Red Nose Day: a plug for how you can help children in Zambia

In the Shade of the Mulberry Tree is a memoir of our first year in Zambia. The reason we went in the first place was because of my husband's medical research into malnutrition and the immune system. We saw, first hand, the results of children that were born into families too poor to eat. We saw charitable projects that offered children lunch at school in order that they both received food and received an education. We know that malaria is caused by mosquitoes, and that a mosquito net can prevent its spread.

So, today, I ask you to consider giving to Comic Relief, which does so much work for the poor of the world. Last night the BBC showed a programme "Hell and High Water" where six celebrities rafted down the Zambezi in order to raise money for education. It was lovely to catch a glimpse of Zambia again, and to see those magnificent Victoria Falls. But they did it for a reason: to draw attention to the fact that so many children cannot afford an education. Many walk for hours in order to reach a school. Some cannot go to school as they have to care for their families (often due to the impact of HIV/AIDS). Yet they are still children, just like yours and mine. They too need health, food and education. 

Go on: make a difference.

www.rednoseday.com

www.comicrelief.com

Peregrination

Withenay's Wednesday Word - a series about words and their meanings. 
Sometimes the word is chosen because I like it, sometimes because it is unusual, sometimes because I have heard or read it in the previous week; often because that is just where the dictionary took me. Together we can expand our vocabulary, inch by inch (or maybe letter by letter). Your challenge is to invent a sentence in the comments box that includes it.


peregrination
travelling about; wandering; pilgrimage; a complete and systematic course or round (a noun)
from Latin peregrinus foreign

Tomorrow I head off on my Book Blog Tour, travelling around the world, talking with different people about my book, and writing, and editing, and reading, and living in Africa. I am so excited!

Peregrination seems like such an apt word in the circumstances. One of the definitions - wandering - fits in with this blog: Withenay Wanders. Another - a complete and systematic course or round - fits in with the idea of visiting everyone in a set order, then returning back here in a week or two's time. I'm not sure I'd label it as a pilgrimage, but I'm certainly travelling about. And In the Shade of the Mulberry Tree is all about my travels - to Africa, through motherhood, around Zambia.

The word has a certain poignancy to me as well, as about the only piece of my mother's schoolwork that I ever remember seeing was "The Peregrinations of P P" (her initials). She had moved around the UK a number of times during her childhood and this project was a mini autobiography of her life. I always loved the alliteration of the title, and was slightly in awe of my grandfather who had known what peregrination meant.

But then, so (now) do I.


Follow my Book Blog Tour on www.catharinewithenay.com and don't forget to enter the competition!

Pride comes before a fall

I was feeling so proud of myself.

I had got up early. I had got the children up early (or at least in plenty of time to get to school).

I had taken my daughter to choir before school (having forgotten about it completely the previous week - oops!)

I had taken the dog for a walk around the field, letting her have a good run and be thoroughly exhausted for the day. Muddy from nose to tail, she was curled up in her basket in the utility room.

All this, and home before 9am. Just enough time for a cup of tea, a bowl of cereal and then to go to work.

Perfect.

So I thought I'd tweet about it. (I like to tweet at moments of achievement, for usually tweeting only seems to cover the disasters.) I reached into my coat pocket to retrieve my phone.

It wasn't there.

Nor was it in the other pocket. Or on the side in the kitchen.

My conclusion was that it had fallen out of my coat pocket when I was walking the dog. I thought back to the point I'd pulled a treat from my pocket - presumably it had fallen out then and I was totally unaware. That was right on the other side of the field, about as far away as I could go.

I groaned. (As did my stomach, as I still wanted breakfast.) Reluctantly I rang up work and said I'd be late in, as I felt obliged to walk around the field again to locate my phone. I am the luckiest girl alive to have very understanding work colleagues. I only hoped the phone hadn't fallen into too much mud! I left the dog in the utility room, pulled my wellies back on and trudged back to the field.

Retracing steps to look for something you have dropped is never a fun task, nor is it easy. Anything looking black or catching a glint of light might have been it. I took a stoical approach and decided not to be too concerned until I had looked at the far side of the field, where I thought it most likely to have fallen.

