Warmth at last !

It's been six weeks since my last post , and I can't believe how the time has flown. Ian is injured for the foreseeable future, with a frozen shoulder which is going to take the next two years minimum to recover, and means that all the heavy work (no , on second thoughts, just make that the work) is left to me . I haven't had time to do as much as sit down lately, and the only time I've stopped has been when I was sleeping. But griping about it gets me nowhere, so I try not to. It just reminds me of how discontented I should be .

On a lighter note, Tali started nursery, and now bursts into the room every morning with all the savoir faire of a debutante . She hands me her coat, and rushes round the nursery, bestowing hugs and kisses on all the teachers and her best friends, who tend to be frankly bewildered by all this early morning bonhomie. The teachers however are enchanted, which has to be a good thing.

And finally, our annexe , where the puter is stowed , got a Christmas present all of its very own . Heating! At last I can sit here past 3 in the afternoon, without having to resort to three jumpers, a coat , hat scarf and fingerless gloves , to stop my hands resembling claws . 2008 is going to be a very productive year. In fact , I can feel it hardening into a resolution as I type .

A smile in the rain

It seems it's been a while since I was here last . Despite my best intentions , life has a habit of barging in and taking over my time - either it's school runs - to three different schools now, since Tali has started at her nursery, or endless mounds of washing - 10 loads today so far ! BUT . I have now got a plan. When Tali goes to nursery, Aaron now goes to sleep , so I have a whole two hours to myself . I had such plans for this time . I was going to have a bath , read a book, even dare to play with my purple friends . So what did I find myself doing with this oh so precious time this morning ? Mucking out three stables and walking round the fields looking for a swan I thought I'd seen which was injured .

As I was meandering round the boundaries , it started raining . Not hard , just a little , and with the sun still shining . The horses had retreated to the field shelter ( Zac's Welsh Mountain pony is the biggest wimp ) and were peering out from under their hoods to see what on earth I was doing . The local RAF's finest Tornados were playing games in the sky above my head , and I had one of those moments of sheer happiness that come along so rarely , and usually in a completely unexpected fashion. There really is nowhere else I'd rather be .

It seems the swan was not injured after all, but exploring! I discovered its mate and three cygnets in the river behind the back field . I wonder if it'll stay ?

Showtime

My dad was a practical man. He'd planned his funeral for years, ever since I was about nine years old in fact, so we were left with absolutely no doubt as to exactly the way his send off was to go . The difficult part of it, or so we thought , was going to be getting his wishes carried out . He required nothing less than a cortege of breakdown trucks, ( he owned a breakdown recovery service) , a New orleans jazz band , none of that , in his words 'gloomy music ' , a wicker casket ('I want to sleep in a laundry basket! ') and sunflowers. Lots of sunflowers . Oh, and some smiley faces balloons . And no one to wear black . This was going to be a very tall order.

Or so we thought.

Over the last fortnight, my mum, brother and I have been consistently amazed by people's support. My brother rang each of the local recovery firms, not often known for their goodwill, and each and every one of them provided their cleanest, shiniest and largest truck. It was utterly incredible. The funeral directors were superb, and said 'Leave it all with us ' . I even rang the local police station about parking arrangements , and their reply was ' Do what you need to do, and don't worry '.

The day dawned. I left Norfolk at 7am, in order to be able to see him beforehand, and drove the long haul to Surrey. As I hadn't seen him since he'd gone, I hadn't said goodbye. I went into the chapel of rest, and there he was , tucked up in his laundry basket, wearing his favourite shorts and slippers, white socks pulled neatly up to his shins as they always were , hair flopping over his forehead in the same slapdash fashion, and the pictures of us all tucked carefully under his hands . My brother and I on my wedding day, my mum , Ian , and all the grandchildren , keeping him company into the hereafter . I held his hand, oh so very cold, called him a daft old bugger, and then burst into floods of tears, which is where my brother found me, walking into the room a few minutes later.

Once back at my mums , we found the lawn covered with flowers. So many people he'd known had sent them; rival firms , all the neighbours . The cars turned up, and we climbed in. My mother, dad's two sisters and his last brother, and Jodie . It was only when we passed the breakdown trucks, that we realised what they'd done . Each and every one had a sunflower . They all joined the cortege, and as we turned round to watch, my mum burst into tears and I started to laugh. The road menders, heads bowed ,had stopped all the traffic , and single handedly, my dad had managed to bring south west London to a grinding halt . It was the most incredible thing I have ever seen. Everyone stopped and stared at us, as lights flashing, we trundled gently through the streets to our final destination. Even when one of the company drivers pulled across a main road to ensure the convoy stayed intact, the police going past stopped, and made sure we didn't need a hand.

After the service , which ended in typical Dad fashion with the song 'Don't worry, be happy !' , the smiley balloons were taken from his casket , and placed on the sunlit lawn outside . All the kids each cut a string , sending a smiley face skywards , and we all waved to the heavens .

I think he would have approved .

I love you dad xxx

My dad .

I was on night duty on Saturday . I got home from work eventually , after a train/bus trip that was reminiscent of Disney's 'Incredible Journey' - visiting places that I've never been before , and have no desire to visit again , just to get the elusive train from Cambridge to home, and fell into bed . 'At last ' I thought 'some decent sleep' .

Two hours later, Ian burst into the room . 'What ? What's happened? ' I mumbled . Waking me from night duty sleep is usually best done from a distance, and using a long stick , you see . Then , I saw his face . Tearful .

'Nik , I'm sorry , I'm so sorry ' he kept saying . My heart stopped, and all I could do was stare at him . ' He's gone. Your dad's gone ' .

