Living in between cardboard boxes

I'd like to say this is a 'before' shot, but it feels like it might be a 'during' and 'after' shot too. 

You never see Stevie's face any longer. If it's not at work, it's at the top of a ladder.

But here's mine. 

I feel like this move back into our old house is never ending. I've only just finished collecting stray leftover items from the 'holiday home' (as a friend named it, whose parents-in-law have spent longer on holiday in Australia than we spent in that house), and today (I'm hoping) I made my final visit to read the meters before we hand the keys back. I will be glad to see the back of that place.

Back in Derby we are floor to (nearly) ceiling in boxes, and progress in unpacking has been painfully slow. Stevie had managed to paint the kids bedrooms before we moved in, but hadn't got on to any of the downstairs rooms. The plan was to put everything in the living room while he pained the dining room, but we filled the living room in no time at all and the dining room has ended up full of furniture which Stevie has had to shuffle around in order to get the walls painted.

It's good to be back in our old house. It feels better. I feel more relaxed. I think it's less stressful knowing that a least if stuff goes wrong then that's our problem and we don't have a landlord to have to negotiate with or to deny there is a problem or whatever. Admittedly there is a lot of stuff wrong in the house at the moment, but at least I know that we can fix it and it'll all be nice again. Even if we are still living in amongst the boxes.

I had a plumber out to price up the jobs that need doing in the bathroom this morning. Multiple leaks under the sink, the freestanding taps behind the bath seem to have been rocked back and forward until they have come loose and now lean at an angle that allows water down the back and through a hole into the kitchen ceiling, and the shower has a leak that drips badly through the ceiling but handily waters an orchid in drips that sits underneath it.

The kitchen ceiling is in such a mess that Stevie reckons it's just as well we moved back in when we did as the ceiling is about to cave in. Luckily we have a friend who is a plasterer who is going to re-plaster the kitchen and the hallway and the dining room.

We keep coming across little problems here and there the more we start to live in the house. We seem to have been able to fix the oven door that was hanging off ourselves, but then when I went to use it I discovered the grill pan and insert were missing. I found the grill pan yesterday rusting in the garden and covered in mud, but the insert is still hiding.

I have been complaining too that I can smell urine every time I walk into the dining room. Nobody else seems able to smell it. But it has been driving me crazy. Sometimes I don't smell it, and other times it seems really pungent and disgusting. But still Stevie and the kids can't smell it. I even smelt myself just.to.make.sure! Today I finally located it. Turns out one of our tenants has peed behind the dining room door. I have no idea why as there is a toilet about a metre away across the hallway, but there's just another reason I'm not sure I can be bothered being a landlord again.

So there we are. A boring little update featuring packing, plumbing, plastering, painting, and ...peeing.

The landlord begs to differ.

Tenant: "I really want to make sure I get all of my deposit back"

Landlord Fiona: "Great! That's what we want too. We understand that you need that money for your next place. So as long as it's in the same condition as when we handed it over (allowing for normal wear and tear) there should be no problem"

Tenant: "Ha, ha, don't worry! I think it's in even better condition than before!"*

Because there's artwork on the walls in all the rooms...

We've added 4 water features in the kitchen...

We've enhanced the bathroom....

Cleaned the place from top to bottom...

And added money-saving features...

Landlord Fiona: ".... Really??? really??"



I may be a little quiet for a while. Not least because my head is about to explode from the number of square metres I've had to scrub over the past month, but also because I may be a little busy, you know, doing a few small repairs, cleaning, replacing, painting, moving, etc. And just to add a little drama, wouldn't you know Orla has a stomach bug and is off school. To give her her due, she did scrub the fireplace surround excellently, though I'd also like to take this moment to thank Apple for inventing the mighty iPad which managed to entertain her enough today to let me get one half of the kitchen cleaned.

Now I know why people in the UK buy instead of rent. The citizens are animals**. Either they let you move into their filthy wrecked houses and pay a premium for that pleasure, or they filthy up and wreck your house, leaving you to pay for the pleasure... ANIMALS!!!!!!!

I'm done with this 'being a landlord/tenant' business.


* His ACTUAL words!!!!
**Obviously, not all. Especially not the UK citizens that read my blog. I'm pretty sure you'd leave it sparkling like a wine glass from a Finish dishwasher tablet advert.

Goodbye to Berlin

Hello. It's been a while. We've been a bit busy. The movers came, packed a gazillion boxes, and then flung them out the window on a little lift. During all this Stevie and I set up office in the shower room and planned our attack on the crayon marks and flooring scuffs armed with baby wipes and Cif. 

Instead of painting the walls at considerable expense, we spent probably around 60 cents more on baby wipes and around 73 times more man hours scrubbing them clean. It was fun... sort of. At least my finger nails were bleachy clean. Then once the boxes were packed up we moved into a lovely hotel near the Ku'damm which we all thought was utterly excellent due to the single fact that we managed to pocket 17 very nice biros from a glass that they kindly replenished daily. By day we cleaned (and the kids continued to go to school) and by night, well, we pretty much dropped into bed and fell fast asleep stinking of bleach.

We did a bit of wandering around Berlin, caught the Christmas markets before the snow and the real festive feeling arrived, and visited the KaDeWe with the kids and saw their kind of Dumbledore Santa. I liked him for being so different, and also for sneaking me some chocolate from his pocket. Is it just me, or does that look like the beginnings of a "Santa? Yeah, whatever..." face on Orla? Ah, no, you're right, it's just her "God I'm sick of my mother taking photos" face. Phew!

And then, on the 4th of December, it was time to go. So that was a bit rubbish. Exciting, I'll give you that, but rubbish. The kids were over the moon to move into another hotel for a few days, us grown ups less so. And then! And then! after a few days we got to move into our new house! Boy were we ready for it! We were chomping at the bit. We dropped the kids off at their new school and raced to the letting agents to sign the papers and collect the keys. Woo-hoo!

Now, what could possibly go wrong.........................................................................???

How will Santa know we have moved?