Taking a short-cut across the centre I felt the biting wind blow across and shoved my hands in my pocket, wishing that I'd put my gloves on. That reminded me that I'd left my gloves on the side in the utility room when I'd come in with the dog after our walk. And then I remembered that I'd put my phone down with them.

I stopped abruptly, considering my stupidity. I had a dilemma: go straight home and check, or walk around the field in case my memory was wrong. (After all, within 2 minutes of putting them down I'd forgotten that I'd left my phone with my gloves, so what hope had I of remembering correctly now?) I decided that I would curse even more if it had fallen out of my pocket, so hiked over to the other side, looked around half-heartedly, and returned home.

My tea was cold. My dog was confused. But my phone was safe and sound.

My only problem then was what to tell my work colleagues!

The Car Story, Part II: ...and In with the New

After the month that it has taken to get our old car collected and taken away it would be fair to think that we might be more lucky with the process to purchase a new car.

Wrong!

Well, a little bit right. It wasn't quite such a frustrating waste of my time. But only just!

About the same time as I was first arranging the collection of our old car, we paid the deposit on the new car. We were told that it was in transit and it was possible - though not probable - that it would be ready by the end of September. I would be phoned on Wednesday to confirm its arrival date.

Wednesday came...and went...

(This blog post is already sounding very familiar!)

During the succeeding two weeks I rang the garage repeatedly to check on its progress. Their policy (or so it appears) is to not respond to any phone calls made in the morning until at least 3.30pm, more usually 5.30pm. This I note as a frustration rather than a crisis.

Finally - finally! - the car got as far as Grimsby.

"It may be ready for you on Friday," I was told, "but definitely the following week."

Friday came...and went...

"It's on the loader tomorrow," I was told, "and here on Wednesday, so you can collect it on Friday."

This was reasonable, as I know they had to do a couple of things for it to be ready for us (not least of which was to fit a towbar!)

So I arrange to go in last Friday at midday to collect the car.

Now, how long do you expect it to take to collect a brand new car from a showroom?

At 2.15pm I was free to drive away.

That's right: 135 minutes of waiting. A few bits of form-filling, a lot of form-signing but mostly, mainly, a lot of waiting. And an awful cup of tea.

I think the 'hand-slams-into-forehead' moment was when, after over 90 minutes, I was given the car keys, only to have one set taken away so he could drive round the corner and fill it with fuel. Couldn't someone else have done that whilst I was ticking all the other administrative boxes?

Now don't get me wrong: the new car is fabulous! It is clean (I note the lack of dog hairs and wonder if our dog will ever get a walk again!) It is quiet, despite being another diesel engine. It is bigger, comfortable and delightfully shiny. I love her.

But it was as I drove home that I thought, I wasn't shown the towbar. Is it there?

My suspicions were not allayed when I stopped and looked underneath the rear bumper. I could see no evidence of any fitting. Another call to the garage.

"Just let me have a look," he said. A pause as he rifled through paperwork. "That's because it wasn't fitted," he said, and spent the next half hour arranging for a man to come out to fit it.

And the manager wondered why I hadn't ticked the box saying: Yes, I am completely satisfied.

The Car Story, Part I: Out with the old...

After three glorious years with our car the end of our lease contract loomed. In fact, it has been looming for the last six months but no amount of my nagging seemed to provide the time my husband needed at work to reorganise its replacement. Deadline approaching we made a decision to purchase our own - possibly financially worse, but better than being without a car for at least 3-6 months while a new one was located.

So, mid-September I rang the leasing company and arranged to have our beloved Fabia taken away.

"What day would you like?" she asked.

"Monday? In the morning?"

"Fine." She checked my home address (rather than husband's hospital) and all was sorted.

Monday morning came...and went... 

In the afternoon I gave her another ring.

"But it's booked in for tomorrow morning, collecting from the hospital," she said.

"But that's not what we arranged!"

At this point there was, of course, a bit of a stand-off, as I knew I hadn't agreed to that (my husband has clinics all morning so I'd never have arranged something that would interrupt them!) She was adamant this was how it was planned and with a big sigh said, "So, are you wanting to rearrange it?"

"Of course I am!" I blustered, and suggested that we tried again the following Monday morning.

