Rügen is lovely!

All the buildings were this pretty. It was lovely seeing a whole town like this. All white with lovely carved wooden fretwork. Very sea-sidey!

I loved this. It's like little beetroot, isn't it? After having to wait while I photographed every house, shop, casino, I think Stevie had had his fill of the fretwork.

But there was plenty more to see. Here's the Berlin Junior Ornathology Club checking out the sea birds and seeing what's what around the beach...

Ah....that's enough of the binoculars now. Take them off kids.NOW!

Hello, hello!

We went to Rügen at the weekend. We've been waiting to visit it after a few of our neighbours and Stevie's work colleagues recommended it. But we've either been too busy or the weather hasn't been great. Mostly too busy. Rügen is Germany's largest island. It's way up there on the top right hand side, near the Czech Republic and on the Baltic coast. It's a popular German tourist resort,and everyone from Einstein to Hitler has holidayed there. So you know, if it's good enough for Hitler Einstein, then it's good enough for us. You can reach it by road by going over the mile long (I think) bridge from Stralsund (which sticks in my mind, because I can't help thinking I might have bought it in IKEA).

Anyway, it's lovely. We only went for the day, which given the quite long drive, wasn't nearly long enough. We decided to go to Binz, which is probably the main tourist destination. I loved the architecture. I swear, you just can't sicken me with too much wooden fretwork. I came back wanting to paint our house in Derby white.

We had a lovely afternoon on the beach, and then a lovely little wander round the streets, then a beautiful little meltdown over ice-cream. It never feels like a proper family holiday unless at least one person is standing on their own in a mighty huff in a corner. Ah...bliss. And really, it was.

So lovely in fact that we plan on going back for a long weekend towards the end of August. I really want to see Prora, Hitler's holiday camp - built to house 20,000 holiday makers at a time, under the premise that every worker deserved a seaside holiday; and a few of the smaller places like Putbus and Kap Arkona. Next time I am going to try and fit one of those little beach cabins into the boot of the car.

Hamburg - a whistlestop tour

Hamburg streets (the kids are running off 200m to the left)

Riverside apartment living (The kids are being held on to very tightly by their father and are wriggling and screaming 50m to the left)

More cool apartments (kids still going bananas as above)

The Police Station (the kids are running off and moaning about the sun 100m to the left)

Yesterday we went to Hamburg. I was humungously excited, especially as I'd got it confused with Dusseldorf, which is nowhere near it and probably nothing like it. The trouble is that I was aware they both had docks and I had initially known that Dusseldorf has some gorgeous Frank Gehry architecture at it's docks, and then over the mists of time (ok, the past month or two) somehow I started thinking they were in Hamburg.

Luckily for the rest of my family, I did some checking (which is highly unlike me) on the internet on Friday night and discovered my error, otherwise I would have had them trekking for hours round the docks in search of non-existant buildings.

Our plan had been that I would book a hotel room during last week and we would stay overnight. But with the general lethargy of being under the weather I just didn't get on to it, so we decided we would just chance it and get a room when we got there. But oh, what a horrible journey. Don't get me wrong we enjoyed flying along the Autobahn, scooting past endless flat fields, and seeing all the wind farms on the way, but Hamish had decided this did not fit with his plans for the weekend (I don't want to go to school, I want to go see baby animals) & did nothing but moan for the entire journey, and once we arrived in Hamburg, Orla decided it was her turn to have tantrums, scream and be generally horrible.

Stevie and I both felt worn out and even though our first stop was lunch in a thankfully empty cafe, we both thought it might be an idea just to finish up quickly and go home.

