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Letters to a Sister : 31

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We had a Christmas Fair at church last week. A bit early perhaps but I guess it avoids clashing with every other Christmas Fair/Fayre/Event that the whole world feels obligated to host.

I am actually not a great lover of Christmas Fairs (in case you didn’t guess that already.) I’m not sure if it’s my general dislike of shopping or some long buried forgotten experiences. I equate Christmas Fairs with over-crowded stuffy rooms, knitted peg-bags that you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy, cakes that have been thoroughly breathed on by every flu infected attendee and homemade Christmas decorations.

I could write at length about homemade Christmas decorations. They are not something I value. Not even the sticky offerings my own children produced (they tell me they are scarred by this. I can cope.) I like decorations that are pretty and sparkly and preferably made of glass. Like the baubles our parents owned that we weren’t allowed to touch, that our brother broke with a football one year and then was NOT locked in his bedroom for a week over. Which was grossly unfair.

Anyway, this Christmas fair was rather lovely. It served mull wine at the entrance, which helped. It also had a Rock Choir in the car park. They had to be in the car park because there were millions of them. Not sure if they were invited to boost numbers or for their music. Also not sure how they managed to sing – it was freezing cold and someone had helpfully positioned them down-wind of the fire pit (for roasting marshmallows) so when they took a breath it would be smoke filled. They did make for a cheery atmosphere though.

There was a bouncy castle and face painting for the children. Now, face painting is a weird idea. The child sits there, having chosen a design, while the adult attempts to copy the picture onto their face. The child cannot actually see the paint on their face, it could be anything. They just have to remember to not wipe their nose or scratch their face for the rest of the day. It does unfortunately tend to be children with nasty colds who have their faces painted. Perhaps the lines of snot could be incorporated into the design somehow – it never looks good on the tiger/flower/lion designs that are generally chosen. I know one of the ladies who was doing the face painting. I did offer to face paint her face, thought it would be good advertising. There was a part of me that was longing to paint a huge willy or rude slogan on her cheek – she wouldn’t have known until she went home and looked in the mirror and it would be hugely funny. But she refused to let me. Clearly doesn’t trust me. Seemed harsh.

There were the usual range of other stalls : soaps and candles, a range of knitted and crocheted items, which I would never be patient enough to make. Actually, I can knit. I am half way through a cardigan for my daughter. It is for a child aged 5 years and she is now 23, so I have been knitting it for a little while now. I am sure she wont even appreciate it when I do finally finish it. Maybe I should make a special effort for this Christmas. Or give it to a Fayre to sell. Though none of the other children’s cardigans were quite as asymmetrical as mine.

Do you remember when brother made some bath-salts? I think he got the recipe from Blue Peter (does that programme still exist? It was an intrinsic part of our childhood.) Anyway, these bath-salts were made from soda crystals and you then added perfume and colour. He used some second-hand lavender perfume that he had bought at a jumble sale. Lots of it. I think it had gone off. He then coloured them with food colouring. Blue food colouring. Lots of it. Food colouring stains things. Both me and the bath were blue tinged for weeks after that bath. It is one of the few times growing up that I heard Mum swear. I still feel ill when I smell lavender.

The church had made a huge effort for this fair. There was a nativity scene in the foyer – with a baby Jesus who looked like he was dressed as a spaceman, which was unusual. There were balloons everywhere – even hanging from the cross at the front of the church (which I feel might be a talking point at the next church meeting.) Loads of people came, which I think was the point, to let people in the area know that the church is there and actually exists today. Not something that should be assumed in the UK in 2015. I’m not sure if any of those people will ever come back, but I guess at least they now know the location – and that we aren’t overly precious about our icons.

Hope you have a good week.
Take care,
Anne x
PS, I have bought your Christmas gift, you will love it. It is to hang on your tree. And is knitted.

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Letters to a Sister : 30

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Bruges

     We went to Bruges. It smells of sweet waffles and warm Gluhwein. It has the metallic sound of horses hooves on cobble stones and the babble of mixed languages. It feels cold. Always. And sometimes wet. It tastes of blonde beer, chocolate and waffles. We saw Christmas lights, a skating rink, red brick buildings with staggered roofs. It was a good day.

It was also a cold wet day, but that can’t be helped.

We booked to travel with Oakhall Holidays because we’ve been with them before, it only costs about £30 and it’s really easy – you go to Sevenoaks and then sit on a coach. http://www.oakhall.co.uk

Following the attacks in Paris, I was slightly worried that there might be trouble or that security would be very tight. There was no trouble. There was also no security. None. Not until we came to re-enter England. Somewhat surprised. No one at all asked for photo i d or looked at our passports. If the Prime Minister is reading this (which I’m sure he does each week) then this is an area of security that you should perhaps look into. The tunnel seems a likely target to me.

When you arrive in Bruges, the coach parks a short walk from town and you are then free to wander where you want. Now, when we have been previously, we have had trouble finding a restaurant with free tables. (This time it was fine – the waiter told us that in the last week they have had 1500 cancellations due to the trouble in Paris. Mainly Japanese tour groups apparently.)

Anyway, IF you are with other people who really want to look around the Christmas markets and enjoy Bruges, then I would suggest booking a table. We went to Vivaldi, which is not far from the center. It had a lovely fireplace, nice food and clean toilets. I had the goats cheese and honey salad which was very good. Husband had fish and chips and mussels (also good.) The email is : vivaldibrugge@skynet.be

HOWEVER, if you are with the kind of people who are only there because you asked them to come, the kind of people who actually dislike Christmas markets and cold, wet weather, the kind of people who will get very comfortable next to the fire, drink several large beers and then have to be dragged from the restaurant and will spend the rest of the trip looking for somewhere dry to sit down, then DO NOT go there first. It will make the rest of the day much harder. (No further comment.)

There are a few things in Bruges that you really must do. You have to see the Christmas markets, which are small and a bit naff but you should see them anyway, the atmosphere is nice. You should drink beer (not too much).You should have a hot chocolate (which is served as a mug of hot milk. They then either give you a stick of solid chocolate to melt into it or a jug of melted chocolate to add. Delicious.) You should eat a waffle. You should visit a lace shop, even if just to admire the craft work. If you are of a robust disposition, you should go to the back of a chocolate shop. Here you will find chocolate moulded into every imaginable shape, much of it related to sexual organs. It is unusual and I cannot imagine how one eats it. I was going to take a photo for the blog but actually it was too rude, even for me.

If you have time, there are also horse and carriage rides, boat trips, windmills and museums. Many, many museums. I am not really a museum sort of person, so I cannot give any opinion at all, but there are lots.