"No problem," she said, again checking my home address.

Monday morning came...and went...

This time, when I rang, the girl on the phone had no record of the car being due to be picked up at all. This despite us having received an email from them during the week charging us £84 for rearranging the collection date. (I know! We were being charged for them not turning up on the date they had agreed to originally!)

The week came...and went...

Eventually we got an email specifying a date (last Thursday) when the car would be collected. Would we prefer AM or PM? After 1.30pm, I respond.

Imagine my consternation when I found a message on the answerphone on Wednesday afternoon asking me to call about the collection. It was another company again clarifying the time of collection.

"Between 9 and 6?" he said.

"Erm...no - I'd said after 1.30pm?"

Grumble, grumble. Ok. "And collection address: Stafford?"

"Definitely not!" and proceeded to tell him our own address. Stafford is not even the hospital address. Just don't ask.

So, late Wednesday afternoon I am rearranging a company's schedule to involve possibly an extra 2-3 hours of driving in order to pick up our car. I wasn't placing money on their third attempt to collect it.

Thursday afternoon came...and went...

Surprise, surprise. But - to be fair - when I rang up this time the lady was profusely apologetic, realising that what she had on her screen had not been transferred to their driver's screen and thus he'd gone to Stafford.

I hope he enjoyed his day out!

Furthermore, within 10 minutes the lady's manager rang me to arrange whatever time I wished for the car collection, explaining again the error that had occurred.

This morning... they came!

Early!

(That bit wasn't so good. It's half-term and I'd anticipated more of a lie-in!)

And so, with regret, I watched my car being taken away before 9am. It has done us so well over the last three years, being super-economical and totally reliable. Had we been renewing a lease contract we would have got the same type of car again, but instead we have a new car to last us until my son learns to drive - a scary prospect on many levels!

The Old Car story would have been over at this point...but whilst I was out and about this morning I received a call on my mobile.

"I'm calling to arrange the delivery of your car," he said, quoting the registration number...

Mud, mud, glorious mud!

Last weekend we went with friends to the Greenbelt Festival at Cheltenham, camping on the edge of the racecourse and being entertained by top quality acts.

It rained on the Saturday. A lot. In fact, there were hailstones.

Thankfully at this point I was safely inside a cafe, then queueing to hear Simon Mayo talk about his new book, Itch. Simon gave an entertaining talk and then was marvellous in his interaction with the children as they asked a million varied questions. Yes: we were first to hear about the book 'Itch goes to the zoo' (erm...an unlikely sequel involving exploding elephants!) The most hilarious moment was the build up for the final boy to ask a question - only for him to ask where he could buy the book.

The tent survived the rain. My son's friend's book didn't.

On Sunday the sun came out ... for a short while ... then it became apparent that Rain + Racecourse = Mud. By the evening I gave up on wearing my crocs and walked barefoot through it: it came over my ankles in certain parts. Still, you should feel more sorry for the earthworms, whose bodies littered the field.

Monday was forecast more rain, so striking camp was done first thing. We stayed to hear Folk On, who were magnificent, as you can tell from this recording. I know, it is from 2011, but our main stage experience included this song with many of the same jokes! We were doubled over with laughter for an hour, and laughter is the best medicine for many ailments. (Especially mud.)

The rest of the weekend was filled with buying books and CDs, singing with The Wild Goose Collective, listening to Frank Skinner (whilst water dripped through the seam at the apex of the Big Top...) and bopping along to The Proclaimers. The heavens opened again whilst we watched some impro that had 5* ratings from the Edinburgh Festival Fringe on Monday afternoon, and with that we decided to wend our way home.

Little known fact

It is impossible to appreciate Sinead O'Connor singing Nothing compares to you whilst you are driving if your children are in the back of the car singing a medley of Bring me sunshine and Always look on the bright side of life (words amended to: always look on the bright side of sleep, with appropriate sound effect) at the top of their voices.

End of public service announcement.

We all went to the zoo...

It's summer; it's the holidays; it is time to indulge in days out.

So we went to the zoo.