Hamburg was lovely. A nice mix of modern and old. Lovely waterways and attractive buildings. I spent a fair amount of my time fuming though as the kids kept running away and not coming back. Despite enjoying fuming through the city with it's Elle Decoration-like riverside view apartments, and the Habitat I had to speed round and hastily murmur "Oh I like that!", "Oh I need those", "Oh, looking at this sofa I do realise I miss the UK", I think we were glad to get back home. Stevie and I were both drained by the kids, and we've realised we 'may' need to re-evaluate our plans of visiting more German cities over the summer if this was a blueprint for how the kids would be. Stevie is currently lying in bed trying to work out how we can navigate the whole of Germany incorporating a trip to German Legoland just to keep the kids happy. He may be some time, I imagine it requires some serious inventiveness.

And today, in a return to normal programming, we will be visiting some baby animals. And having an easy life. Aah!

The trouble with co-sleeping

This better just be exhaustion and not concussion. Do you snore with concussion?

The trouble with co-sleeping is that it's difficult to know when to stop, and if you leave it too late then it can be very difficult to get out of it without an awful lot of screaming (on your part) and crying (also on your part).

But generally there's some catalyst for change. And ours has come. Every day I wake up tired. Tired as though I haven't been to bed yet. Two nights ago Hamish woke me up at 3:30am thinking it was breakfast time, and to be honest I was so disoriented by tiredness that it might as well have been 7:30am because it didn't feel any different to me.

I've been having a bit of trouble getting the kids to go to bed and stay in it of late - it's non-stop requests, moans, complaints, 'ideas', and so on that in the evening not 2 minutes goes by without one of them at me for something. I'm finding it hard to get anything done. It's impossible to even concentrate on my German homework never mind anything else because I'm just waiting for the next interruption.

Last night Stevie arrived back from Derby at 10pm and both kids were still awake. Orla had decamped into our bed to wait for her dad, and Hamish was claiming he couldn't sleep on his own. So I ended up sleeping with Hamish and 'the guys'. The guys are made up of Tigger, Pooh, and Tiger. They seem to like to sleep with their heads on my pillow and take up a remarkable amount of space.

So we all went to bed tired and woke up tired. Then we got ready for Kita and left the house. Downstairs normally both of my children are lingering around pressing the lift button repeatedly and turning on the light and I open the inner door and call to them to hurry up. Today though I opened the door and Hamish ran full pelt into the edge of it, and bounced backwards off his feet with his head gushing with blood.

After a morning at A&E I've come to the conclusion that we all need our own beds. And I need to become super strict mummy and stop them constantly bombarding me with requests. Maybe when I am less tired I'll be able to work out how to do that.

Germans shoot from the hip

My mind is still pounding away thinking about Hamish and his unhappiness at Kita. This morning was hellish again, with him screaming "I don't want to go to school" all the way from the front door to the U-Bahn, with a brief respite for train happiness, then back to the screaming at the other end.

I spoke to one of his 'teachers' today and they said that things are a little better, and he is a little happier. I don't know about you though, but I NEVER trust the things that nursery workers say. I base this on my first experiences with Orla's nursery in Derby, when I would ask, "How was she today?" and they'd always say "Yeah, she was great. She ate all her lunch, blah, blah, blah". I could always stop listening after that point because I knew that it was all made up. The only way Orla would eat all her lunch is if they were only feeding her cake soup, followed by cake, with a little cake for afters. I've always found that I just get an "everything was fine" response.

Why do we do that? Why when asked how things are, or how we are, do we always say "fine"? Ok, so maybe we don't want to always be moaning "Ah, well actually, my piles are giving me gip. Do you want a look?".

In Germany though I find things a bit different. This afternoon we got back into our building and met one of neighbours who lives a couple of floors down from us. She asked how things were going, and I told her things weren't going that brilliantly for Hamish at the moment. She asked what was going on and I told her and said "You've probably heard him screaming from the lift in the morning!". And she said "Yes, I've heard him in the mornings.". In Britain I reckon most times your neighbours would say "Oh no, no, no, I haven't heard him" even when they have because it's unavoidable, but here they just tell you in a nice straightforward manner. The same if you are making too much noise, playing your music too loud, or not doing your recycling right, they just tell you. There's none of this keeping quiet and having a good moan behind closed doors and then if the subject comes up pretending they know nothing.