Good grief, is that October already? I feel like I've lost a few days because I dived into the big pile of Harlan Coben novels that I ordered off the Book People, and I've not been able to stop reading until they're all done. I'm on my last one. And Stevie has just broken me from my reading marathon with a phone call to say the removal team will be visiting later this week, and I need to have the apartment fully inventoried before they arrive. And by that I don't mean "Living room: curtains, light fixtures, wood flooring, phone/braodband/power sockets", oh no..... what it means is documenting all our belongings room by room complete with a value for them if we needed to replace them as new. Fun, fun, fun!

To give you an example of how horrific a task this is, I wrote about it here when we were preparing for the move out to Berlin. Let me just say, I have tried really hard not to buy *stuff* that might take us beyond the limits of the container that we must fit it all into, but I have not tried very hard at getting rid of things that we possibly don't need, and haven't needed for a very long time. Things like the highchair which admittedly has performed a really useful role as a coat rack should not be returning to the UK with us. There are other things which looking back at my old post probably should be got rid of. That hurricane lamp is still sitting stuffed with letters that I haven't looked at since before we came here...ugh.

Anyway, I am setting off now, armed with Excel, bin bags, and a strong cup of tea, and I am going to go through this apartment room by room, ruthlessly pricing and tidying, or chucking out or ebaying, and I will not stop until I get bored!

In other news, we finally told the kids that we are moving back to England. After the cheers of "Yay! We're going back to our old house!" subsided we were able to explain that in fact, no we would be going to a different house as we have to find a house near to a school that we can get them into, they were still very happy. Orla in fact couldn't be happier. She asked about her new school, but mostly wanted to know that she would be able to visit her cousins more. Hamish, had one concern, which was "How will Santa know we have moved?", to which I said that when we write to him we can pop in a change of address card, which seemed to satisfy Hamish.

We also told them that we are planning a trip back a few weeks before we move to find a house. I am thoroughly looking forward to this trip as there is nothing I enjoy more than looking round houses. The downside though is that according to Righmove there are very few houses that suit our requirements in the right areas. Hamish asked whether he can choose the house. I think he may struggle to find what he's after even more than I will as he says he wants either a blue house or a black one.


Links: Get ready for a rush of activity!

Bread-making for beginners

What do you do in Berlin with two kids when it's pouring down with rain? Well, as much as you might enjoy lying in bed listening to the rain absolutely pounding off the pavement below, some people will still be begging to be taken to an outdoor pool. Time to suggest something different. Bread-making! Dead easy. 

Bread-making for beginners:

1. Clear your kitchen of all things you hold dear. Except children. (Though for better results, perhaps tell them to get lost too.)

2. Prepare yourself mentally by getting all the bowls, spoons, mixers, jugs, water, etc, etc, ready in advance. This will save you from having a minor meltdown later when you turn to get something, and turn back seconds later to discover half the bread mix on your ceiling.

3. Assign tasks to each child to avoid needless bickering/crying. One can pour the mix into the bowl, one can pour the water. 

4. Give each child a shot of the mixer until you realise that it is struggling due to the fact that it's around 40 years old, and not one of these new-fangled (much desired) food mixers/processors with a bread mixing hook. Give up, and tell them to get stuck in with their hands. 

5. As you watch them delve in, you may find yourself wondering if they did in fact wash their hands beforehand, or whether they just did that thing where they trick you by turning on the bathroom tap for a minute. Banish these thoughts from your mind: in a moment you're going to go right off the idea of ever eating this bread anyway as they scrape bits of mix off numerous surfaces around the kitchen and add it back into the bowl.

6. Once the mixing process is complete, attempt to scrape 75% of the mix off of your children. Become so covered in the process that you forget to care and just dump it back in the bowl and shove it in a pre-warmed oven to rise. 

7. Follow your children through to the bathroom to clean up and discover your lovely Cath Kidston towels now contain 33% more carbs than they did an hour ago while the tap remains untouched. Suck back the tears. It'll wash out.

8. Return to oven 40 minutes later and discover that the heat had been too high and you have kind of already started baking the bread. Remove from bowl and toss onto a baking tray. Turn up the oven and bake for a further hour. 

9. Remove from oven and delight in the absolute lack of fresh-baked-bread smell. (How can that be?). Cut into massive (still slightly doughy) chunks and make your partner eat it as punishment for going off and enjoying himself at football. Feel happy that your kids feel utterly proud of their achievements in the kitchen, and enjoy your sandwich (sneakily made with bread from the bakery)

When I was young I used to do a lot of baking with my parents. I really enjoyed the process of bringing different ingredients together and making something that to my eyes looked pretty amazing. Around the age of 7 or 8 I got into making bread. We had a great cupboard that got loads of heat from the central heating boiler which was perfect for leaving your bread to rise. Bread-making doesn't need to be a faffy process involving yeast. I started off using bread mixes I got at the supermarket, and always felt really pleased with the results I got. Nowadays the range of bread mixes is far greater than when I was a kid, so you can find something to suit most kids taste. We've also had some really great results with some sun-dried tomato bread. Despite my slightly negative slant, I actually really enjoy baking with the kids. It's good fun for all of us and they really do feel chuffed with what they produce. They also tend to eat what they make, which makes me happy, as they don't eat so much bread otherwise. Same goes if I get them involved in making dinner - they are always keener to eat it, especially if they get to try little tastes of it during the cooking process.

(You can see more of the things we've been up to in the summer holidays here on the page 'Something... to do in the summer holidays')

Oh Fiona, is there nothing you can't do?

I blame Germany. Or Stevie. Or them both really. See normally I could do this. I am sure I could. But the evidence just isn't there, is it? You're not going to be putting in any orders for birthday cakes from me anytime soon. Frau Dietz sent me that link after my rainbow post which included the rather fabulous rainbow jelly on my other blog. But at least you can compare the two and have a good laugh. I certainly did. But it may have been slightly hysterical seeing as it was nearing midnight and I could see no end in sight that didn't include us all getting poisoned somehow by the amount of food colouring I was going to force us all to eat.

