentiful and fragrant (will have to have pesto instead). The seedlings we brought back from France seem to have recovered from the journey and the slugs and snails have had feast, I need to go on a gasteropode hunt and squash mission soon if we want to have leek soup this winter. I wish the slimey creature ate weeds instead. Had a great time watering tonight, it was dark and the spiders seem to have come to life and had appeared delighted with the various catches on the web they have spun between the bean poles. They are doing a great job of ridding the veg beds of flying nasties.
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9.9.04 23:42 |
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Encounter of the step family kind The Boy has met his baby half brother and I have met him too. It was meant to be a quick peek in the car seat while The Boy was loading his bag in the boot of the car but the baby started doing that wriggling pulling faces in his sleep thing that babies do when they are still asleep but it's only going to be a matter of minutes before they wake up an howl to demand to be fed "nowwww mummy otherwise I will starve to death honest !". I spoke to She Who Married The Boy's father and asked ifshe thought he was going to need feeding soon, she said she thought so and The Boy's Father being the thoughtful man that he is said: "it's alright if he starts to cry I'll stop by the side of the road and you can feed him". She looked sore and uncomfortable in the car (unmissable attempts at sitting sideways). I offered for her to come in have a cup of tea and feed comfortably on the armchair of her choice. She confirmed she was particularly sore (ventouse delivery). With the tea I handed a soft ice pack wrapped in a small towel and a biscuit. I am going soft in my old age aren't I. She asked questions about The Boy as a baby. We compared looks. Not much resemblance I am afraid. Baby is tiny (6 pounds and a bit next to The Boy's 9pound 9oz you are not talking even close shape wise), has quite a bit of fair wavy hair (The Boy was as bald as an egg) and blue eyes which look there to stay (The Boy had big brown eyes), he has a delicate jaw with a tiny dimpled chin (The Boy had a much squarer jaw). I got a cuddle in exchange for a nappy change (fair swap as breastfed newborn nappies don't really smell that bad). The Boy hovered for a bit and was keen to pull out pictures of him as a baby but was a bit put out by just how small Baby looked so did not ask to hold him but showed some interest. I couldn't help offering a couple of sarcastic comments when The Boy's Father tried to show off his fatherly talents. She Who Married The Boy's Father gave me looks to confirm my suspicions - he is no more help second time around than he was the first time but still deludes himself that he is a wonderful father. Looks like she will be fine though, Baby is putting on weight, looks like a content little fellow and she seems happy to be a mum. I hope The Boy's Father comes to his senses quickly and that he does not mess things up this time. No baby pic so you'll have to settle for more volcanoes
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11.9.04 21:30 |
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Conversations and coincidences A flippant remark about age sparked of a conversation and a quick straw poll at work today. The outcome was, while most would quite happily shave a few years of their age if they got a chance to, nobody would have wanted to be 15 again, be it in their time or the present. The reasons were varied but on the whole 15 appears not to be remembered with fondness. The same day Karl posts a picture of Guillaume and being 15 comes back to me. While Karl was very good looking (I expect he still is) he was never my cup of tea. Guillaume was something else. My first real crush. Like all crushes it was going nowhere. While my fantasies were not of the holding hands variety (romantism was as wasted on me then as it is now) I am pretty sure it would have been a disaser if they had entered the world of reality and while I guess he must have had an idea I fancied him I feel he would have been a bit freaked out if he had realised just how much. It lasted a while (a good 3 years). The crush just melted away and when we went to University the nature of my feelings just changed, he became somebody I liked instead. No more longing for scents and touches, just enjoyment to be around him. I still get a warm feeling when I hear or read he is doing well and he is happy. I wonder if it would have been the case if the crush had been mutual. |
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15.9.04 22:03 |
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Moi j'aime les bananes parce qu'y a pas d'os dedans What do you do when you know that as soon as dinner has been gobbled the inevitable question will be asked: "what's for pudding ?" and all that is left in the fruit bowl is this:
Well you make one of these of course:
Mash the bananas. Add 6 tablespoons of brown sugar and a spash of lemon juice. Let the sugar melt for a bit while you melt 75g of butter. Add to the bananas. Add an egg. Add a mixture of white/wholemeal flour in the proportions of your choice to get to 250g (I normally use about 150g of self raising + 100g of wholemeal with 1/2 teaspoon of baking powder but all white works just as well), if you have the time and feel Deliaesque you may want to sift the flour (I never do but it has never stopped the cake from tasting nice). Add a couple of handfulls of your favourite chopped nuts (pecan or walnuts work best). Pour the mix in the prepared mould, bake for 50mn at 190o (gas mark 5?), try and persuade family that they have to wait for it to cool down before you can cut it, fail miserably, enjoy and try not to burn yourself. The best thing about this cake is that it lends itself to variations (grated apple or leftover apple sauce + raisins + cinnamon or peach and almonds for example).
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18.9.04 17:05 |
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Never mind Mummy... ...is what The Boy tells me when I prove time and time again that I don't quite cut it in the supermum department. Granted I can bake, knit jumpers, give a hand with the construction of lego and meccano, explain the process of wound healing and the reason why the bulbs light up at the flick of a switch but I have not got the hang of school and the logistics it involves. Considering my degree is in logistics it is more than slightly ironic. Anyway my child is aware of my failings and takes them in his stride or he has up to now and does not hold a grudge for being the ony child in full uniform on Mufti day or for being taken to school on Inset days. I wonder how he will react to my latest failing though since it involves his extra curricular life. The Boy has a lovely singing voice and contrary to his parents he does sing on key. I thought it would be worth him joining a choir as he really enjoyed every activity I took him to which involved singing. The school choir only accepts children who are in the year above is so I started looking outside. I found the only local choir which accepts children his age and took him along to his first rehersal on Friday. The group meets every friday and I thought it was great as it fits in well with the timetable so far. They are a nice lively bunch of kids and the Boy was made to feel very welcome. He joined in wholeheartedly and was a picture of happiness the whole time he was there. So far so good you will say. Yes great news untill he was ushered to a room to be measured. I was told "he picks it up very quickly, he will soon earn his robe". You have guessed it. This is where I messed up. Being a unnacustomed to church business as I am it completely slipped my mind that a church choir would not be singing just for its own sake but that the rehersal were a means to an end and that the end was to sing at mass on a Sunday morning. Duh, how could I be so *feel free to fill in with the word you feel is most appropriate*?! Our Sunday mornings are already pretty much taken by rugby so the 2 activities clash quite badly. Choir master was very clear that it is a church choir and as such The Boy cannot just go to the rehersals. In my defense (though I don't think it will help my case with the reverend) I have never been to mass, I am not christened (neither is The Boy) and my dad would probably miss a few heartbeats at the idea of his first grandson as a church choir boy so it is understandable that the Sunday Mass passed me by. It would not have been a problem if The Boy had not tried and enjoyed it. Now I have to explain to him he needs to make a choice and drop one of 2 activities he enjoys. Him Indoors has had a look at the fixtures calendar and found a few Sundays and I am to return to the choir master and see if it will be enough to secure his place in the choir this year. Maybe if I bake a few cakes for the charity fundraisers and stitch a few kneelers ???? Surely wanting to sing is no worse a reason for atending church while not being a believer than trying to secure a place at a religious school and I have not heard of too many priests turning away worshipers who are only courting then in the hope of gaining an entry support letter. We'll see next week...
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19.9.04 18:50 |
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