So maybe things are going a little better for Hamish. They think he's having problems with the language, and that he doesn't like it when he doesn't understand when they are giving instructions to the whole group and he doesn't know what to do. I understand that, but I'm not sure what I can do about it. They think it'll improve in a few months when his language skills get better, but a few months is a very long time in an unhappy toddlers world. I am going to find me some books...or maybe an English speaking Kita.

'hamisch' Hamish

Do you believe in karma? Today was Hamish's first day back at Kita after quite an extended break with a week-long illness following on from Christmas and New Year. To say he hasn't been looking forward to his return is an understatement. To say I haven't been looking forward to dropping him off and seeing him cry and wail, and scream and cling to my leg, and beg to go home with me is also an understatement. So much so that really he could have gone back at the end of last week, but I just couldn't face it.

But there was no more putting it off. This morning we just had to do it, through gritted teeth and false smiles. The whinging started not long after we left the house, quietened for a while on the U-bahn, especially after the driver waved at him (do they know that they are complete superstars in the eyes of toddlers (along with postmen)?). As soon as we reached the vicinity of the building he started screaming and built up to a nice crescendo by the time we reached the 4th floor. Cue: more wailing, screaming, leg-clinging, & begging.

The only reason I was able to drag myself away without him was because I had to go to German class. I've already missed a week and was dreading my return and the insurmountable catch-up that I'd need to do. Anyway German class turned out to be fine, and I returned to pick up the kids afterwards. Hamish had in his own words "cried for a long time", and according to the staff this was correct and he hadn't played with anyone, just on his own, and wouldn't eat his lunch (never a good sign in a boy like Hamish). Talk about feeling guilty about leaving him somewhere that he wasn't happy? Yuck. I hate it.

So we went down to collect Orla from the 2nd floor, and as we always have a wait until she has finished lunch, brushed teeth, washed hands, etc etc, I took the opportunity to go to the toilet, taking Hamish with me to keep him out of trouble. Though it turned out that that is exactly what he was planning. My head was full of thoughts about whether I'd need to look for another Kita-solution for Hamish, or whether this might be temporary, although he's felt more or less this way since before Christmas. Anyway, my eye just wasn't on the ball.

No sooner had I started peeing when there were people trying to break the door down and shouting German 'stuff' through the door. Quick as a flash the door was opened on me (still peeing) and there are the Kita Manager and the handy man. It was only at this point that I realised that the very quiet (and I mean REALLY quiet) buzzing noise was Hamish pressing the emergency call button repeatedly. Crap. I'd say he got his own back on me for leaving him there.

BTW: My teacher told me before Christmas that 'hamisch' means 'malicious' in German. Wunderbar!

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?

Just a small piece of fun please.

Mr Potato having a well-earned rest in the living room.

Crouch down so we can get more of the strangers in!

I'm starting to really embrace the idea of 'not having too much fun'. My friend Fiona and her husband and little girl are over from New Zealand having a European and Brazilian honeymoon. I've been really thrilled at them coming over, especially them stopping off in Berlin just to see us (and maybe a few sights as well). I had imagined us taking in the sights and going loads of places I hadn't yet been, but so far this week the kids have managed to scupper my plans. Kita is really taking it out of them. After a hard morning not understanding German, they are both pretty tired.

Orla who is struggling with the whole Kita thing anyway has been having the most horrific tantrums which start as soon as we leave the Kita building and build up a good deal of momentum during the day. She says she likes Kita, she just doesn't like everyone speaking German. Anyway, she's not much fun to take places when she is screaming like a banshee. Yesterday after Kita the kids managed to have consecutive naps so we ended up not meeting up with Fiona, Carlos & Keira as they roamed the city. Today, I thought would be a better day as everyone had a really good sleep last night.