It was Hamish's birthday on Saturday and I really, really, wanted to make him that rainbow cake. Even though he wanted me to make him a Bob the Builder cake. I thought I knew better and he would be wowed by it's sheer utter amazing-ness. I also couldn't be bothered ordering coloured icing off the internet.I was just being lazy. So lazy in fact that I didn't actually read the recipe until the day I planned on making it, and then realised I needed gel food dyes. It's hard enough to get the ones I got, so I knew I had no chance of finding gel ones at my local supermarket. And that is why I blame Germany. I just can't get the things I need at short notice. (Ok, so I am also aware that my local Tesco doesn't carry gel food dyes, but they would at least get me out of this mess by selling me a Bob the Builder cake at 1am).

I had been so tired. Hamish was ill and just wanted to cling to me all the time, and Stevie wasn't being much help by being typically Stevie-ish and leaving everything to me, while he sauntered out to watch the tennis. And that is why I blame him. And Andy Murray. Because at least if all I had was a really dire looking blue shaded sponge that looked like the mildew had got to it, then I do know I wouldn't have made icing that sloppy, had it not been nearing 1am. God, I miss Tesco at 1am. It looks like I've thrown a bucket of chip fat at it. And seriously, I think I used about 4 blocks of butter and half a bag of sugar along with the 9 egg whites it required. (Though I used 10 because I reckoned I wasn't being very careful with them and had probably thrown at least one away when I was scooping out the stray yolks that escaped).

I could tell you that in the end it tasted delicious. That the appearance made no difference to my lovely big 3 year old boy (who says that he's actually just turned 7 if you care to ask). But by god. One bite could kill a diabetic it's so sweet and if it wasn't so funny, I could have been terribly hurt by the chanting of "But I don't want that cake! I want a Bob cake!!. That looks yucky!". So, while our insides rot from all the E numbers, and our tongues remain blue for at least another month, I will not be beaten! Just wait! One day I will master this. Or maybe I'll just move back to the UK and get him a Bob cake and enjoy my sleep.

Me & my crappy, heritage windows

Every room looks like this right now. The kids have been on a tired, destructive, mess-making, drawer-emptying rampage, and I am feeling angry!

And yes, that was Hamish you saw in the photo above lying sleeping in amongst all the mess

And to top it all off, I came back to my laptop to start this big moaning rant and found this. A banana stuck to the power cord. Is it bedtime yet?

Oh you should probably ignore me. I am having a bad few days. There are days when I utterly hate being a foreigner in a foreign land. More specifically, I suppose it's that I hate not being a fluent German speaker. In the past 3 days I have had a few things to deal with where it would really have been nice to be able to speak and understand fully what people are saying.

3 days ago we started having a bit of an argument with our landlord and his letting agent. This is the letting agent who started shouting at me because I wouldn't change my Disneyland trip to stay in for the painters because apparently these painters were only available on one day (in the whole year). I know, I know, it was terribly unreasonable of me, wasn't it? I am not sure I believed her reasoning, and if that was the case I would probably just get a different painter.

Since we returned and contacted the owner, he has been in touch and tried to imply that I am breaking the law, by impeding access to the painters (because I was on holiday, a holiday that I had previously told them I was going on so as to avoid these dates for our other plumbing problem). I am, according to Stevie, taking it all too personally, as I have decided I hate our landlord. He may be a diplomat, but he has all the moral conscience of, oh I don't know, a slug. I can't help but be annoyed by the fact that whatever goes wrong in this apartment he does whatever he can to blame me for it. Stevie of course is right: he says it just boils down to money. This is meant to be a relatively high-end apartment but the reality is that everything has either been done on the cheap or just not done at all.

We have opposing views on the windows that are either falling apart piece by piece, draughty, letting in water, dripping with condensation, freezing up on the inside over winter, allowing mould to grow on the walls surrounding the frames: he describes them as "heritage", I call them "crap". Anyway, it is apparently my neglect that has caused this to happen. According to the landlord, all Germans open their windows 5 times a day for 15 minutes to allow air to circulate. We had this discussion in December when it was -19c outside. I said it wasn't very practical with small children around who are inclined to want to throw themselves out the windows. I also find it hard to believe that this really needs to be done all the time. I have seen it of course, you always see apartments with open windows here no matter what the temperature is, but I am struggling to believe that we have far more advanced window technology in the UK that we don't have to do this.

And before you argue that in the UK most of us have double glazing and not 'heritage' windows (though, allow me to bitch, I know these windows have only been here since 1992 when the building was re-furbished), I even have mould growing on the walls surrounding one of the double glazed windows (though not both double glazed windows in that room). I was told that was my fault because I was drying a kids t-shirt on the radiator underneath and producing too much moisture. So my fault. But he didn't have an answer when I pointed out that if the moisture from a drying t-shirt was such a problem then why was it deemed reasonable (and not a problem) to have a shower-room in this bedroom and also the washing machine plumbing in this bedroom too. I guess the t-shirt just tipped the delicate balance.

Then we discovered that Orla is being bullied at Kita, and yesterday I went in to sort it out. As usual the Kita staff started off by telling me that I was wrong, but I stood firm, and told them that no, I was not wrong, and outlined what had been happening. Basically Orla has her best friend, Alicia, and there are two other girls who have started calling Orla names. For the past 2 weeks they have been telling her that she's not 4, she's only 1, and that she's small and therefore just a baby, and that sort of thing. It's been getting Orla down. But then they started telling her she had to stay away from Alicia because she was 'just a baby' and they have stopped her from playing with her. I asked her if there was anyone else she could play with, but because of these stupid mixed age group classes they have here, there's not. The girls only want to play with the girls, and the older girls don't want to play with the younger girls and so Orla is stuck with only having these 3 girls to play with. Let's just say, I found it really hard to describe all of this to her teacher in German, and then to argue that it was actually happening.