For one mad moment , I almost said 'Where? To the shops ?' but then I tried opening my mouth , and found I actually couldn't say anything at all . I was literally speechless . He'd been in hopital with an infection for the last ten days, but had seemed to be getting better . Then , that morning , his breathing had got shallower and shallower, and by the time the hospital rang mum and she'd got there, ( ten minutes ) , he'd simply stopped breathing .

We drove down to Surrey , half an hour later, in silence . Five children in a car , and barely thirty words exchanged in a three and a half hour trip .

I think I'm still in shock . He was supposed to be getting better and now this . Sixty one is no age at all these days is it?.

That was the week that was ..

I am apparently on holiday until next Wednesday - have been for almost a month in fact , a perk gained by working twelve hour shifts which then means I get 43 extra days off a year . Complicated I know , but ultimately worth it ! So , why then do I feel so worn out ? I asked Ian this last night , and he looked at me with that old fashioned look and said ' Are you potty ? ' On Monday , you drove to Surrey at fifteen minutes notice , visited your dad ( admitted to Kingston Hosp with a raging infection ) and drove back again , via IKEA at Lakeside ( wasted trip , grr) , Tuesday you took Josh and Jordan to school , did 3 loads of washing , labelled and packed Zac for his first day at high school plus all the usual stuff , Wednesday took Zac to school ( cried all the way home ) , went to an auction as EDF had kindly turned our electric off to do some work , spent some money , Thursday the woodchip delivery turned up , so emptied two stables and cleared yet more washing , and Friday the hay turned up , so stacked all that and yet MORE washing . And you wonder why you're tired ?? '

I thought today I'd have a rest instead - only the washing to do today. 3 loads down - 5 to go !

Tomorrow I'm definitely going to have a day off - we're going to the game and country show at Sandringham , which should be fun . Wish me luck !

The picture above is the view from my front window by the way - apparently the front field may well come up for sale , so we're saving our pennies just in case ..

Decisions , decisions .

Aaron is sleeping . Flat out in his pushchair with its furry lining , tiny lips working in a frenzy to get the last ounce of that bottle he's dreaming of . Eleven months old , and never the most reliable of sleepers , in fact I could probably count the amount of unbroken night's sleep on the fingers of well, one finger . He has been snoring since teatime , despite Tali's best banshee impressions , and my depositing of a saucepanful of boiled potatoes on the kitchen tiles , when the handle came off .

My dilemma is this : Do I bite the bullet and wake him now for a last feed, with no guarantee that he'll be happy about it , and none either that he'll go back to bed for some time ? Or do I curl up on the sofa next to him, grab what sleep I can till he wakes , and then watch all the episodes of 'The Wire' that I have saved for the evenings when Ian is working ? Or even do I not grab some sleep , and stay and play with some new found friends ?

I think I shall let him sleep .

Perch 1 - Zachary 0

It's fishing club day today . Zac , my 11 year old son , joined last week , after having been initiated into it by an evangelical fisherman who happens to be one of his friends' dad. Anyhow we heard of the local young anglers club ( as to me and the husband , the only thing we know how to do with fish is eat it ) and enrolled him . Met the organisers who kindly took him over and made sure he was with someone who would help him , and told me to come back in two hours time to collect . Righty ho said I , and made a beeline for the local saddlery ,having unexpectedly gained two hours free time to myself .

Two hours later , I returned to the lakes , to find Zac crouched intently by the side of the water . 'How are you doing ? ' I asked . ' MUM ! You'll upset the fish ! ' Well that was me told . I stood meekly behind , waiting for the shout of 'STOP FISHING ! ' and waited with baited ( if you'll pardon the pun ) breath for the weighing to come round . He'd caught 3 roach and a perch , who managed to catch his hand with it's spines as he tried to unhook it with novice fingers , and the total weight was 7 ounces . You'd have thought he'd landed a fifty pound carp, as he burst through the front door , talking nineteen to the dozen , complete with hand gestures .

One small problem however . The following day , the spiked hand blew up , to tennis ball proportions , and involved an late night trip to casualty at our local QEH . Mind you , even then he managed to acheive a small measure of celebrity as the 'unusual injury of the night ! ' The doctor said to us 'I even googled it , and the only advice I can find on getting spiked by a perch is 'Don't' !

As we got back into the car in the early hours , I said to him ' So, has it put you off going ? ' and received a scathing glance in return . I think an obsession has been born .....

Norfolk's best kept secret .

We never aimed to live in this area . The house hunting criteria was very precise - somewhere big enough to house 5 and occasionally six children , plus myself , husband and the three horses , hereafter known as the Hay Monster , Her ladyship , and You Little ... without breaking the bank , and somewhere near a train line into Kings Cross so we could get to work . Areas of East Anglia were a complete closed book to us as we quite literally knew no one at all to steer us .

And then one day , hunting on t'internet , I found it . Room enough for us all , three stables plus a spare or two , it just needed 'some finishing ' . We went ,we looked , and we put in an offer . Nine months later , it was ours , and the sagas began ...


I digress , however . The day we turned up , was the day we were adopted by the village . The kitchen was unusable ( filthy) , I was 8 months pregnant so we decided to seek refuge in the pub . Well . It was the typical village pub - as we tentatively walked in , the hush fell . I pleaded for sustenance , explained who we were and we were away . Since then , we've had potatoes dropped off by the sackful ( thought you'd have a need of 'em ) and have been well and truly adopted .

Even our nearest town is the same . Free parking , people who go out of their way to help , even when they don't need to and schools that most people would lie to get their kids into. And yet if I tell anyone where we live , I'm rewarded with a blank look and a 'Where ?'

So where do we live ? I'm certainly not going to tell you !!!