We decided we would go to the Reichstag after I dropped the kids off at Kita. A great plan, as we had Keira with us in her buggy which allows you to skip the hour long queue (isn't that great?). Anyway, Fiona left Carlos to plan our journey across town. Sadly, Carlos's trip planning is only matched in brilliance to my own dreadful sense of direction. We left him to decide where we get off the U-Bahn. We ended up having a lovely extraordinarily long walk through not very interesting Berlin streets to get to the Reichstag. We made it as far as Brandenburg Gate before I had to leave as I had already noticed that I was going to be late getting back to pick up the kids. So we kind of saw nothing of any interest all morning. By the time we got to Brandenburg Gate there was no way I was leaving without actually seeing it and taking their photo in front of it along with 1000 other tourists. So that was that. A little fun and then I ran for the underground.

But not to worry, as I figured I could get the kids and meet up with them in the afternoon. We ended up going home so that Orla could get some lunch and just as we were heading out the door she announced that she thought she might just need a little nap. As Hamish was also pretty tired I gave in. One thing I can't manage is climbing up and down underground station stairs carrying two sleeping children and a pushchair. I phoned Fiona a couple of hours later and they were back at Brandenburg Gate. So I didn't miss that much at all!

Meanwhile, in other news...

Mr Potato (our friend from the potato festival) has become such a firm favourite in this house with Orla and Hamish that he is starting to look a little bedraggled. He also looks as though he is developing lesions on his back which surely can't be a good sign. Last night I found him cuddled up in bed with Orla quietly roasting on a very low heat. I'm starting to worry how they will react when Mr Potato has to go in the bin. It might be easier to have a little burial out in the garden.

The moth effect

We found a moth in Hamish's wardrobe. Orla said we should "set it free using Daddy's shoe" , but I managed to blow on it several times and encourage it out of the window. Not before it had batted it's little wings and set off a chain of events that added up to one of my best days yet in Berlin.

The day started off uneventfully enough. Just the usual: kids going mental, me going spare, them not listening, me thinking I AM GOING TO LOSE MY MIND. So it was, that I decided to just get them out of the house before they knocked anything else over, broke bones, made their mother have them adopted. My thoughts turned to the play place at KaDeWe. A little creche of sorts where you can leave your children in their care for up to 3 hours for FREE as long as you don't leave the shop. They give you a nice mobile phone and promise to interrupt your calm-regaining browse, should anything happen.

So as I rushed to get us ready for this, I had all the usual interruptions to contend with along with a new one - Hamish's new love of brie. 3 minutes from departure I have them both fully covered in sun lotion. 1 minute from departure Orla knocks over a crate of our friends belongings "just because", which has been standing on top of 2 other crates. 30 seconds from departure Orla appears out of the naughty corner, naked. Race, race, race. We finally leave the house. Dor closed. Hamish requests more cheese. Flappetty, flappetty, go the wings of the moth. I realise I don't have my keys.

I go downstairs to get a signal on my phone and ask Stevie what time he'll be back from work. Of course this is the day he chose to take his bike instead of the car so he'll probably be later. Fair enough, I have my new bank card anyway, so I can go and get money out and we can just spend the afternoon somewhere. Flappetty, flappetty, go the wings of the moth. I turn to look at the kids who are in the sand pit. I let out a (possibly) external scream as I realise that the sun lotion has adhered them with a good even coating of sand. I try a wipe on a leg. Much squealing and also I don't have the lotion out with me to reapply so I give up and hope that it will fall off of its own accord before we get to KaDeWe and they will accept my grotty children.

First the bank. I got one card, two pin numbers. I figured that I would go into the bank and ask them about this. But of course the moth has flapped it's wings and the bank is already closed for the weekend. Never mind. I figure the latest pin number they have sent me will be the most likely correct one. Flappetty, flappetty, I put the card in, look for the (no) option for English language, and put the pin number in. End of transaction is what I guess it tells me. Either way my card has been swallowed. Not even a chance to try the other pin. I am close to tears. I phone Stevie. He offers these words of comfort - "Didn't you see the option for English?"