We have been to Bruges in the Winter a few times. I always have a lovely time. A few blurry photos below…..

Great beer…..IMG_3647

Great waffles….IMG_3649

Great Gluhwein…..IMG_3664

Great hot chocolate….IMG_3680

Christmas Market :

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If you enjoyed this, you will love my new book: The Sarcastic Mother’s Holiday Diary.
I have always written a diary on holiday, so last Christmas, I decided to find all my old diaries and blogs, and make a book for my children. However, several other people also asked for a copy, so I have written a public version – it’s available on Amazon and has been described as “The Durrells meet Bill Bryson”!

Why not buy a copy today? I think it will make you laugh.

The US link is here:

https://www.amazon.com/Sarcastic-Mothers-Holiday-Diary-ebook/dp/B07N95281F/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1549015525&sr=8-1&keywords=the+sarcastic+mothers+holiday+diary

The India link is here:

https://www.amazon.in/Sarcastic-Mothers-Holiday-Diary-ebook/dp/B07N95281F/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1549015429&sr=8-1&keywords=the+sarcastic+mothers+holiday+diary

The UK link is here:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Sarcastic-Mothers-Holiday-Diary-ebook/dp/B07N95281F/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1549014970&sr=8-2&keywords=the+sarcastic+mothers+holiday+diary

 

Letters to a Sister : 29

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Do you think this is healthy? Every day when he gets home from work, Husband drinks a mug of tea (300ml) and adds 6 teaspoonfuls of sugar.

Now, I am not a dietician but this seems to me to be an unhealthy amount of sugar to be drinking every day. What do you think? Actually, I have mislead you slightly – he actually drinks the same sized glass of orange juice and doesn’t add any extra sugar. That much juice contains all that sugar as it is. I was REALLY surprised when he pointed this out to me. It doesn’t seem to matter if it’s the cheap ‘store own’ brand or something you actually enjoy drinking, like Tropicana. That is a lot of sugar. For someone who doesn’t use up a lot of energy doing physical work or a sport, I think it’s too much. Not sure I was popular when I told him this. Discussions continue……

Another discussion point was his annual stressful event at work. No, not a performance appraisal but his need to bake something for the ‘Team Baking Competition’. The competition has rounds, so it’s quite a knack to find something that meets both his competitive need to not fail miserably but also not good enough to win and go through to the next round.

I absolutely refuse to do the cooking for him (I tell him it wouldn’t be morally right but actually I just don’t want to get lumbered with it every year.) This year he made flapjacks. I wrote out a ‘fool-proof’ recipe, the sort of thing I used to write for the children when they were very small. It was almost foolproof.

Small children (who I have trained) know things like “do not hold the cat when cooking, however much he mews for attention it is unhygienic.” Or, “if you weigh the syrup on one work surface and then carry the spoon to the saucepan on the cooker, you will leave a sticky trail on the floor.” Even the basics, like “wash your hands before you start” seemed to be a new idea. Though of course, if cooking while holding a cat there does seem very little point.

However, kitchen survived and I am hoping that cooking the flapjack will have killed all the germs (plus I will never meet the people who devised this activity in the first place) so I am hoping it’s all good. Husband informs me that ‘international business executives’ do not need to know how to bake flapjacks. Except clearly they do.

It is actually quite hard for husband to be careful about what he eats. His job often involves dinners : dinners with clients to improve relations, dinners with staff to show that he cares, dinners with partners from overseas to be a good host, etc. Last week he told me that he had four dinners arranged. I was disappointed, thinking that was four evenings when I would eat alone. Then he checked and told me that they were all scheduled for the same night. That’s good, I thought, he’ll only have to go to one of them. But no. Apparently it is possible to attend four dinners on the same night – starter at one, main course at the other. Reminded me of the ‘Vicar of Dibley’. Not quite sure which character he would be………

Take care,
Anne xx

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Letters to a Sister :26

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How was your week? Mine was okay but busy.

I had the kittens neutered. Of course, usually two of them live outside with the mothers (which is working well, by the way, I haven’t seen a rat around the pond in ages.) However, while they were recovering, they all had to be inside. Louise, the grumpy older cat, was not happy. Nor particularly was husband. There were, I must admit, way too many cats in the house. Especially as one (I think Mandy) was refusing to use the dirt tray. They are all outside again now. They are much happier. So am I.

The chickens were also annoying this week. There were no eggs. I wondered if something was getting them (or even, much worse, if the hens had started eating them) so I put a couple of bought eggs into the nesting boxes. They are still there, so that wasn’t the problem. I then wondered if perhaps they were laying elsewhere. During the day I open the hutch and they wander around the garden. They’re safe because Kia is often out there too (even a fox wont mess with a GSD.) So, I tried leaving them shut in all day. They were unhappy but I got eggs. Now I don’t know what to do – I like them wandering around but there’s no point having hens if I still have to buy eggs. Have discussed it with them, I’m sure that will help.

It was also my turn to cook for the oldies. I decided to give them chocolate brownie and ice cream for dessert. This was very popular. Lots of people have asked for the recipe, so I thought I would include it below. It’s modified from a Nigella Lawson recipe (I like her recipes – they always work) so do hope I am not breaching any copyrights. (I figure that she must have started with someone else’s recipe and changed it to suit her and I have done the same, so it’s kind of fair.)I do not look as sexy as Nigella when I cook and am a lot grumpier. But the brownies are nice.

The quantity is for ten old people, so to serve forty I had to do it four times. By the end I was in bit of a muddle, couldn’t remember if I had added salt and even forgot the buzzer – which is fatal. They were all edible, which is good.

It’s much nicer cooking with someone else. At Easter we always have a cream tea at our house, so I cook scones for about ninety people. Niece always comes in the morning to help me make the dough, so we help each other remember to add sugar and salt while I learn about her boyfriends and she ignores all my good advice. It’s a nice time.

But back to the brownies. I have included cup measures in case you make them in the US, where cooking is slightly less accurate but a whole lot easier. I have also included my own helpful comments, the sort of thing they never put in recipe books but you tell the children when they’re cooking. Enjoy:

Before you begin, put all animals out of the kitchen. And all teenaged boys. And if your mother is like ours, put her outside too. Then wipe the surfaces, wash your hands and find a clean apron.

Preheat the oven to 170℃.

200g chocolate (weight should be on the packet.) Be honest here, if you will eat some, buy extra. You can use any chocolate you like – milk, dark, white all work fine. I think orange might be too sweet.
200g butter (a little less than 1 cup.)
400g light brown sugar (2½ cups)
100g cocoa (¾ cup)
1⅓ teaspoons bicarbonate soda
200g flour (1¼ cups)
5 large eggs (if the hens haven’t laid them under a bush somewhere)
2 teaspoons vanilla essence (it’s expensive, so please don’t spill any.)