Rhinoceros

I can't quite decide what I think about zoos. Is it right to keep animals like that, in unnatural surroundings? The first animals we saw were the elephants (my favourite) who were roaming around a dry mud pen. All I could think of were the elephants I have seen in the wild: in Ghana, where I heard them first charging down the hill breaking trees as they went; and in Zambia, where they frolicked in the river and wandered through local villages. There they lived in green, luscious land, covered in trees and vegetation and with lots of space to roam.

Is it right to keep them in a zoo?

Then again, at Chester Zoo (which was where we went!) they invest a lot in local conservationists, people who give their lives to providing the right environment for animals to prevent extinction. A lot of the animals we saw are endangered or threatened, and there is an argument that keeping them in a zoo means that we don't lose that genetic gene pool.

Surely it is right to breed these in a zoo?

Whatever the arguments, I still love seeing animals moving and prowling. My daughter and I were fortunate to see the jaguars whilst my husband and son were still inside (tee hee!), and spotting the cheetahs was a delight. The lions were stalking their cage, yawning and stretching before settling down for an afternoon snooze. The butterfly house was a delight: the colours, the lightness and the joy of seeing so many fluttering around our bodies.

But the biggest surprise relates again to our Zambian experience. It took us nearly a week's holiday in Kasanka National Park before one of the guides pointed out a sitatunga antelope to us. We saw its head poking above the marshy grass from miles away (or so it felt: the only real sighting of it was through binoculars). We were elated to have seen such a rare breed of antelope! Yet at the zoo: there was a field full of them. Not much marshland for a marsh-dwelling animal, but nevertheless a field-ful. My husband and I were delighted by them (unlike our children, who were more excited by the zebra on the other side!)

Sitatunga antelope

It was a fantastic day out: a day in glorious sunshine was just what the family needed! And even inspired my writing gene, as I was reminded of the children's story that lurks at the back of my mind involving some of these...

Flamingoes

Maybe now I'll get round to writing it!

It's not the taking part that counts...

Yesterday I reluctantly decided to support my son's decision to be outside (YES! without a small screen inches from his eyes!) and went to join in a family game of football in the back garden. Football is not a sport I excel at. Or even know much about. I was secretly praying for the rains to come...would you believe it! They didn't!

None of my family are very good at football, but we are competitive. There is no way I was going to let my husband win if I could help it.

My son decided on the goals: ours was a fence panel; my husband and daughter aimed for 'the wall between the windows'. My heart lost a beat every time they attempted a shot at goal.

My husband would get the ball, then my daughter would shout, 'Pass!' and tackle it from him. We had to explain that 'passing' meant actually kicking the ball to another player.

Due to an extremely muddy walk with the dog earlier on I only had my best shoes to wear. I slipped and slid all around inside them. Occasionally I could co-ordinate enough to kick the ball, though usually to a rather grateful husband rather than my teammate son.

Well, the game ended when my latest husband's tackle (grabbing my arm and holding me back) meant I fell to the ground in agony, having strained some muscle in my shoulder. That's not where you're supposed to get injuries in a football game, is it?

Never mind. Whilst I was lying on the grass in extreme pain my son took the ball and scored repeated goals against our fence panel. So we won!

And that's what counts, right?

And the answer is...

Here is a bigger clue to our recent holiday:

Two weeks on a canal boat, puttering around the Four Counties Ring. These photos were taken on the Shropshire Union Canal section, when we still had sunshine (even if we could hardly see it for the trees towering up the cuttings!) This was a particularly unusual, double-arched bridge.

Canal boating seems to bring up nothing but adventurous stories, which I hope to write up and regale you with over the coming weeks. Ironic how many stories there can be, given you slow down to 3mph!

Truly, for us, it was just what the doctor ordered, allowing us to sleep and rest, to talk (often without the children, as they played games together inside the boat) and to see some of the most beautiful countryside. The rain at the end of the second week put a dampener (ahem!) on things, making us all a little miserable as we battled with our 15th lock of the day...

I've asked the children if they'd like to go again. No response.
My husband and I? Back like a shot!
Does that reflect well or badly on our individual paces of life?

And, for the record, my son's response when asked what the best bit of the holiday was?

"Trying out two new types of Magnum ice-cream!"

We could have done that at home!

Hello again!

Still here!