Today my Slovakian washing machine which I was trusting to at least get me through the next 2 years, came up with an error code and flashing lights. I tried phoning the UK helpline, then the UK head office then emailing Finland, then emailing Denmark, and I have got nowhere. So it seems I am going to have to bite the bullet and phone the German number and try and get this sorted. I can't begin to tell you how much I avoid making phone calls in German. I hate it. Well, actually I think the route I went on to get some help above tells you a little of what I am prepared to do in order to avoid German phone calls.

Ugh. I think I'd like to just go to my bed now. Even that banana stuck to my laptop is depressing me. Go on, tell me to cheer up and get on with it.

Lightbulb moment: I find myself

I reckon if I just put a rug over it, that's pretty much me done*

I have never (to my knowledge) known anyone who's needed to "find themself". I have never had the urge to find myself. I am right here on the sofa woofing down a can of salted cashews like there is no tomorrow. In fact, I can barely type because I am so hungry and can't stop eating them. Why? Well, I decided I should start a diet, literally eat less cause I eat too much, and now I am really, really hungry. I can't stand being hungry, and that is probably the fundamental basis of dieting, and that combined with the fact that I am woofing back these cashew nuts, is probably not going to make my bum smaller.

Nonetheless, here I am, now utterly parched from all that salt, and I am completely off-topic. The point is, I have inadvertantly discovered an awful truth about myself. And not through going off to Thailand and laying on a beach, though that mught be nice, and I might lose weight as I don't really like Thai food. No, sadly I was reading my own blog. I was reading it because someone I met in the past few months has asked if they can read it and I thought I better just make sure I hadn't inadvertantly mentioned them somewhere or said something that they'd get upset with. Quite why though I started reading from the beginning I have no idea, but I did and it was a bit like reading about someone else.

And that person is LAZY. Totally and utterly. I think I have always painted it as 'procrastination', but no, now that it's all laid out in front of me in black and white and sometimes photographic blog form, I can see it for what it is. I have always known that I am not tidy; that I hate cleaning, but looking back, I am just kidding myself. I patently just. can't. be. bothered.

I'd like to think I had changed. I'd love to say that this move to Berlin has made me into a nicer, tidier, cleaner person, but it hasn't. Today, I got a call while I was at the doctor's with Hamish from the guy who's been looking at our mouldy window in the back bedroom to say he wanted to come round again to have another look. Hamish and I raced back, and I had a half hour to get the place into a reasonable shape for a 'guest'. I went into the bedroom and saw a mountain of assorted crap on the floor. I could have sorted out the dirty washing from the boxes of contact lenses and shin guards and shoes, but I didn't. I did my usual and opened the wardrobe and stuffed the whole lot in, and told Hamish not to go near the wardrobe doors lest he be lost in a freak wardrobe avalanche.

I then went round the other rooms and did pretty much the same thing, throwing toys into boxes they didn't come from, and cleaning only the bits of the bathroom floor that you can see. Unfortunately I missed the little brioche roll we'd been keeping behind the sofa that sits 2 feet in front of the living room window where the man stood and took some more photos. It would have been better for me if it had stayed stuck to the sole of his shoe and he'd taken it away with him.

Tomorrow I have a plumber coming round at 8am. We have a leak under the sink. I have had to force myself to clean and tidy the kitchen tonight. Not even my shame is enough. I had to bribe myself with the cashew nuts to get myself to scrub the kitchen floor. If I thought I could put it off until tomorrow I would have. But I am too lazy to get up at 6 am to get started on it.

The only thing going in my favour is the fact that I did actually sort out the pile of crap stuffed into the wardrobe tonight. But that was only after Stevie inadvertantly decided to get himself ready for football training...

* Actually, I would just like to point out that this photo was taken just after we moved in. It's not like that anymore. Honestly... Half of it is hidden by our dining room table and chairs.

Colour Me Happy!

Yesterday when I was on my hands and knees I discovered that Orla had been writing her name in biro on the door slat-thingy between the hall and the bathroom. (n.b. for those of you learning German, here's a question: do you ever find that you forget the names of things in English - not that I know the name for that in German...). Actually, it was less like writing and more that teenage habit of 'embedding' her name in the wood of the desk in Chemistry.

As you can imagine I wasn't too happy, but at least these days I am able to identify the culprit as Orla's signature is becoming recognisable. Lot's of big 'O's' and 'l's' and 'a's' that look more like 'q's'. The 'r's' look a lot like the 'l's', so it's hard to pick those out but none the less, since I didn't end up calling Hamish 'Arlo' there was only one person to blame. We had a little chat about it, and Orla said she would NEVER do it again. I thought I was being smart as well, because I remembered to add that we aren't allowed to draw ANYWHERE on the house, rather than being caught out with only saying you can't draw on this part of the house, and then living to regret it.

But I shouldn't have worried. Less than 24 hours later, I wander into Orla's bedroom to discover that she's in the process of marking our ages on the wall under the window in great big stripes of colour. As a result I have confiscated her crayons, pencils, and pens and her brand new scissors which I bought her yesterday after a fair amount of begging. She's gutted, but I can't think of any other way of stopping her from doing this. And it drives me to despair when it does happen (...this was not the first time sadly.)

Stevie is constantly telling me I need to do myself a favour and relax a bit with the kids and not be checking on them every 5 minutes to see what they are up to. He says it does my blood pressure no good and he's right because invariably I catch them just as they are about to do something I don't want them to - yesterday's list included nearly smashing the living room window by swinging the heavy metal curtain pull at it, and pullling their little IKEA chairs into the kitchen to climb up at the cooker (which was on) while I went to the toilet. But I would argue that it wouldn't do my blood pressure much good either if I walked into the living room after a loud crash and discovered Hamish surrounded and impaled by shards of glass from a 5 ft high window, or heard screaming from the kitchen and found the two of them burnt or scalded and had to spend the evening or longer at the hospital.

But today I decided to ease off for a little bit as they were only messing around in Orla's bedroom and I was busy trying to tidy up while listening to Stevie throw up. Why when you feel dreadful would you think that Orange & Pineapple juice would be a good thing? So that's what I get for taking my eye off the ball. The only good thing to come out of this is the fact that it says that I am only 6 to Stevie's wopping 8 years of age. So that's a bonus at least.