Grease a dish with sunflower oil. I use big lasagna dishes, 27cm squared. Put the chocolate into a freezer bag and bash with a rolling pin until it’s in chunks. Eat any extra.

Mix the eggs and vanilla with a fork.

Melt the butter and sugar. You need a very low heat and to stir all the time or it will burn. Bash out any lumps of sugar while you do it or they make horrid crunchy bits in the brownie.

Remove mixture from heat while you measure the dry ingredients. This is important. If it’s too hot when you add the eggs, they cook. You will then have brownie with cooked lumps of egg in them. Your husband tells you they are “interesting”, your parents-in-law politely remove the eggy lumps and leave them on the plate for you to find later and your children refuse to eat them after the first mouthful.

Add the flour, cocoa, bicarb and a little salt (pour it onto your hand first, you just need a pinch.)

Add the eggs. It’s easiest if you add them gradually. If you add them all at once you will need to beat the mixture really hard until it’s smooth, which is a good arm workout but hard work.

Add the chocolate chunks, then quickly, before they melt, scrape the mixture into the container and put it into the oven.

Set the timer for 25 minutes. It should look dry on top but not cooked underneath. If the top looks wet, give it another 5 minutes.

Leave in the dish to cool, serve warm with ice-cream or cold on a plate.

Wash up and wipe all surfaces.
Allow animals and family back into kitchen.

Take care,
Anne x

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Killing the kitchen roll. Again.

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Guard duty.

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Letters to a Sister : 22

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So, I was asked if I would consider helping with the Sunday School. Actually, it’s not called Sunday School, it’s called Boulders, but everyone knows what I mean if I give it the old fashioned title. If it happens, it will be hugely exciting. I did help with the group about a year ago, before I was ill. It was tremendous fun, I (and I think the kids) enjoyed it immensely. This might be my second chance.

When we were children, did you enjoy it? Mum and Dad dutifully sent us every week, but I think for me it was a bit too much like school. I did learn though, much of my Bible knowledge today is based on what I learnt as a child in those classes, despite my main aim being to kick off the shoe of the teacher when she crossed her legs. I remember one teacher who I loved because she let us draw stick-men instead of writing the story. We were simple souls.

Of course, if I am the teacher, I can be as imaginative as I want. Last year I taught about the plagues in Egypt, Moses, Pharaoh, God leading his people to the promised land. I was very keen that it shouldn’t be like school, a ‘sit down and write’ lesson. So I made it as real as I could. I felt it was important to source some of the plagues. Husband (somewhat reluctantly, I must say) helped with this.

First was blood – I did wonder about asking cousin the nurse if she could get me some but thought that maybe there would be health risks with using human blood. So we used food colouring and coloured some water red. It was more pink to be honest. Fear the children may now think all Jewish people were anaemic.

Next was frogs. I tried the local ponds but they were very hard to catch. Father-in-law came up trumps. Apparently his pond had too many and he needed to lose some. Gave me a tupperware box full of bouncing amphibians. I put them in the garage in a very big box covered in netting with a ‘pond’ in an empty ice cream container. Was getting excited now.

Flies were easier than you might think – my window sills had a good supply of dead ones that could be put into an envelope. The joys of living on farm land. I decided the smaller ones could double up as gnats.

Locusts were also easily sorted. The local ‘exotic pets’ shop sold them in boxes as food for the lizards and things. They were alive (apparently lizards and things do not like to eat dead things.) We put them into another big crate in the garage. You would be amazed by how much green stuff a locust can eat. We had about twenty of them. Husband then got rather enthusiastic. He ‘decorated’ the crate to make a nice environment for them. Lots of leaves and branches, areas of soil, etc.

The boils were lipstick spots with ‘tumours’ of lumps of cold porridge. The hail was crushed ice cubes. The dead animals were found in my daughter’s long forgotten farm set in the loft. The darkness was a big blanket everyone could hide under.

Death was harder, we had to just act that. Even I felt that using a corpse might be going too far. And be illegal. And damage the children beyond repair.

Anyway, we had a terrific time. We learned about the story, then made a short film, using mobile phones. It would probably win some Oscars if I released it. I will send you a copy.

Afterwards, the frogs went into my pond (still see them occasionally) and the rest of the stuff went back into cupboards.

The locusts were a problem. They had grown huge (we only had them a week) and husband had bonded with them. Super. Son 1 did suggest we could release them into crops next door but that was clearly wrong. Eventually we found someone with a big lizard thing which ate big locusts, so we gave them to him. Think husband was rather sad but we coped.

Am very much hoping it happens. Husband has banned me from teaching about Noah’s Ark. But I think it has potential.

Take care,
Anne x

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Letters to a Sister : 21

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So, Mum took me for a ‘treat’ this week. We had lunch at Burswood, which is a lovely stately home. It is now used as a healing centre (unexpected.) I was told there would be a quick, half hour service, then we’d have lunch.

I didnt realise it is also a hospital, so we had coffee with people in pyjamas. Feeling somewhat awkward by this point, sipped my coffee and tried to look as if I was visiting a patient.

We went with an old lady who used to work there. Everyone greeted her and asked if she’d seen Daisy yet. She kept telling them that no, she hadn’t yet, but she would pop in before she left. Eventually, in the bookshop she saw Daisy and introduced me. Daisy is a stuffed sheep. It was that kind of day.

The service lasted one hour, fifteen minutes. At the end, everyone – absolutely everyone- went forward to be prayed for by the healers. I stayed in my pew feeling somewhat uncomfortable. Mum appeared to be asking her ‘healer’ for directions to somewhere. There was lots of arm waving.

We then had lunch, which was lovely. We came home ( after we had gone to say goodbye to Daisy).

The last treat mum took me on, we went to a cafe run by disabled people. We were the only customers and we drank coffee in an empty room while a man ( who I assume/hope was a patient) shouted at us.  I have requested that we don’t have anymore treats for a while. I need recovery time.

We took the boys back to uni, I can hardly believe the Summer is over. I will miss them loads. Maybe not the relationship advice though. This was very evident even as we drove Son 2 back.
Husband remarked, “It’ll be just us tomorrow.”
I lovingly replied, “Yes, it will be nice to have some time together.”
Voice from back said, “She’s been practising that sentence all week: YES, it will be nice….. Yes, it WILL be nice……”

When we later had a slight disagreement over the route, there were sounds of son shooting himself on the back seat.