I have a few Euros, but I am going to have to be careful not to spend them too frivolously because I might have to wander around Berlin for quite a few hours before Stevie comes back with the keys. But wait, I'm forgetting! I have KaDeWe! I take the kids up, and it's different people from the last time I used it and they want either my passport (which I didn't bring) or my bank card for ID. Oh, that old thing. Well...

So once again, I have to present my Berlin Zoo Card as my only form of ID, and once again it is accepted, though grudgingly. I explain that Orla might ask to go for a "wee wee" and I show Orla the toilets so she knows where to go this time without them having to phone me. I take myself off to the 6th floor to check out the food and start to relax. Then the phone rings. I hear a babble of German. To my ear it sounds fast and a little frantic, and I say "Ein minuten! Ich komme!!". I race down the escalators and get there in under a minute. Orla has done a wee wee, and they explain has managed to do it all the way from the front of the creche through to the toilet area. I find her sat on a toilet looking quite happy. "The wee-wee just came". Fair enough. These things happen. But how am I going to spend an afternoon in Berlin with a child who is naked from the waist down and definetly doesn't have lotion on her bum?

I haven't got enough money to buy her anything from KaDeWe, but still they come to my rescue. They give me a loan of a pair of trousers in exchange for 5 euros. My cash is depleting. I am thankful that I didn't have time for a drink. It seems that it is time to leave the KaDeWe. Stevie phones. I am going to leave early so I can get back to help you. GREAT!!!!

Of course this is the day he decides it would be best to see what it's like getting the train back with his bike. Do I need to tell you that it takes longer? He phones as I am feeling a little better. I have found the Hugendubbel (like Waterstones) that I have been wanting to go to, and have found that they also have a great English book section and an English book group that meets once a month. I am going to go to that I decide. Stevie phones again. He is back and has checked the mailbox and there is a new bankcard for me. He will walk down to meet me with it and we will try it together. I tell him I will walk up to meet him as I have nothing better to do. I walk and walk and I am nearly home, literally round the corner from the apartment when he appears. I have dark, secret thoughts that he has probably been having a nice lie down with a cold coke, in a flat that he has keys for. He hands me my keys and we head back to the Ku'Damm and the bank. We try my card and my second pin and this time I get money. But there is no option for English. Stevie is adamant that I have got it wrong and tries his card. Same, but I was half expecting his card to get eaten. It was that sort of day, but it didn't.

The kids are getting fractious and feel they have been out for far too long. We race home and Stevie notices that they are both coated in sand and starving. Up in the lift he starts getting frantic as the noise coming from the kids is getting increasingly loud, whiney, and annoying. Just get the door opened and get them straight into the bathroom, he demands. Right, right! It's funny. He always thinks that it's incredulous that I should get frustrated and annoyed by the kids when I have them all day every day and usually through the night, yet it's perfectly normal for him to be the same after just an hour in their company. I open the door, hustle them in, run a bath, strip them off, get them cleaned and make the dinner. Then ready for bed and then I can relax and moan to my mum about my horrible day on the phone.

Saturday comes. It takes us most of the morning to get ourselves organised enough to go out. Stevie starts making a song and dance about me making sure I have everything. Do you have your keys? Actually, as it happens, I can't find them. Flappetty, flappetty, Stevie opens the front door while I am frantically searching the flat. There's a clink as he does so: I had left my keys in the lock on the outside of the door.

We found another moth in the bathroom on Sunday. This time we helped it with Daddy's shoe.

love, Disgusted from Derbyshire

Dear Childline,

My mum and dad turned my cotbed into a bed the other night after I threatened to hurl myself over the edge into the abyss. Not exactly a suicide attempt, just a call for help, well a request really, or maybe a demand to get into Mummy's bed. Things haven't really panned out in my favour though. I am being punished. Terribly. They gave me the freedom to roam my room but have shifted the stair gate from the top of the stairs to my bedroom doorway. If I knew some bad words I'd be using them. What will they do next?: Bars on the window? I have shown them my feelings on this by slamming the door in their faces every time I am put to bed.