Saturday-Shoplifter Stevie

So at the end of my last post I mentioned that I had thought I'd had my purse stolen and then I tried as I thought, unsuccessfully, to cancel my Commerzbank card, and got the neighbours upstairs involved in the cancelling before Stevie came up holding the purse that had been sitting on the sofa.

As things turned out I had quite a lot on my mind the next day what with people poking about with my eyes and then an afternoon split between entertaining the kids and mulling over the prospect of needles in my eye every 8 weeks. Apparently what I should have been doing is going down to the Commerzbank and checking whether I had actually managed to cancel my card. But I didn't. I reasoned that I either had done it, or I hadn't. If I hadn't then, great, next time I used my card all would be fine. If I had cancelleed it then my card wouldn't work and no doubt a new one and a new PIN would be making their way to me some time around Christmas. Or New Year, knowing the Commerzbank.

Am I too casual about things like this? We had cash and I wasn't in any immediate need to take money out. I didn't really give it much thought, and to be honest by Friday I'd forgotten about it. So by today, it was a near distant memory.

Until we went to IKEA. (Why is it that when you combine IKEA, me, and the Commerzbank things go hideously wrong?? Should I change my bank to get out of this horrid cycle?) We had gone sledging nearby and the kids were starving afterwards so as IKEA was handy we stopped off there for some meatballs and I managed to pick up a few storage boxes for the growing Playmobil collection which (note: I handily stacked so they were easier to carry). Oh and they had the kids basket of fabric vegetables back in so I got one of those, and then as we were passing I also thought I should get a new storage jar for my risotto rice. And then because Stevie was getting impatient to the point of not coping with IKEA on a Saturday and because the vegetables were for Orla, he went to the express checkout to pay with his card and I wandered over to the meatball freezer with the kids.

The first thing that really pissed off Stevie was getting accused of shoplifting. It's easy done when you only listen to the first half of your dear girlfriend's conversation regarding toy storage. "Should I get 2 of these? Would you be opposed to me buying another of these storage units in the New Year? Do you even care? Ok, I'm getting 3! Because I am definetly buying that when the car isn't full of sledges and crates of empty bottles.". So he scanned 1 crate twice, and then he got collared and the first I knew about it was him screaming across at me "What? 3??? You never told me you were getting 3? Moan, moan, moan". At this point I could tell that Stevie was getting to the point where he can easily be tipped over the edge of reasonableness into a foul mood not because he was now being classed as a shoplifter, but because the transaction was taking too long.

So I shouted back, "Just forget it then, just get 2. It really doesn't matter", you know as you do, because even though you really want something you'd rather just have an easy life. And then we got to payment. If I had known better I would have walked out of the shop with my children and run for the hills and never returned. But you see, I'd forgotten all about Wednesday night. But I remembered as quick as a flash when his card got rejected and he got directed over to a 'colleague'. Shoplifter and card stealer!

Well, what can I say? I forgot it was a joint account and that he might be affected. Curse the Commerzbank! Curse my successful telephone cancelling!

I am going to end up with a terrible guilt complex. Not only do I feel bad about cancelling Stevie's card, but when we got home I put on the washing machine (with a final big bag of Playmobil in it) and now the washing machine is broken. It isn't able to drain, and we can't find the blockage, and even though there is no substantiating evidence, I think we all know that there is a high probability that a pride of lions are more than likely the cause of our soaking wet floor. Has anyone got a dark hole I can crawl into before the downstairs neighbours come round to complain about the massive costly damp patch on their ceiling?

My green fingered son

My neighbours will be the people with green and blue stains around their mouths until the days they die.

I thought it would be a nice thing to do to make Christmas biscuits with the kids and give them as a little thankyou gift to our upstairs neighbour in thanks for the Dec. 6th gifts she gave the kids. Especially as I wanted to experiment with these pre-made biscuit mix things that I've seen loads of in the fridges of the supermarkets.

We had great fun this afternoon with cutters and the kids could quite happily have made biscuits all afternoon. Hamish's were a little more rustic in style compared to Orla's. Then we baked them, let them cool, and I unleashed the coloured writing icing.

By the time we got to the icing stage the kids had started stripping off. Orla managed to keep her t-shirt on, but Hamish prefers to decorate in the nude. It wasn't until right at the end i.e. the icing was all finished, that Hamish moved from decorating biscuits to colouring in his tummy. Then when I went to get him cleaned up it was nice to discover that in fact it was more like food colouring than just icing. If Kita ask I'm going to tell them it's vegetables that have stained his fingers and stomach. Excessive broccoli ingestion.

12 year old tangerines discovered

For some reason this just won't rotate, so if you could just turn your head 90 degrees anti-clockwise that would be great. Thanks.

While doing a spot of tidying up last night, I decided to try and find somewhere to put all my old portfolios that have been piled up against one of our bedroom walls since the day we moved in here along with a stair gate that I can no longer remember why we brought - oh yeah, I saw a luxury duplex apartment on the internet that had slippery stairs of death and a mezzanine level above the kitchen that was just asking for toddlers to climb over and plunge to their death. I really, really wanted it, even though I knew that the miniscule stair gate extension was never going to breach the 8 foot-wide stair case, and even though I knew that the floor to 20 ft ceiling high windows would have us baking like mini souffles in the long hot Berlin summers. I'm not one to let these trifling matters stand in the way of a desirable home.

Anyway, Orla asked me what I was lugging around , so I decided to open one up and show her. I maybe look through my portfolios hmm...once every 4 or so years. So I showed her some of my old design work. I really enjoyed it as well. I found some old photos of my print group modelling some aprons we designed for a disabled dance group. I loved that project. Each of us was to design two aprons themed around the topic of the home. My room was the kitchen. I did a lovely fridge apron and a cooker one. I really enjoyed making them and I wish we had been able to get them back after the dance company finished with them.