However, most of the trip went to plan. There was bit of delay when we realised that Son 1 had given us the wrong postcode, so we couldn’t find his new house to drop off his stuff. It then transpired that actually, he had given us the wrong road name as well. Easy mistake, apparently. We found each other eventually.

Another slight mishap was sorting bags of bedding. We thought all was finished when Son 2 phoned to say that we had left him with three duvets and no pillows. One was the duvet with no feathers, so perhaps that was not such a problem. More of a problem for Son 1 who was left with four pillows and no duvet. Did a quick shopping trip before we left him.

We then spent the night at Premier Inn before the long drive home. I really like Premier Inn. They are clean and have comfortable beds, the sort of food that you actually feel like eating and you don’t pay for a lot of stuff that you don’t want. Excellent idea by someone.

We got home to a calm house and happy animals – Mum had housesat for us. I have now moved the outside kittens to the garden. They have been free during the night (when there are practically no cars) but I’ve been keeping them secure during the day. Have decided they are probably big enough now to be free all the time. They have grown noticeably thicker coats than Mungo, who we’re keeping inside as a house cat.

We did have one incident when Midge climbed a tree and couldn’t get down. It was really interesting to watch his Mum go up and get him. She kept going to him, then showing him which branches to jump onto to get down. She got very cross when he ignored her and went even higher – she chased up after him and told him off. There seemed to be a lot of biting of legs involved. Perhaps I should have tried that as a parenting technique.

Take care,
Anne x

PS. Mum has been told by the doctor to drink less tea. She has rationed herself to three cups per day. They are the biggest cups I have ever seen, I think she must have gone to a ‘super-size mug’ shop. Not sure that’s quite what the doctor meant. I will let you have that conversation with her. Ax

 

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Gozo, Malta

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Continuation of holiday diary.

Arrived at ferry terminal in good time. They leave every 45 minutes, so only had to wait about 10 minutes but in the hot sun it felt like forever. Was surprised by how big and near Gozo looked – like a peninsula across the bay.
Son 2 gave directions but the other two quite vocal. Conversations like:
Son: Take the next right.
R: This one, this one, turn right now.
Husband: I’m not going up that one, it’s too narrow. Right, which way now?
M:I think that’s wrong anyway.
Son: It’s not wrong, I know where we are exactly. Probably. Okay, if there’s a roundabout take 3rd exit. But there wont be, roundabouts are only on the map, they never exist in real life here.

Also hard to see ‘no entry’ signs as the sun has faded them all.
Gozo has more flat roofed houses and domed churches. Very pretty.
Met villa man in square and went to villa. ‘Panorama’ in Xaghra (pronounced ‘Shara’. My family never managed that.) We booked it through James Villas but it has its own website.
Villa very luxurious. It’s set on the edge of the hill with views across a huge valley towards the citadel at Victoria.

Drove down winding road to nearest big supermarket. A Lidl. Very stressful. No brands I recognised, hard to find everything we needed, very limited choice. M noticed maggots all over eggs. Not good experience.

Walked from villa into centre of Xaghra, about 10 minutes unless you got lost. Several people sitting outside chatting. Square has a few restaurants to choose from.

We ate at Oleander. Very friendly and welcoming. Food nice, especially the baked brie starter served on figs and walnuts. Delicious. Husband and M raved over the tomato, capers, olives and peppers bruschetta. Son 2 agreed it was delicious ( and he doesn’t even like capers, olives or peppers. Isn’t very keen on bruschetta either.) All too full to eat our main courses. Had lemoncello shots then walked home. Didn’t get lost.

Wednesday: Lazy day. Unpacked, did washing. Cooked pancakes and bacon – all takes ages in unfamiliar kitchen. Kitchen is beautiful but rather lacking in equipment. Used salad bowl to make batter. Only coffee maker seems to be a Nespresso machine ( but no capsules) or a cracked cafetiere which I don’t fancy using. Think maybe a dog mauled it at some point.
Pool boy came. He was about 70.
Boys found some toy boats and had races with them in indoor pool. So glad the sophistication of the villa has affected them.
Got cinema room working, watched a Mandarin dvd.
Horrid lunch. Hate Lidl.

Played ‘Game of Thrones’ board game. I still don’t understand the rules. Much testosterone fuelled arguing and making of alliances. Was a very long game. Lucky we weren’t in a beautiful villa with views across a valley full of sunshine. R hibernated somewhere. Wise girl.
Of course, the best thing of all is that long after the game FINALLY ended, it could be discussed at length, each move analysed, much advice given. Shoot me someone.

Strolled into town. Picturesque square/church rather spoiled by extensive building work. Found a small supermarket 5 minutes walk from villa. It sold everything that I had tried to find in Lidl, many with recognised brands. (I hate Lidl.) It opens at 6am, so ideal for buying stuff before breakfast.

Ate at Oleander again. No one really enjoyed their meal. Maybe it’s just too hot to enjoy eating.

Thursday: Lazed, swam, ice creams. The ice creams were like rocks so turned down the freezer to 1.
Pizza for lunch. Tasted mainly of plastic. ( Lidl).

Drove to Xlendi. Parked in car park behind the shops (everywhere we went was much less crowded than resorts in the UK. There are not many spaces in the car parks but there are always some.)

The shops and cafes run along the waterfront. It was very crowded with a shingle beach. There were buoys marking where was safe to swim (easy to get run over by a boat when swimming in Gozo.) We walked along a rock wall to some steps down into the sea. Swam/snorkelled. Mainly saw small shoals of fish. Water really salty ( stung eyes) and very deep – the only way out was up the steps

Drive home was difficult, winding roads and lack of signs. Apparently they were designed to be confusing because the island was raided so many times. They succeeded.

Ate in DVenue, another restaurant in the square. They had a good fresh fish platter. Nice meals.

Walked back to villa and watched Harry Potter (not my choice) in cinema room. This is a long room built under the pool, so is dark and cool. It has black leather sofas that recline and a big screen and sound system. Note to self: never allow husband to install a fancy sound system. He has it loud enough for the whole town to hear. Claims base is set too high.

Friday: Walked to local shop and bought local honey, eggs and milk. Made pancakes. There is also a bread van that comes from the local bakery and drives around the town honking its horn at about 10 every morning. Stops in various places. Nice crusty bread.

After lunch, went for a drive. Drove to Dwejra Bay. Beautiful. Rocks down to deep blue water, Azure Window (a big hole in the rock which was very crowded with people taking photos), several ice cream vans, stalls selling tourist tat from Africa, St Anne’s chapel (more modern than expected.) You could look down onto the Inland Sea. This used to be a huge cave but the roof fell in, so now it’s a giant rock pool surrounded by cafes and full of boats for hire and divers. Took photos.

