Get ready for a rush of activity!

I took 2 photographs of the mantlepiece, but this one looks less messy. I was too ashamed to put the other one up. I feel the need for a bit of an excuse too. I can explain! I can explain! It's all Hamish's fault! I have to put everything up here out of his way. All my high shelves etc, are packed with 'Leave-It-Hamish! Essentials'. Well that's the excuse I am sticking with. Tough if you know me and don't believe me.

• 6 photographs, some framed, some still waiting to be framed by lazy person - tick!;
• 1 handmade pottery bowl filled with crap (misc.) - tick!;
• 1 little ceramic artwork that I hold very dear to my heart and cherish cause it was quite expensive and so far has avoided mishap, eh, filled with crap (misc.) - tick!;
• 2 name trains in various pieces scattered throughout crap (misc.) - tick!;
• Assorted necklaces - mine, Orla's, Hamish's(!) - tick!;
• Innumerable letters that lazy procrastinator probably needs to do something about - tick!;
• Tub of Playdoh, small plastic teacup, Peppa Pig barbeque trio objet d'art - tick!;
• Pile of Dora, Diego, Peppa, and dreaded Barney dvd's - tick!
• 1 hurricane lamp, never used and bought to look pretty, but inevitably stuffed full of crap (misc.) by aforementioned lazy person - tick!;
• Coins and notes and two un-banked cheques artfully scattered or stuffed throughout above items - tick!;
• 2 tv remotes - tick!;
• Unloved Easter chick - tick!;
• Nappy rash cream - tick!;
• Dust (x lots) - tick!

And that was an inventory of the living room mantlepiece.

I emailed a friend who moved with RR to ask about the move and what happened and got back a lovely email that nearly made me crap myself. Let me quote you the second line: "So from what I remember you have to do an inventory of everything in the house" ...oh, and my favourite bit..."even down to the names of all your cd's, dvd's etc,". YOU WHAT??????????? "...and then you have to put a price to everything, for insurance purposes I think.". Think of the mantlepiece and multiply that by a house. Holy smoke, I practically started swiping great loads of (Stevie's) stuff into bin bags for the dump there and then! This sounds like about a million times the work of just packing it myself. Great. What happened to my dream of an elite team of RR packers coming to the door, I shout to the kids "Time to stop playing now" and then hand them the keys as I sashay out on my way to the airport casually telling them to pack the cleaning products and hoover after they've given the house a good scrub before they go.

Apparently this is the dream. I still get my knickers packed, but only if I've listed them and put a price to them first.

Plaster-infested waters: part two

This is not the pool. If it were this nice I might not be moaning as much. Though I still think it's probably not that clean.

I am being punished for eating the kids chocolate buttons. Orla chose swimming again today. All went well despite even more grotesque fungal images flying round my mind this time round. But hurried through the first changing room experience as quickly as possible, and got in to the nice(r) warmer (pee temperature?) pool and had barely set a foot in the grime infested waters before we were told we had to leave in 10 minutes. You'd think they could have told us that at the front desk when we paid our £5.00, but admittedly they were a bit distracted by the lady who quite rightly was having a good shout at them for their incompetence*.

Our 10 minutes pass in a blur, and then we're kicked out into the teenage pool. We managed somewhere between 5 - 10 minutes before the children's chittering gets in the way of their fun and even they want to leave. I wouldn't be me if I wasn't just a little bit pleased to be getting out. So back in the horrid changing rooms, I open the locker and give Orla the £1 to hold (just in case I need to divert her attention away from having a massive tantrum because she's been short-changed on swimming fun). But it appears that a short stint in freezing cold water is enough to entice her back into her clothes. So I am relaxed and happy as we get changed. Last time I think I might have forgotten to mention that she had a massive tantrum in the little cubicle, which was nice, and simply added to my pleasurable experience.

This time round aside from chanting "cold, cold, cold", she was a very good girl and mostly kept quiet. She had been playing with the £1 coin running it up and down the filthy grout; digging it into the dirty, fungal, grooves in the wooden slatted bench; dropping it on to the musty, just plain filthy floor; oh, and then popping it in and out of her mouth and licking it.


I just deserve this, don't I?

the last plate

I got my last piece back from pottery. I'd had high expectations for it: I'd painted a really nice lily on it in different glazes, but I wanted it to be quite subtle so put more white on on top. Well, subtle is not the word. You couldn't see it at all. But this provided me with the perfect opportunity to try out porcelain pens. I've been eyeing these for a while. Unfortunately they didn't have the colours left that I wanted, and being an impatient sort I just went with what they had...orange, green, and navy.

I don't think there is any hiding the 'felt-tip' look that they give so I've tried to use it to its advantage. Once I'd done it I was in two minds about wiping it off and starting again, as it really doesn't look like my usual kind of thing, but I decided to stick with it and baked it in the oven this morning. Now supposedly it'll be dishwasher safe, but I'm not sure how well the actual plate would cope as it's not glazed on the reverse.

Happy Easter!

I've been keeping Easter quiet. Orla has grasped that there's something with little chicks and hats and eggs, and who knows maybe her work (nursery) will have gone into the religious side of things, but the chocolate side of things I have been keeping quiet. I don't let them have masses of chocolate and they don't eat sweets at all. My mother-in-law and possibly quite a few of my friends think I am a food fascist on this score but I know that there will come a time when sweeties will come into their life all by themselves without my introducing them.