I also found a printed textile design I did of tangerines which I am thinking of re-mounting and putting in a frame. I quite like it and momentarily at least I think I'd quite like to put it on the wall. Stevie says it 's not rocking his world and he would prefer something more pictorial. So, while we wait for him to sit down and do that I think I'll get my nails and hammer back out.

Potty training comes to those who wait.

Back when it was round one and potty training was a lot less slippy.

If you have shares in Pampers now is the time to sell them, as Hamish... has decided... to potty train himself. Ta-da! All of a sudden on the weekend there he was, sat on the potty, and that was that. Second time around he decided he would try it from a standing position and even managed to perfect the male art of dribbling pee on the floor. I couldn't have been prouder!

First time round with Orla I read up on what I should do, not do, etc, and took advice from all and sundry. I even read...shh...Gina Ford's 'Potty train in 7 days' or whatever it is. And then ignored it. And if I happened to have one of those parenting magazines that I was addicted to for it's gripping mix of birth horror stories and nappy sack reviews, well if there was anything on the cover referring to how to 'Potty train your child without having to get involved', well I was right on it.

The best advice I got was to just wait. If you hang out with a group of mums whose children are the same age as yours there's always someone who potty trains quite early and then all you can think about is when your child will get to grips with it. Orla wasn't too bad, and to be honest I couldn't really complain about having to wash a million pairs of peed knickers as she doesn't drink much. Easy peasy!

I tried the 'chocolate button for every success' method, until I realised she wasn't motivated by chocolate. Success came when I worked out that what she wanted more than anything in the world was a magic wand and some fairy wings. So if she did a wee-wee in the potty she got the wand, and if she did one in her knickers I took it away. Was that really mean?

With Hamish I am wondering how I manage the whole potty training thing with him at nursery half days. I don't think they change nappies that much so I don't get the impression they'd be that keen on keeping up with his frequent toilet trips. He's going to need about 10 pairs of trousers just to get through a morning. Perhaps I will need to get some chocolate buttons imported and motivate the staff into helping him.

a chill wind

The Berlin we have come back to is a different place. The weather has changed. It's around 15c and though this morning is nice and sunny, the past few days have felt grey and cold. Almost as soon as we got back I was feeling chilly and thinking about the heating. We were told that the heating gets turned on in September - as in, for the whole building! Stevie seemed to recall he'd been told that it went on after we'd had 3 consecutive nights of X degrees C or less. The heating is turned on by one of the neighbours, who is an engineer and is the only person able to operate the antiquated system. After 2 days feeling chilly, I was starting to think of knocking on their door and asking when we might be able to have some heat, but our already bad reputation (we complained to our landlord that the appliances weren't working properly, and he told the neighbours, and now they don't speak to us) has prevented me from making such a bold step.

We'd been told that we need not worry much about heat in this place anyway as we have the Canadians below us, but alas, in the time that we've been away they've moved. I feel a little sad that they've gone, they have been a great help to us settling in, but given that their apartment has been rammed full of tradesmen refurbishing the place since they've gone, I am living in hope that the apartment actually belongs to the Canadian Embassy and they might send us some more nice Canadians to be friends with.

Anyway, day 3 of our return and suddenly we had heat. I couldn't have been happier. Stevie of course felt too hot and complained that the place felt like it was in the high 30's. But it turns out I have been feeling chilly for a reason and have come down with Stevie's terrible cold. Today I am having the luxury of lying in bed recuperating while he takes the kids to the aquarium. I've already read a book, 'After the Wall', a fantastic boook by Jana Hensel about being a child of the GDR, and I have managed to catch up with a few blogs.

Which leads me on to the photo. 'Is there a Plan B' has had a fantastic idea of recreating masterpieces. Her mention of Tracey Emin's bed got me thinking I should join in. Our bedroom as usual is a tip. Fortunately though, this is just a small segment of the room - I would be too ashamed to show the rest of it. Oh and I'd just like to say, I didn't choose the orange gingham curtains.

Fun times at the Baltic Sea (Warning: It's a poo story)

We went to the Baltic coast yesterday. It's not a place that I would ever have thought of going; it doesn't conjure up great images in my mind. Given the name, I think it's going to be pretty cold, and possibly a bit grey and murky. But, having been, I can say it's lovely and almost worth the 4.5 hour drive it took to get there. It should have only taken 2 and a bit but the German's believe in doing proper roadworks. They don't just dig up a small section at a time and work on that, they take the whole road away and start again. I bet it takes less time that way, but it's not great if you're trying to travel.

Anyway, if you get the chance to visit it, it's really pretty. We went to Warnemunde (which should have an umlaut in it, but who knows where that kind of punctuation is on this keyboard). The sea was shallow and a reasonable 20 degrees, though Hamish continously yelled "I don't like this swimming pool!" but he did enjoy the sand which was a lovely light golden colour and only contained a spattering of cigarette butts which, (given our limited experience) seems quite unusual for Germany.

Hamish managed to make the day more interesting by doing a jobby (that'll be a 'poo' for English speakers) inside his all-in-one swim/sun protection suit. My brain wasn't working properly after my long drive, and I couldn't think how I should resolve the situation on the beach with 2 toddlers and an audience of thousands without leaving all our belongings unattended including my precious camera, so I called Stevie in out of the water where he was having a swim and let him resolve it with his, ...eh... hand. It was so utterly disgusting, my sides ached from laughing.

This demonstrates the difference between my beloved and me. I would have dragged Hamish up and down the beach hunting for a toilet, all the time worrying that it would be giving him a sore bum (and it seemed the closest toilets were in the town), or have tried to think of an ingenious solution whereby I would have wrapped my hands in wipes and (oh this isn't painting a good picture, is it? I hope you're not eating your dinner). Stevie's brain, on the other hand, thinks in simple terms - Retrieve, remove, what with? Ah, hand. there is no messing about in Stevie-land. Though my brain, even if it thought along similar lines to Stevie's would have taken it down the leg (the suit stopped at the knee and as Hamish doesn't have particularly long legs, it's not so much of a distance). But, to reach down the back of his NECK?????

