Good Lord.  How on earth did that happen?  We only brought her home from the maternity ward a little while ago.  Didn’t we? 

Anyway, we had a party.  There was an entertainer and a face painter. The children took it in turns to batter seven shades out of a pinata. I made loads of butties and opened a few packets of jammie dodgers. It was universally proclaimed as the best party of the year [proud].

Little’un is now the proud owner of a pink bike with pink stabilisers, a pink bell and a pink helmet.  She has a new pink lunch box with matching pink drink bottle in readiness for school and some pink crafty books which show how to make pink things out of pink stuff.

But I am still in denial of the fact that I am the mother of a four year old.


It rained today…

…for the first time in aaaaaaaaaaaages… so we went out for a splash in the puddles.

More patching

Our fourth trip to the eye clinic today.  Little’un’s eyesight is still improving and we are refining the patching method so as to encourage further improvement.  Intead of doing fairly benign tasks such as eating lunch or watching the telly whilst wearing her patch, Little’un must now use her close vision more and do tasks such as colouring, jigsaws or bead threading with the patch on.   It’s going to be tricky to get her to concentrate on those sorts of tasks for the required time (2-3 hours a day) but the end result is worth it so we will persevere. 


A nice picture to share with the family, my daughter and my Mum 🙂

What every girl wants on holiday is a mahoosive ice-creamWe went to southern Spain for our holiday this year – I have been at pains to make sure that everyone knew we weren’t going on a McHoliday to Blackpool-in-the-Sun but once we got there we realised that whilst there aren’t a vast number of British holidaymakers on the Costa Calida there are plenty of expats.  There were a couple of English radio stations and plenty of English speakers in the shops; handy really given that the Yorkshireman speaks but a few words of Spanish and that is still a few words more than I do.

Say cheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeezeI felt a bit outside my comfort zone being in a country in which I couldn’t understand the language at all – our last few trips abroad have been to the French speaking region of Switzerland (waves to GGM) and I speak French well enough that once it’s combined with a bit of international hand waving and facial expression wrangling (yes I do look like a loon), I can more often than not make myself understood.  Being able to understand the basics of a language makes life so much easier I find.

We didn’t do much whilst we were away; the weather was glorious so we indulged in lots of beach time and relaxing on the roof terrace of our holiday let.  We did a bit of sightseeing but Little’un would quickly get bored so chilling out by the sea suited us all.

The beach at La AzohiaMurcia, whilst beautiful in places, isn’t the prettiest part of Spain and the some urban areas looked badly cared for in the extreme.  There is a massive problem with litter and graffiti in  a lot of places.  That said, the beaches were all pristine and had great facilities with the bigger ones having public toilets and play areas for kids.  The beach where we stayed at La Azohia was fabulous – small but sandy with interesting shells, pebbles and rock pools and a gentle slope out to a crystal clear sea.   SchluuurrrrrrpppppA couple of cafes nearby meant that there was somewhere to buy a drink and an ice-cream and to get out of the sun for a while.  We went a bit further afield and tried other beaches but came back to this one every time.

We took the nursery Holiday Bear with us and somehow managed to get it back to the UK intact and unlost.  I spent more time worrying about its whereabouts and safety than I really wanted to but hey-ho, we will be doing a wonderful writeup for it and Little’un will be able to show off a bit to her friends so I suppose it was worth it!

I certainly hope to return to the Costa Calida at some point, especially the little beach at La Azohia.  I think I may learn some Spanish first though.

Take a look at this footbridge.  It’s not a particularly pretty footbridge, granted, but it’s a footbridge of which I am most fond.  This is the footbridge that connects us to our preferred school for Little’un – the footbridge that the County Council will not take into account when calculating our route to school.  As footbridges go, it’s not a bad one really, is it?  It is sturdy, it is paved, it is easy to cross without suffering the inconvenience of getting one’s feet wet in the drain beneath.  However, because it is merely a footbridge and not a bridge across which one can drive one’s gas guzzling environment wrecking Chelsea Tractor, it is not recognised.

Given that Boston is notorious for a) its obesity problem and b) its traffic problem, it seems frankly ridiculous that walking routes to school are not used to calculate distances.  In our case, instead of a 10 minute walk I am going to have to bundle Little’un into a car and drive her across town to a school 3 miles away.  During the morning school-run rush hour that three mile drive is likely to take the best part of half an hour.  I won’t be able to leave the car at home and get the bus (bus? hahahaha, bus!) or cycle as I will have to get straight to work from the school drop off, a further 15 miles away.  There is another school that is closer but I have many and varied reasons why I don’t want Little’un to go there. 

So take another look at the footbridge.  If we lived pretty much anywhere else in England it would be good enough for children to cross to get to school.  But not here.  If you can explain to me why it’s not utter madness, I would love to hear from you.