Drove through St Lawrences. Took photo of church, which was very ornate, lots of red and gold. All the churches here have a basket of material next to the door, so you can cover your shoulders.

Drove back to Xaghra via Ghasri, Zebbug, Xwejni Bay, Marsalforn. You can imagine how my family pronounce these names.

Saw interesting rock formations and salt pans but was told I had exceeded my photograph limit and the car was not stopping.

Getting into Xaghra a challenge due to closed roads but no helpful diversion signs. Also, Gozo DOES have cul de sac/no-through-road signs, because I have seen some. However it obviously did not buy enough because mostly they are unmarked and you just have to turn round when you get to the end.

Got home eventually. Ate several ice creams. Still not losing weight.

Played Game of Thrones with the males. Husband’s turns are like advert breaks in the US – you can write diary, read a book, cook a three course meal and still not miss any play. Boys had coded talks to discuss the rules in secret (like I would’ve cared.) R sunbathed and talked to the boyfriend.

Ate at DVenue again. Finished with complimentary lemoncello shots. Weekends get busier, so we booked a table for Sunday.

Saturday: Quick breakfast, then drove back to Dwejra Bay. Worried about hair being dry so put suncream in it. R asked me why my hair was blue.

Walked down some steep steps from the first car park to a cove where Fungus Rock is ( big rock where they used to collect a plant. Which apparently was not a fungus.) Water wonderfully deep, you could just float around wearing a snorkel, lost in an underwater world. The route into the water was via sharp rocks, so we wore swimming shoes ( bought for about £5 from Amazon before we came and they worked really well.) Saw rocks and seaweed and shoals of fish. Son 2 asked me if I knew my hair was blue.

Bacon and egg lunch at villa.

I stupidly said, ” The rocks look much nearer in the water than they really are.”
Males then discussed/argued about (for hours) the refraction index of water. M used breadsticks to illustrate. Argument somewhat weakened when breadstick went in his eye.

Played G of T. Each move took 27 hours.

Have noticed that no one listens to me. I think they honestly do not hear me, have grown accustomed to just tuning out my voice. Have started to speak with Scottish accent. This makes them all stop and stare at me in surprise ( not sure they actually listen to what I say but at least I now have their attention.)

Watched Pitch Perfect in cinema room. Still not my choice but not as bad as you might think.

Cooked steaks (horrible) and had them with red wine (nice) and salad (okay) in fancy dining room/wine cellar which has been carved out of the rock below the villa. Very atmospheric.

(Hair no longer blue. But suncream made it very wiry, was not a good idea.)

Sunday : Made pancake batter then couldn’t light hob. No gas. Annoying. Husband checked barbecue outside and managed to light it. Took ages to heat up but then worked fine. Was rather lovely to eat breakfast outside, overlooking the valley. Sent text to villa man who changed gas bottle later that morning.

There is a small dog who wanders along the ridge and peers at us. Doesn’t seem to understand French or Mandarin. Everyone has given him a different name.

Had cold shower. I have problems with the taps here. You sort of have to push them up to turn on then wiggle them left to get warm water. Sometimes works, sometimes doesn’t. No one else has this problem so it must be me.

Walked to church. Service was in progress but other people were going in so I slipped into the back. Was incredibly hot in there. Very full church, lots of families. No order of service sheet or hymn books or Bibles. Service all in Maltese, was like listening to Arabic, couldn’t understand anything. After 10 minutes, with sweat trickling down my back, I gave up and slipped out again. I’m glad I went – I don’t know how else to make Sundays different – but there seemed little point in staying long. Pretty church though, painted ceilings.

Husband went to cake shop, Cafe Reale. There is an Italian man who owns it. He gets up early every morning and bakes wonderful cakes. We tried a selection.

From about 11:30 to after 12 each day, there is lots of canon fire/fireworks across the valley. R suggested they are the midday canons and the Maltese are not very good time keepers. Husband suggested that maybe a bird had got lost and strayed across Gozo and we were hearing the hunters. (Hunting is a problem here, there are not many birds left now.)

Played G of T. Each move took 29 hours. Clearly one major difference between the genders is that females can decide future moves DURING someone else’s turn, hence taking much less time when it’s time for their move. Plus they don’t actually care that much.

R had washing machine disaster. Now has lots of clothes that match her yellow sundress. Boys played her lots of songs with the word “yellow” in. I’m sure they were trying to make her feel better.

Dinner at DVenue. Good again.

Saw a blue light on a roof. Told R they have blue stars in Gozo.

Monday : Husband went to buy water and milk. Hard to find full fat milk here. Today bought 2.5% fat. I think the darker the blue of the carton, the higher the fat content. But not necessarily.

Discussed family chores as husband has decided everyone should help (that idea went so well last holiday.) R and M responsible for all dishwasher duties. They immediately formed a trade union and appointed R as spokesperson. Spent some time discussing terms and conditions with husband, who tried to instigate penalty clauses but R told him it contravened European law. So glad he started this. Son 2 (in charge of rubbish disposal) kept offering to strike in support of R and M.

After lunch walked to square. Full of dusty roadworks, so continued round the corner to a little cafe. Had ice creams and coffee. ( I had Malteaser ice cream – clearly from Malta.) Hot walk back to villa.

Went to Victoria as R wanted to buy gifts (yaay shopping, my favourite.) Very windy. Told a storm was coming, 110 lightening strikes in Tunisia, apparently. Shops all rushing to get their displays inside.

We went to Maldonado Bistro. They didn’t open until 7pm but kindly let us go in early and have drinks while we waited.
Son 2 used his clever phone to translate the menu from English into Maltese and Mandarin. Helpful. The menu had 12 different bruschettas. This kept family occupied for 50 minutes (just the choosing bit. You may have not noticed but my family enjoys negotiating/discussing/persuading. Strong opinions. Not my genes.) R tried a kinnie, which is advertised everywhere here. It’s a bitter orange drink. Very bitter.

Bruschettas were huge when they arrived, half a loaf. Very nice. Great atmosphere (down in a wine cellar) and friendly service.

Only problem was toilets which Son 2 informed me were clean but built as stalls and the dividing partition was below his eye level. But he is very tall. Good restaurant, definitely recommend a visit. info@maldonado.com.mt

Drove home. Streets pretty at night. Saw several blue lights on poles. Boys told R it was an alien invasion.

Tuesday: Son 2 complained he had not slept due to M being in charge of air conditioning. He said it was practically snowing in their room and he might have pneumonia.