We've had our family 'summer holiday' (yes, it did rain) and I know I could have planned lots of blog posts before I left, and I know I could have asked for guest writers, and I know I could have posted daily blogs from our holidays ... but sometimes we all just need a break.

So, until I get my head back in order, perhaps you'd like to guess where I've been?

I suppose I could have picked an easier photo, but what fun would there be in that?! Guesses welcome in the comments box!

The wisdom of age

This weekend I had the delight of celebrating my father's 80th birthday. When I stop and think about it, that is a very long time.

About six months ago he moved to the same town that my sister lives in. He lives in a spacious 1-bed bungalow. The garden is a fraction of the size of his previous house. He is now a 10 minute walk into town with all the amenities he could ask for, and that 10 minutes walks past the doctors and dentists and even a cottage hospital. Previously, he has to catch a bus the three miles to the local shops, particularly after the village post office was shut down. He has lost about a stone in weight (needed!) and is looking much fitter and healthier for the move. At the time of the move I was less certain that this was a good thing - all I seemed to experience was stress!

So this weekend we celebrated the move and the passing years. It was wonderful to catch up with Dad's side of the family and various friends that he (and, by default, my sister and I) have known for many years. I think every single one commented on how healthy my father looked. He loved the party, chatting with everyone. Given his deafness, I'm not sure how easy that can have been!

Yes, the party on Saturday was good. But better still was his actual birthday on Sunday.

It poured with rain all day. But his choice of how to spend the day was to have a drive up through Wharfedale, where he spent much of his childhood and where we spent all my childhood holidays. It is probably 25 years since I last went to the top end of the dale, but it brought back many memories for me. How much more so my father! He pointed out houses where people lived ("...probably still do, if they're still alive," he would comment) and told tales of the places we passed. Much of the journey seemed to be a mock pub crawl, with his comments on how good, or bad, each was. I think it is a testament to my upbringing that they were all very familiar to me too!

After an amazing [pub] lunch (I shall probably never need to eat again!) he directed me back along the other side of the valley, wending and winding our way along single track roads.
"This is where I learnt to ride a bike," he said down one gentle slope.
"Oh, that's new!" he said of some newly planted trees. This amused me, given he hadn't been for many years and you would expect much to change in that time!
"Shortly you'll come to a big bend to the right, but you want to go straight on." How did he remember that? I would have sworn I'd never been on that piece of road in my life - possibly no-one else had either!
Still, we travelled on, through ford and flood, to return by a back-road to my sister's house.

Eighty years - yes, but memories don't fade, particularly not from land that has been such a part of your life, from early years during the war, through to holidays with family. The hills have been climbed, the ox-bow lake formed and lost, the local fairs attended, the pubs drained dry. It was a delight to give my father such pleasure from a simple drive into beautiful countryside. I only wish his parents had thought eighty years ago about what the weather would be like this weekend, as the only improvement would have been some sunshine!

A new addition to the family

As with most things, I give in to my children.

For ages they have been wanting a sibling (one wants a brother, the other wants a sister!) They also nag me endlessly about iPad, iPod Touch, iPhone, Kinnect and other technologies. So far, I have resisted. (Well, a combination of me, my sanity and my bank balance, depending on which option you choose!) In practice, I have given in to this:

Welcome Poppy!

Two days in and she is very much part of our family, although I haven't a clue what I am doing most of the time! She is, evidently, gorgeous and so it is easy to give in to her. At nearly 4 months she is quite old for coming to a new house but that also means that she is further on in her training than other puppies are. She is an all-consuming distraction from what I'm supposed to be doing - be it writing or children or meetings or whatever. She has slept well since arriving (two nights!) but really wants a lot more attention in the mornings than I am able to give her. And our adventure to walk to the post box yesterday only got as far as the neighbours' gate!

The name caused much debate. My husband and I wanted 'Pepper' but - as you can tell - we gave in to our children's preference. Surely taking ownership like this means they'll be delighted to walk her as she gets older. No? Me still?

Something funny happened in the car park

So, there I am, chatting with my friend.

I hear my son sigh just by typing that sentence. He was at school, so not a witness to this event. I'd only popped to the shops to drop off some dry-cleaning and my friend happened to be doing something similar, and the sun was shining, and we just stopped to chat. Just next to my car. Nothing important, nothing to write home about.