God bless the Canadians

There's none of your fancy anti-bacterial hand sanitising hand gel at frequent stop-off points here. They make you lick your fingers once you've touched a penguin.

So, we're half way through our first week in the new flat. I thought I liked it, but now as of tonight, I love it. I have met quite a few of my neighbours over the past few days, and they are all pretty friendly. One is taking me to the market tomorrow morning at 8:15 (she expects that I will be up anyway with the kids. I didn't tell her that they keep me so occupied with their incessant demands that I generally can't get out before 10:30.). I may have to go in my pyjamas...

We have been invited to meet a selection of neighbours for tea and coffee on Sunday which I am really looking forward to. I plan on quizzing them on all sorts of topics, and it'll be a relief to have a conversation with someone who speaks good english rather than attempting to have conversations with my poor German. We had thought that there were quite a few British people in the building (or 'the house' as they call it). There is an element of snobbery here too that I have picked up, There is the 'Vorderhaus' which is the front building and then there are side houses which you access via the main front door. Ours, the Vorderhaus, has double security, an extra set of locked doors, and that seems to be what sets us a little peg above our scabby side-house neighbours.

My neighbour upstairs that is taking me to the market talked about the others in the house as though everyone is a Diplomat. Whether they are or not I am not sure yet. But I guess we'll find out on Sunday. Our landlord is the German Ambassador for (well I won't tell you, or you'll Google him and then find his German address and all of a sudden I'll have all 15 of you on my doorstep looking for some Bratwurst and Robinson's Finest Apple & Blackcurrant).

Anyway, I just headed out to get some milk and I met my downstairs neighbours. They are Canadian and they were really nice. I could get to like them a lot and already I am sad that they are leaving in September. They were really friendly and gave me lots of top tips on where to locate things locally, and when I commented on their fine Kettle Chips (SALT & VINEGAR!!!!!) they gave me one of their bags as a housewarming gift. Then they went on to give me their details for their hidden broadband network, and I swear, my happiness levels hit the roof. So I sped throught the streets to get the milk while chanting their network name and password to myself until I got home and here I am! Lovely, lovely, internet access.

So as for the apartment itself, well it's great though Stevie has complained that it is "too big". I don't believe that it could ever be too big: I just haven't bought enough stuff yet. Stevie has always wanted to live life as a minimalist, and now that he has this feeling of empty space, he doesn't like it. Maybe he has gradually become a clutter-lover over the years of me quietly, furtively furnishing houses piece by piece with things he 'might not notice if I don't say anything'.

Anyway, the removal men decided they would finish on Tuesday without doing any unpacking. They were German and spoke no English and hadn't been told that they were meant to unpack the boxes taking everything out on to the floor. So they came back the next day and it was really hectic. It would have been easier if I had just done it myself, box by box, but as I would have had to get rid of the boxes myself this way then we just got on with it. Orla and Hamish were really excited about seeing their toys, and I caught Hamish trailing round behind one of the men holding his Wonderpets book aloft asking him to read it. It would have been much easier to do the unpacking without the kids, but Stevie sensibly chose to go to work leaving it to me.

So the place is a mess but I am slowly working my way through the various piles that are many and varied in all the rooms. We have spoken to our Relocation Service Provider (Heidi) about the fact that we have no hot water at all in the en-suite and only get a centimetre of hot water in the kitchen sink before it runs cold. Heidi, I have noticed can't be bothered to really help us or suffers from a strong strain of such negativity that were she to be psychometrically tested, there's no chance she'd be a match for this job.

I told her about the water in the kitchen and she told me that it might be just a 5 litre tank. I doubt whether we are getting 3 litres, and if that is the case then it's not even enough to wash the dishes, so how is that acceptable? Then she told us that there would be no chance of getting a parking permit because we still have the rental car, and that the local council would want us to wait and pay for parking for the next 8 weeks until our normal car gets delivered. I thought that was a load of rubbish, and Stevie ended up phoning work and asking them how they felt about paying for parking as we are ineligble for a permit, and all of a sudden, today we have a permit. Next on the list was the Kindergeld. It's like your child benefit, or family allowance if you like. Stevie will be paying German tax, but according to Heidi we would not be eligible for this as we are only here for 2 years on a temporary contract. Well, today we met some Americans in the swing park who have been here 3 weeks and are over doing fellowships. They won't be paying German tax - but yet they are entitled to both reduced Kita (nursery) fees and KinderGeld.

Finally, Heidi was round this morning and we had a disturbing chat about the tv. Part of the package is that we get a basic Sky package allowing us some British channels. I don't know, maybe in amongst me harping on about Robinson's juice, I may have mentioned, how much I am missing tv, and BBC World News is just not rocking my world that much. Anyway, she asked whether we were able to receive BBC World News through the tv. I said yes, but not even with a signal that you could describe as acceptable to watch or listen to. We then got on to the subject of when we might be getting the tv sorted out. To which she looked a bit surprised, so I explained that this was part of the deal (hey, that was the bit that had me sold on this whole idea). So she tells me that this is not possible, that we can't get this in Berlin. What? What rubbish more like. I reminded her that there are satellites which beam CBeebies all around the globe for people like me. So the next argument was that we would not be allowed a satellite dish on this building. I think we could get one behind the balcony at the front without it being seen by anyone. And if not, my new Canadian friends told me of a company that'll do you cable with British channels, plus phone and broadband. Sadly I have forgotten the name of this vital company as I was busy trying to remember the more important broadband login details.

So I am getting a bit fed up with Heidi. The tv was the thing that made me realise she just wants to do as little as possible for us. I'll wait and see what happens at the beginning of next week, and then maybe we'll nudge Rolls-Royce into making a 'MAKE IT HAPPEN!' phone call.

I've added a quick 'Let's touch the penguins' photo for you.

Cleaning the Berlin Wall...

So where were we?