Drove to Xewkija (pronounced shewkeeya”. But not by my family.) Saw the third biggest dome in Europe ( except one in Malta also claims this. One is higher and one is wider, so there is some dispute. Sounds like my family.) The rotunda is nice, quite simple inside, apart from the massive dome. It was built over a smaller, more ornate church, which they moved to the side by numbering all the stones and moving them individually. It is now a side chapel.

The main church has some good modern art, including two statues made of papier-maché by Alfred Camilleri Cauchi. I like papier-maché, made a rather fine mask when I was at Junior School. Not that it really compares.

Went to small supermarket next to rotunda (husband has developed a peach addiction) started to absolutely pour with rain, ran to car, soaked.

Drove home through Victoria, which is like the moving staircases in Hogwarts in Harry Potter books – whichever way you go in you can never find the correct route out.

Cleaners at villa. Were very thorough, even found two towels husband had hidden in wardrobe in attempt to get extras. J asked them for blankets.
Lunch. Thunder storm.

Males decided they wanted to build sandcastles on Ramla beach. As it was cloudy and cool, R and I decided to walk there. Started to follow road signs, then realised that they directed traffic along major roads so followed map instead. Reached a ridge where we could see beach but it was unclear how to get down to it. By this time the sun had reappeared and it was very hot. Two stray dogs joined us, happy to have some company and walked with us, waiting at every bend for us to catch up. We ignored them but they came anyway, was rather nice. Took an hour to reach beach (nice walk if not sunny.)
Found males in far corner of beach building Venice. Drove home.

Swam. Pool very cold when full of rainwater. Ate ice creams, which are still too hard. Realised the “fast freeze” button had been left on by previous guests.

Wednesday: After breakfast, drove to Victoria. Walked to citadel. Great views, could see all around island. Went into the battery, which led to the silos (huge grain storage areas, like great caves.) Very interesting. The silos are connected by a dark narrow tunnel (from when they were turned into a reservoir) so now you can walk right into them. Son 2 and R sang a chant, harmonising with their echoes. Was magical.

Then saw the rooms used as WW2 shelters. They were under the reservoirs, so if they’d been hit, everyone would’ve drowned. Not such a good idea.

Didn’t pay for the museum. Didn’t pay for the prison, but did put Son2 into the stocks outside. Didn’t see a Christmas tree ornament to buy. But did see some traditional lace. Shop owner said it was the last of her stock as all her suppliers were now in their eighties and younger women wont sell their work because it earns about 50p an hour. Seemed too mean to buy any.

Had lunch back in Xaghra at Cafe Reale. They have the BEST iced coffee. Still not losing weight.

Males decided to return to beach, we stayed here to swim but then the pool man arrived so we couldn’t. Annoying.

Males returned late, very happy, had built a brilliant castle and had been joined by another family (somewhat younger, so they could pretend they were building it for the children.) Also helped by ‘Steve the tiler’ from Australia who had used his building skills to good effect. M had heaved heavy boulders to protect it, Son 2 had applied a more scientific approach and incorporated some thatch to increase structural support. M rather disparaging of the thatch. It was slightly surprising how long three adult males could discuss a sandcastle for. Husband did suggest a post dinner drive to show me and R but unfortunately drank too much Cisk and was over the alcohol limit. Such a shame.

Nice dinner again at DVenue. Every Wednesday evening at 9pm in July and August a drama group performs in the square. It has an excellent sound system but I suspect the performance appeals mostly to their family members.

Afterwards the choirboys played football using the church doorway as a goal. Excellent use of space.

Looked across the valley. All the towns are now full of blue lights on poles. Apparently they represent Mary ( not aliens) and I assume are ready for the 15th, which is Assumption Day. There is a strong Catholic presence in Malta.

Thursday : Husband booked a boat for Friday afternoon, Xlendi Watersports, €80, 4 adults, 2 hours.

Drove to Calypso’s cave. This is where Ulysses was put under a spell by the witch Calypso when returning from the Trojan war (if you enjoy Homer.) It was confusing to find on maps as there’s also a viewpoint and you can’t tell which is on the road. Followed signs. There was a small boutique where an elderly lady (possibly Calypso) was selling clothes, followed signs along a walkway. Brilliant view of Ramla beach and out to sea. No cave. Searched around a bit (while husband checked sandcastle with zoom on camera). Found some disused steps and some scaffolding holding up a rock. I think Calypso’s cave has collapsed. Shame.

Went back to square for more iced coffee with cream at Cafe Reale.

Watched building work and cars narrowly missing each other. I must say, Gozo has a LOT of building work, they seem to be rebuilding the whole island.

Back to villa in time for 12 noonish canons. Gozo also has a lot of canons.

Went to the salt pans at Xwejni Bay. Very interesting. Shallow pools , cut by hand, to collect seawater. When it dries they harvest the salt crystals and sell it (Gozo sea salt.)

Walked around Qolla-L-Bajda. Weird rock erosion and a cave. White clay cliffs eroding fast, beach littered with great chunks of fallen cliff. Cove interesting but a bit smelly.

Evening meal in Marsalforn. Ate in Menqa L’Antika, which had good reviews but either we were unlucky and went on a day when they had staffing problems or they wrote them themselves. Good menu but food didn’t really match descriptions.

Malta

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Extracts from a holiday diary: Malta
August 2015

Some names changed to protect identity. I have no idea why……..

Saturday: Taxi at 5am. Always stressful as everyone has set alarm for 4:30, knowing it will take half an hour to get ready. Lots of tension over bathroom space. Except for Mario. He had decided it wasn’t worth going to bed. Husband gave him a 3am deadline for being packed ( visions of him falling asleep, not packed, at 3:30.) I just love the whole ‘male territory’ thing.

Taxi and flights okay.
Mario announced in taxi he has a note on his phone: ” Reminder to future self. Rae does not need a window seat. In 2010 she had a window seat and she shut the blind and went to sleep.”

We flew with British Airways. R had the window seat.

Landed in Malta. Hired car through Avis, a Mazda 6. A very battered Mazda 6. As we left the airport, understood why it was battered. No one stops at junctions, you just have to try hard to avoid them.

Son 2 map read. Not easy as map had no road names and there were lots of unexpected one-way roads. Also roundabouts were marked on map but did not appear to actually exist. R and M gave regular input, husband ignored most directions. No idea how Son 2 remained calm ( this is why I REFUSE to be the map reader.)

Malta has lots of flat roofed buildings made of pale limestone. Reminded me of being in Palestine ( not that I’ve actually ever been to Palestine.)