I don't think they like me. Despite all their kisses and cuddles and words of affection; they just don't understand me. I never get to do anything I want. And just because I nearly gassed them in their beds, well that was an accident. Doesn't mean that my every move has to be monitored. Not my fault that they didn't check that I'd been turning the gas hob on before bed. And it was someone else I am sure that left the oven on all night and the freezer door just opens itself about 3 times every day. I'd send it back.

And I'm only being helpful when I turn your 30 degree wash up to 90 degrees somewhere through the cycle. Knitwear can never be too small. But it might have been me that tore open a big box of Cheerios, and put an open bag of flour into your handbag. Admittedly, I was covered in evidence. But it could have been my sister. I think it must have been her that pulled all the toilet roll out Andrex puppy style.

But it definitely couldn't have been me that emptied a big cup of juice into a little tiny tub on the coffee table, soaking my mum's new Elle Decoration and probably making it unreadable, and then letting it overflow on to the floor, because I've been busy typing this, haven't I?

Tantrums, procrastination, and a big bag of pee. It's what dreams are made of.

Orla has started having the most hideous tantrums the like of which we have not previously experienced. We're talking about 5 stages beyond the fist-thumping on the supermarket floor advert. Generally they rush up like a whirlwind from something innocuous like suggesting it's time we got some clothes on. Stevie witnessed his first full-on tantrum this morning - cause: a top; length of screaming and ranting: 1 hour and a bit. He was on his way out to work but was determined to take over and wrestle her into the top. I thought some fingers would get broken in the struggle, but luckily for him he just got kicked a good few times. (I half thought it was the ideal time for me to land a few secret kicks). Anyway, he ended up carrying her up to her room and leaving her to shout it out and asking me on his way out the door if I thought she might be a bit mental. What would Supernanny do I wonder? If only I watched the programme I might have the answer.

My sister has told me that being 3 is worse thasn being 2 in terms of tantrums etc. I daren't ask about 4 or 5 bacause for all I know it might be worse. I wish I had known this before. I had high hopes for 2010 being a good year, and now I find out I have a 'terrible 2' blossoming this year and an even worse 'tantrum-ing 3'. Utter yuck! A good time to be moving abroad...ugh...

Stevie has been speaking to the people at RR Germany and has decided to hand in his notice at the end of this week and go sub-contract. So that's just over 4 weeks until we move. I need someone following me around shouting in my ear "It's only 4 weeks until you move!!! At the very least pick up those socks or find the missing banana!! Just do something!". I'm finding it hard to break out of my usual method of leaving everything until the last minute and then just flinging things into bin bags. Still, why fix something that ain't broke? I had a moment of proactivity this morning and threw out the very dead orchid that has sat on the console table for a year. So that done, we're ready to go!

My NCT sale was a bit of a disaster. Apparently there were very few people through the door, so having taken two carloads round to it, I had to bring one carload back. So now I am stuck with having to do a carboot sale this weekend. The last time (only time) I did a car boot sale I was quite pregnant with Orla and Stevie had been putting the pressure on me to clear my 'Fiona room' as this was to be Orla's room. So I forced myself to sell a lot of books and a single handbag. Anyway, the tme I chose to do the car boot sale coincided with having to carry out a 24 hour urine sample collection. So my car boot sale was quite brief as I sold everything for 50p just because I was desperate for the toilet as Orla was jumping up and down on my bladder.

I had to do a couple of those 24 hour urine things and it was nearly enough to put me off having Hamish. Of course Stevie and my mum were both like 'Oh it's no big deal. Just get on with it and stop making a big fuss over nothing'. But I had to go to a client meeting in Sheffield with a great big petrol-container like thing full of pee in a carrier bag, which was bad enough, but the final humiliating straw was that someone in my office was looking for something and pulled it out of it's bag, held it up, and said "What's this?" in front of everyone I worked with. I think this is when I really went right off open-plan offices.