Anyway, as we are chatting I notice the car opposite beginning to reverse.

Fine. It was reversing towards us.

Also fine.

Except it kept going. Slowly, but nevertheless in our direction.

As we realised it was about to hit us several things happened.

1  We each took a step out of the way (really, we are quite intelligent women!)

2  My friend, who was more in the firing line so-to-speak, hit the back of the car to indicate to the driver that he/she should stop - quickly - before hitting the car next to mine.

3  I looked to tap the driver's window and screamed, "Aaargh!!! There's no-one in it!"

The car was driving itself. Or, more accurately, rolling gently.

Thankfully the incline in the car-park is negligible so it just rolled to a halt without hitting anything or anyone.

But it was now in our way. (Well, mine. I was, despite my protracted conversation, about to leave and a rogue car blocking my exit was not in my plan.)

We stood there and scratched our heads for a while. We got abuse from drivers entering the car-park for being 'women drivers' - this really riled me. It was not my car, I was not responsible, I was having to delay my departure as we worked out what to do. I didn't need prejudicial assumptions laid at my feet.

The long part of the story is that we went to the local row of shops to see whose car it was and get messages put out on the tannoy. The shorter part is that we noticed a poster in the back of the car and rang the number - and got the owner (who was in one of the shops, but ignoring our dash around pleading for them to move their car!)

Irritatingly (given the verbal abuse I'd taken) it was a woman who hadn't put on the handbrake.

All's well that ends well. How and why the car started moving I have no idea. No-one was hurt, no damage done. The poor woman who rushed back in a fluster was about to get teased mercilessly by her accompanying husband.

And I left with a delightful and slightly bewildering tale to tell.

The one where I learnt new things

Family holidays actually force us to live together for a fortnight. In the humdrum routine of life, we pass by, rush around, seek our own space and generally only talk about what we need to. Holiday allows us to unwind and (sometimes) talk, and in so-doing we learn new things about each other. Here is what I have learnt.

... about my husband ...

He has a passion for fish finger sandwiches.
Where did that come from? Thirteen years of marriage and I discover that we have to experience this culinary delight. Supplemented by a healthy portion of chips and tomato ketchup, Sunday lunch was a whole new experience for us.

When he says he doesn't like slides, don't believe him. 
I spent half our time at Duinrell holding his glasses so that he could try all the water slides. And when he says he doesn't like all the thrill rides, don't believe that either. The water slides were of increasing intensity (dark, steep, fast) and then outside it was he who rushed to go with our son on the wildest rollercoasters. Meanwhile, my daughter and I watched, waited and munched our way through a packet of sweets.

... about my children ...

They actually get on very well.
All the months at home when they whinge and whine, tell takes, thump, hit, fight ... and yet on holiday they can quietly play cards together, help each other set out clock patience and invent new games between themselves. Something, somewhere, is actually working correctly in this dragging up of children.

... about myself ...

I get too tense going on holiday.
When my son said on day 3 that I was really unpleasant, I had to pull myself in check. The adaptation to a new place, the stress of having everything in place (food, car, the final night in an as yet unknown location) was making me tetchy and liable to snap. Son objected - and rightly so. I think - I hope! - I improved after that. We're still talking to each other at any rate!

... about the Dutch ...

They are, on average, the tallest people in the world.
Incredible fact I was told. In our flat, when I sat on the toilet my feet didn't touch the floor. It must have been like mountaineering for my children! They couldn't see in the mirrors at all and none of us attempted to get crockery or glasses from the top shelves. At the Space Expo, I had to lift the children up for them to see through the peepholes at the planets. There was one I couldn't see in myself. I consider my 5' 4" a fairly average height for a female so I don't think we can base this on my diminutive stature. What makes the Dutch so tall? Milk and dairy products? Sun and fresh air? Cycling? Who knows!

To end my holiday week blog, a childish joke. I don't know any about The Netherlands, but I do know one about cows and, given their export of the black and white friesian cow to the rest of the world, it is a small tribute to one of their greatest (and smelliest) assets. (And my children taught me it, of course.)

Why do cows wear bells?

Because their horns don't work.