Arrived at Meridien Hotel. Nice lobby. Had drinks while they prepared our rooms and looked at views, which are brilliant, across a bay to a church.
Rooms nice. Walked around town and bought water ( water in Malta tastes horrid, though is safe to use for ice, washing salads, cleaning teeth, unless you are particularly sensitive.) Even at 6:30 pm, it was really hot, sweaty within minutes.

Ate in Villa Restaurant, which is part of the hotel. Meals around €30 per head for starter and mains. Very nice. We sat on a veranda overlooking water, tiny lights in trees, beautiful. R told me that next to the sea you don’t get mosquitos so wont be bitten. This is not true.

Sunday: Breakfast. Amazing buffet, had pretty much everything. Need to lose weight before nephews wedding or will need bigger dress – was not a good start.
Family sat and chatted to each other on fb.
Planned day.

Hotel is at St Julian ( which explains why I couldn’t find it on map in Valletta. Another reason why I no longer map read.)
Valletta has a Crusaders fort. Caught bus. Very easy as Valletta is end of the line. Tickets cost €2 each and are valid for two hours (so you can get on and off buses with the same ticket within that time.)

Valletta was interesting, busy and hot. More limestone flat roofed buildings, flags, cafes, gift shops. Malta has lots of Festa – each town has a Saint and one weekend each year they decorate the town, have a parade, let off fireworks and are generally festive.
We looked round the free bits of the fort because the bits you pay for are basically museums and we don’t much like museums. Plus we could see lots just from the free bits. Great views. Loud canons at midday.

Fort built in 1556 by the knights from the Order of St John. Later, in 1798, Napoleon invaded and kicked out the knights. The Order still exist today – in the UK they are St John Ambulance Brigade, though the order itself is based in Rome and answers only to the Pope. ( Good book, ‘Malta and Gozo’ by Juliet Rix explains it all.)

All hot, so decided to go to Mac D’s for lunch. Got enticed into a cafe by man on the door. Had nice lunch in warm air conditioned dining room ( was less hot but not really cool.) Prices in menu differed from prices advertised outside but not by much ( worth always checking though!) Food nice and cheap. Toilets nasty. Service friendly. V rude American lady made a fuss because her margherita pizza had tomato sauce, not fresh tomatoes. When she left, waiter laughed and raised his hands!

Went round the Grand Masters Palace. Cool painted ceilings and suits of armour. Lots of ‘Do Not Touch’ signs. ( If you’re tempted to try on a helmet when no one is looking, don’t bother – they’re glued onto the modals.) Weapons room had lots of weapons ( not unexpectedly, you might think) and was very hot.

Got bus back to St Julian. Friendly lady on bus told me that you can buy a weekly ticket for €21. Actually, everyone on Malta is friendly. Apart from the rude American lady. And some journalists who were waiting outside the Courthouse with tv cameras and who wouldn’t tell me who was inside ( they just said “criminals” when I asked. So I took photo of them instead.)

Son 2 informed me his shoe ( just one) is too big so he was wearing three pairs of socks. Sounded both hot and high impact on the laundry front. Bought him a shoe insole.
Walked to next bay and checked out restaurants. Everyone seemed very young and trendy ( am informed that the use of word “trendy” proves that I am old.) Ate ice creams next to sea.
Swam in hotel pool.

Walked around bay to Eat restaurant ( not part of the UK fast food chain.) V nice starter. R and I had cocktails which looked nice but mine was fairly low alcohol. Main courses okay but not great. When bill came, waitress said their credit card machine didn’t work. M ( the economist) informed me this was a scam. Either that or she was a bit daft to not tell us at the beginning as we may not have been carrying enough cash.

Monday: Nice breakfast. Family communicated by mobiles again. Might take a book tomorrow.

Drove to Mdina and Rabat. Mdina is the walled city within Rabat. Son 2 in charge of map again. Lorry ahead of us hit a tree branch which then fell and blocked the road. Son made up detour. Arrived in Mdina, which was surprising as Son admitted that at no point was he sure which road we were on. Did not stop him making decisive decisions at every junction, we were fooled. Apart from M, who labelled him the ‘Helen Keller of map readers’.

M requested that we not walk around in the midday sun. We arrived in Mdina at 11:50. It was hot. He hardly mentioned it at all.

Walked to St Paul’s grotto in Rabat. It started to rain. Was only about five drops but all males complained. Fear we may be holidaying in Sahara next year.

M complained that the name ‘Rabat’ is stolen from Morocco and St Pauls Cathedral is stolen from London. Walked around muttering about looking for the Maltese Eiffel tower and Statue of Liberty. We ignored him.

St Paul’s grotto was interesting, cool and dark, especially the catacombs. Not good if you don’t like confined spaces but excellent otherwise. Some of the best stuff is down narrow unmarked tunnels, so worth taking a boy with a clever phone or a torch. Tall males complain a lot.

Used toilets in museum. Nasty. Toilets in Malta also rarely have paper, so worth carrying your own supply.
Bought cushion cover for my collection. Has Maltese cross on it. Happy.

Ate lunch in Bottegin, Palazzo Xara in Rabat. Was okay and cheap.

Drove home. Got thoroughly lost. R took over map reading and took us in a big circle past some bamboo. Fired her and reinstated Son 2/Helen Keller, who took us all around the coast. Was scenic if not exactly direct.

Played new board game in the bar. I never actually understood the rules but everyone else seemed to enjoy it. Drank beers ( which helped.)

Tuesday: Breakfast at 9 (8 for me, am keeping to UK time. Mainly because it annoys the males.)
Husband collected a plateful of Maltese food ( pickled herrings, pea pastries, cheese). Ate a few mouthfuls, then collected a plateful of English breakfast food to ‘dilute’ it with. Told him he’s getting portly. He did not appreciate feedback.

Didn’t go to the Hypogeum in Paola as you have to book and there are no vacant slots for the next 20 years.

Drove to Hagar Qim to look at Mnajdra temples. Arrived 11:55. M hardly mentioned “midday sun” at all. There was an interesting 4D film before the monument ( my kind of history, short, informative and no long boring information boards to read.) Temples were unusual. And hot.

Drove back to St Julian with no detours. Son 2 told us, ” it helps if you know where you are when you start.” Explains a lot.

Checked out and ate lunch in hotel lobby. Nice food.

R said she needed to recharge all her electronics as her plug converters didn’t fit any of the sockets in her room. We pointed out that Malta has the same electricity as UK so she didn’t need any converters. R went quiet. Briefly.

Drove to ferry at Cirkewwa. I cannot begin to tell you how my family pronounce the names here…….

Letters to a Sister :16

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So, we went to look at some missionaries. It was a little like going to view a puppy before we agreed to take one. Not quite sure how we managed to be given the job.