7am: Hamish turns on the tv as soon as he gets downstairs. Orla grateful for his skill at finding Milkshake on Channel 5 sits down and listens as the presenter says "...is busy eating his easter eggs already. Happy Easter, everyone! Hope you are all enjoying your easter egg!". Orla to mummy: "I don't want breakfast. I want easter eggs!". Ha, ha, so much for keeping it quiet!

Time for a minor panic

Someone sent me a text last night asking how the packing was going and if I wanted them to come round this week and help. Apart from laughing initially in response at how unorganised I am compared to others (I know some people who pack for a holiday a month before they go!!! Madness, I'd never be out of that suitcase. For starters I don't have enough stuff to just leave a caseful untouched, and my two little assistants would find it irresistible and would be removing and adding to it for the entire month and I'd end up with 6 blobs of plasticine and 2 pieces of a Fifi jigsaw and no shoes or toiletries). My second thought was if I asked her round this week what would I actually do? I could throw out that apple crumble that went out of date in March, or I could... what?, go upstairs and have a nap?

The trouble is, we have yet to find out what happens with this move. We have heard tales that RR arranges for a company to come in and pack everything right down to the pictures on the walls, and the knickers in your drawer. But if I'm wrong, then we're probably in trouble.

Yet, I am finding it impossible to get into a panic about this. Maybe cause we don't have an exact date it makes it less real that we'll be living in a different country in a months time or less.

I don't want a pool party for my birthday

Are we having fun yet?

I hate swimming. I have never liked it and whenever Stevie suggests it my heart sinks like a brick to the bottom of the pool. You don't even get to wear your pyjamas which would make it slightly more palatable. I had heard Stevie murmering about it this morning and tried mentioning "baby animals" to Orla to try and steer the day in a different direction. No success. So today we went swimming.

5 things I hate about the swimming baths:

1. I hate the filthy floors and the mixture of shoe dirt with pool water and general grot in the changing rooms.

2. I hate the plasters that have fallen off people that they put on the edge of the pool. I sat Hamish on the edge to splash in and inadvertantly he was right next to one and it made me want to throw up.

3. I hate the cold, cold, water - why can't it be like a really warm bath?

4. I hate getting splashed in the eyes cause I've forgotten my goggles (cause I hate water in my eyes anyway). Oh, and I'm going to sound like my mother here and I don't care, but the water is probably about 40% pee anyway.

5. I hate having to make a return visit to those filthy changing rooms. They make me want to wear verruca socks in case I catch something off the floor.

Orla and I went into the wrong pool to begin with. I thought Hamish must be having a meltdown squeezing into a super-tiny swim nappy and last summer's swimming shorts, but i hadn't figured that he and his daddy were in another pool. So me and Orla hung out with the teenagers doing handstands 3" away from us and and splashing us with pee water while we admired their belly button piercings while wondering 'who does that to 13 year olds?'. And then we spotted the baby pool through the glass!

Not quite as warm as a hydrotherapy pool (the only pool I have loved was at the hospital after I did my cruciate ligament in), but really quite nice. Well, temperature-wise anyway. I think I should switch off my brain and stop thinking about things too much and maybe I might enjoy it more. But anyway, once I sat Hamish next to the discarded plaster, my brain started thinking about how much pee would be in this Under 5's pool - I'm thinking more because there's less water and hey, babies just can't keep it in, and by the look of some of the daddies, I bet they weren't either. See, this is why I don't like it. My thoughts get carried away. Enough!

We are planning on going to the beach sometime soon. I used to live less than a mile from a beach. My views on beaches are somewhat similar to those of swimming pools, except you are fortunate not to get the luxury of the filthy changing rooms. The downside is that you are 100% more likely to find things a hundred times worse than a discarded plaster. Can't wait. Hamish is just at the right age to pick these things up and chew them.

Fantastisch! Or something like that. Without the spelling mistakes.

Ten things I love about April 1st:

1. A lovely friend has just told me she's pregnant, and I am as thrilled and excited as though it were me.

2. This mornings news that the SECONDMENT IS ON!!! and may be starting at the beginning of May.

3. It's the birthday month. We practically have a birthday every second day in April. Stevie's brother today, then my sister tomorrow, then me and my birthday twin Carmella on the 10th, then oodles of kids and my gran.

4. I am eagerly awaiting some lovely things from Australia - very excited, one for my sister and one for me!

5. The sun is out and I'm off with my friends to ride on the little train in the park. Let's hope it stays so nice.

6. Lots of lovely nights out with friends coming up, and one last night with my friend A who is sick of the dating scene and has tried everything from salsa dancing to speed dating with internet dating in between to find a nice man who has at the very least had a girlfriend before and doesn't turn up for a date with his v -neck jumper on back to front.

7. Watching Hamish colour in his face today with a piece of chocolate made me laugh.

8. Making new Facebook friends with old school friends and seeing all their children looking just like them.

9. Doing a lovely drawing for Orla's bedroom.

10. Listening to the house phone being thrown to the floor 3 times since I started this...