So the furniture went- the zealous 3 man team were in and out in a couple of hours. They turned up, said "show us round, and tell us what's not to go, and we'll get on with it". So I took the kids away and they had everything packed before lunch. That's including the central heating control box thing, which I need to post back to our new tenant as soon as I get it (I do hope you are having nice weather, and he doesn't actually need to turn the heating on. I am completely unaware of anything that's happening in the UK, weather included, unless it appears on BBC World News- so as far as I'm concerned the only thing to happen in the UK is the French President coming over to visit the BBC for the Charles DeGualle 70th anniversary of his broadcasts while exiled there during the war. Newspapers must be a bit thin since we left then if that's the big story...).

So they packed that and quite possibly some of my recycling. Ah, how relaxed was I? I hadn't even bothered to put the recycling out and we were due to move! I know that they packed the bin, and I am not even 100% sure that it had been emptied. Ok, maybe it's just another tiny sign of my total laziness, I guess we can never know for sure...especially if we stop thinking about it right now.

So the only thing the packers left was a ton of fluff and dust that had been lurking under wardrobes and things, so after a mammoth cleaning session, we left after our 2 days in the hotel and arrived in Berlin. Now according to the quite substantial notes that Rolls-Royce give you, you are meant to arrive and feel like you are on holiday and then after a month or two, this feeling wears off, and you start thinking things like how slow the beauracracy is (compared with home), how nothing is quite as good as home, etc etc. They call it 'hitting the wall'. I hit it on about day 2.

Our temporary accommodation is pretty grim. It's not terrible by any means, it's just souless and of course there's nothing personal. So it's not even like being in a holiday cottage where you have books and ornaments and things. It's just bare. I hate being in it, and so do the kids. Anyway, I also arrived in Germany with some kind of sick bug. I had thought I'd got food poisoning the day before we left from a dodgy pizza in Frankie & Benny's (I must have been terribly excited about the move, because I can't think of any other reason I would choose Hoi Sin Chicken Pizza). Alas, I continued to feel dreadful for most of the first week. On top of that I managed to lose my blood pressure tablets somewhere along the line and that became a wee bit of a nightmare.

So I hit the wall. I pretty much hated it. I was stressed out because it turned out our Healthcare hadn't been organised and then I had loads of phone calls with people trying to organise doctors and all sorts of stuff. It all sounded promising, especially when 'International SOS' got involved, I don't know, they just sound like they'll do things in a hurry, don't they? Well, they don't. They like to take their time, let things back up in their Frankfurt office and call you 6 or 7 times to ask if you are having a heart attack right now, or would you be ok to pick up a prescription from the chemist you can see from your apartment window. But not yet. Maybe in a day or two. But it all got sorted, and I never had a blood pressure monitor with me, so at least I didn't know whether I was about to have a heart attack.

Mind you, the kids seemed determined to test it out. Second day in the flat and in an attempt to be more relaxed (for my blood pressure) I decided not to be checking on the kids every couple of minutes as I tend to do especially if they are being quiet, and just let them get on with it. So, I walked into this little room that's off the second bedroom (it's like a large wardrobe but has a window) and this was when I discovered that they had coloured in one whole wall with their new crayons. I went mental. They have never done this sort of thing before, so why do they start when we are in rented accommodation with not a cleaning product to our name?

I finally finished cleaning it with a successful combination of Cif and wipes this morning. Hours it has taken me. I didn't imagine I'd be scrubbing walls in my first week here.

So let's get on to the good stuff. The 'relocation service provider' is great. I had a great day last week that was like being on 'Location, location..'. We got picked up by our 'helper' Heidi, and taken to 6 or so apartments where we would get shown round with them and the agent and Heidi would do all the translating and we would say what we liked and what we didn't like and then they would tailor the rest of the properties we saw to meet our needs. It was brilliant fun. I could look at houses every day of the week. It was actually a bit more like Location, location with a bit of Escape to the Country thrown in. It seems as though people in Berlin live in probably far smaller spaces than we do in the UK, and certainly, I think the agents thought it was a bit odd that we were looking for seperate bedrooms for the kids. They also seemed to think it was odd that they were showing us what they considered pretty amazing apartments, and we were sometimes just not fussed about them. So I felt a bit like one of those folk on Escape to the Country who get taken into a kitchen the size of a field and they just casually winge, "It's just not quite big enough for the two of us".

But we found somewhere. Well, we actually found 2 places that we loved, but one isn't available until August, so that ruled it out as I can't bare to stay where we are until then. So we are meant to move in on Tuesday. The moving team arrive at 8am and no doubt will be done by 9:30. I can't wait!!!

Those of you who I have been in touch with since the move will have heard my plaintive cries about there being no Robinson's Apple and Blackcurrant here - or 'purple' as the kids call it. Well, I can reassure you that the crisis is over! We took a wee trip to Kreuzburg this morning to a shop called Broken English. The owner was stood outside smoking when we turned up and laughed as Stevie squealed "Look at the window display!" to which the kids started chorusing "Purple! Purple!". So happy were we that we paid €7.50 for 3 small bottles to tide us over till my friends can start shipping it over in bulk. I never knew it would be so missed. I had also thought that things would have moved on quite substantially in the supermarkets from when I was in Munich 30 years ago. We came here on holiday 2 years in a row and I remember quite clearly the lack of what I assumed were international brands and there only being Paprika crisps. But here we are, and it's the same. How has Kerry Irish Butter managed to break through into this impenetratable marketplace, and why would you not be sick to death of paprika crisps after 30 years?? Seriously, would a little salt and vinegar not enhance life?

(Actually, I found some and they were described as 'Engish Style' and they were quite good, so I will return to them in times of desperate need, and won't be partaking of Broken English's 12 pack of Walkers for €10.50- can you believe that price?).

Right well, I could write loads but it's time to go. Next time I'll tell you about our trip to the zoo. It's amazing. There are bits about Berlin that make you feel like it would be like being in Britain before they thought about Health and Safety. Wait till you see my photos, you'll think I have a great zoom lens on my camera, ha, ha!