To explain, our church supports some missionaries who have now finished their term abroad, so we need new ones. We were given the names of some who seem suitable but they didn’t have time to visit our church, so it was decided that a deputation would go and hear them speak. We (me, husband and Barbie) somehow managed to be the deputation. Not a good choice.

The evening started well when the motorway to strange Baptist church we had never heard of before, was shut. Briefly, but it did mean we were then in a rush. We then found that the road that actually led to the church was also shut. Was not going well. Considered abandoning mission and going to pub instead.

Arrived late, church was small, neat, probably has not changed very much in the last 150 years. Nor I suspect have some members of the congregation. The chairs have though, they were nice and comfortable. And in shades of purple and lilac to match the mauve carpet and purple tulips. All very colour co-ordinated. I wondered who had ordered the six green chairs and whether they still attend the church.

The congregation (all 17 of them) were singing when we arrived. The words to the song were displayed on an overhead screen. I should perhaps have guessed the mood of the evening when I saw the white haired lady playing the guitar with the rainbow strap. To be fair, she played very well. In a sort of military style – I for one was not brave enough to NOT sing!

I did need to use the loo though. A very nice man told me where it was – through the door right at the front. When I asked if it was the only one, as the service had started and everyone would see me go through the door, he told me that actually, if I preferred, I could use the side door. I did prefer. He was unfortunately the man responsible for changing the words on the projector and while giving me toilet directions, the singing ground to a halt. When I returned I couldn’t work out why we kept repeating the same song. Husband helpfully informed me it was the chorus. Then got the giggles, very embarrassing in strange church. The more I tried to not giggle, the bigger the urge to collapse in uncontrollable heap. Recieved stern looks from husband.

Missionaries then stood up, wife first, to introduce their work. We began with her showing us some photos. She said we had to tell her where they were taken. I thought this was going to be examples of unusual places to hold a school or church or something. But no. They were just random photos of the country they work in and we had to guess where they were taken and who was in them. Bizarre. One was a cow in a street. What were we supposed to say? “Ah, that is a cow in a street.” Or a group of people. Was I really expected to know if they were her aunty Joan, her next door neighbours or a group from the church? Nearly lost control completely at this point, was bursting to call out “swimming pool” when shown boys playing football. (The correct answer was : “Boys playing football.” You get the idea.)

To be fair, this is not the worst thing that I have been asked by missionaries to do at a missionary evening. At least we didn’t have to sing something in a foreign language that no one speaks and which might as well be Humpty Dumpty as a christian song.

Missionary husband then gave a talk, which was quite good, but I was slightly beyond listening at this point. They seemed like a nice couple doing a good work in a difficult place. Why do churches and missionaries put themselves through these evenings? Why couldn’t we all just have a nice curry or go to the pub and chat about the work they are doing? I am glad God is so much bigger than the churches that follow him.

On drive home, we discussed the feedback we would give our own church. Husband offered the view that, “He wasn’t a pompous git like the last one we had”. Barbie and I agreed that she would be the spokesperson and husband should remain silent.

There is a truck that keeps parking outside our house. This is perfectly legal but for some unknown reason is a bit irritating. Boys and husband have been thinking of ways to encourage owner to park somewhere else. One suggestion was a sign on windscreen which says, “Harry the Hammer hates selfish parking.” The latest idea involves cat poo – of which we have plenty (joys of kittens and dirt boxes.) They feel a few nights where it will appear a local cat has taken to using the truck as a toilet will encourage the owner to move on. They are joking. I hope.

Take care,
Anne xx

 

Letters to a Sister : 15

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So, the week began with a visit from my friend who is from Iran and studying over here for a few years. We took her to an Indian restaurant. The waiter asked if she was Indian. I am guessing, from her reaction, that for an Iranian that is not a compliment.

The boys then thought it something of a challenge to encourage her to drink shots with them. Hmm, can always rely on them to not let me down when I’m trying to make a good impression.

We also had a “men’s social/bloke’s night” at our house. I do think to be male and attend church you need to be man enough to cope with some pretty naff names. They had a croquet tournament. For the uninitiated, this might seem like a nice polite game. It is not. I promised myself I would never have to play it again when I was dating my husband and we played with his family, who all thought it hilarious to send my ball spinning off into a garden several houses away while they all had a nice social time and finished together. It is a nasty, competitive mean game. My family are all very good at it. Enough said.

The winner of this particular event, which we host every year, gets a trophy to sit on their mantelpiece for the year. You might think this would be a small cup or a replica of croquet mallets, but no. It is a very large and ugly china hand which was originally used as a mould for rubber gloves. Husband found it in a junk shop when in New York. I am not sure if the men actually try to win it or not. I suspect that they cannot help being competitive. You will be surprised at how often the wife of the winner sidles up to me afterwards in church and confesses that they really do not have room for it in their house, would I mind looking after it for the rest of the year.

My husband then hides it. Otherwise a nasty accident might befall it when I am dusting. (Actually, I rarely dust, but I might make an exception in this case.)

I bought a hat for nephew’s wedding. I know you will be pleased, knowing just how much I hate shopping. Fifteen minutes, half price, John Lewis. AND it came with a box. A triumph. It is slightly big. If it slips down I will have to peer at bride and groom from under the rim. But was too good a bargain to miss.

Then shopped for boy clothes with boys. This was painful. I suggested to boy with large toe protruding from canvas shoe that perhaps shoes would be a good item for list.
We went to the same shop he went to last time and tried on exactly the same pair of shoes in exactly the same size. He informed me they were fine, just a little tight over one toe, but as they were the same shoe/size as last time, this was not a problem. I was almost fooled.
Then I realised that the toe it was ‘a bit tight over’ was the same toe that protruded from the old shoes.
Suggested a bigger size might be a good idea. Was told this would not work as other foot was a lot smaller.
I felt wearing one new shoe (in bigger size) and one old shoe (on small foot) was ideal solution. Son told me I was “hilarious” (in the kind of voice that told me I was far from funny in a good way.)
We bought the bigger shoes. (I was paying.)

Journey home uneventful. Boys sat in back and debated intensely all the way home. Sentences such as, “what if a man kills a dog and then just keeps killing dogs for fun” and, “well no, I think all animals are equal so perhaps murder is not so wrong. I could probably eat a human,” floated to the front. I was going to ask what they wanted for dinner. Decided not to.

Take care,
Anne

PS, We collected son’s duvet from Morrison’s washing service (the one with a hole in, remember?) All was good – we were not charged for any breakage due to feathers and he can still use the duvet. As a pillow perhaps.