Photo: (c) The University of Waikato 

A short gap in proceedings...

We are on holiday. I'd hoped to have some Internet connection but this is my chance to grab a couple of minutes in amongst the family mayhem.

So far we have travelled by car and boat and bus and train and bicycles. Withenay wanders indeed.

If I tell you it is a holiday of canals and cheese and bikes perhaps you'll guess where we are.

Then again, we are also spending a lot of time on the beach with buckets and spades, burying the children and paddling in the sea. (We've dug the children up again each time - though sometimes the temptation is strong...)

Writing and family anecdotes will return when we do. Now ... back to that glass of wine ...

Malaria video

I came across this in one of my random wanderings around the internet and Africa and good causes. These people are nominated for awards for their films and this is a particularly good example: a community advert for the prevention of malaria in the Congo.
My only question is: Why is it (predominantly) in English, not French?

Back to the grindstone

Half-term is over! At last!

Now I can ...

• get on with editing my writing
• read the book for my book club without interruption
• sneak a chocolate biscuit from the tin with no-one watching
• enjoy peace and quiet in the house
• not constantly be the arbiter in the sibling wars

I can also ...

• file all the paperwork that I put on hold
• pay the bills that have been building up 
• do the ironing in front of my TV choice
• have time at home to do the washing and housework
• find things where I leave them (well, roughly)

Oddly enough, I miss the pair of them. We had fun together, going shopping, playing games, having tea and toasted teacakes. They had time with their friends; they had time with their grandparents; I had a day in London with my husband (a big treat - thank you Grannie & Grampa!) 

A week off, and we've all relaxed and unwound.

Now all I've got to do this week is swimming lessons, Cubs, Brownies, band, drama, choir, playdates, homework, birthday party presents and get two outfits sorted for World Book Day.

Back to normal then ...

The world is the size of a pea

Crikey - it has been two weeks since I wrote here. That's the problem with wandering. Over half-term we wandered across the sea: this time, to Northern Ireland to see family. Grannie & Gramps looked after the children for a couple of nights, so my husband and I were able to get away and talk about things - and not just the house/builders/disasters at home!

It is a long time since I have stayed in a B&B: a very British institution, focussing a lot on homely accommodation and a huge breakfast. The first morning we sat down with the only other guests, a couple our parents' age. They were talking about visiting their daughter; about how many times per year they come over to Ireland; about how difficult it is to fly from Norwich now there's no direct flight to Belfast; about the rain (of course: there is a lot of it!) ... then as soon as my husband mentioned his parents in Belfast she said, "Oh - you're the Withenays!"

It was a slightly spooky moment. It turns out they know my in-laws from church in Norwich.

As I said at the time, the world has shrunk to the size of a pea. We can't even get away to somewhere we've never been before without being known.

The Mountains of Mourne are truly stunningly beautiful. Even in the rain. Given the moans and groans I gave throughout my teenage years, I think my parents would be astounded that I chose to go for a walk despite the weather. Most of the walk was through drizzle. It only really began to rain when we reached the dam at the end of the valley and the end of the walk.

Well, the end of the way out. We had a (much quicker!) 3 mile hike back to the teashop and car into which we dripped. I had water squelching around in my hiking boots and was quietly praying for the survival of my mobile phone in my trouser pocket. The tea was essential to warm us through again, but we left pools of water everywhere. Back at the B&B we left our clothes in front of the Rayburn and they were only just dry when we left the following morning.

Ireland isn't the Emerald Isle without reason: year-round rain means year-round green.

*****

I've changed my design background (in case you hadn't noticed!). Do you like it? Is it too brown? I liked the map image - it seemed to go well with my Wandering theme ... although I do now seem to be far more settled. It may all change again as I seek to find the design that suits me and the blog best. All comments and advice are welcome!

Photo of Silent Valley, copyright Awesome Stories

Dear Blog,

Sorry not to have called by for a while. It is quite scary how much time the house refurbishment takes up. Combine that with children that will insist on attention, clothes that pile up demanding to be washed, end of term activities and celebrations and a husband working so, so hard and - well, you get my absenteeism.

Please forgive me. I still love you.

I'm sorry I haven't had chance to tell you about the debacle over my daughter's report. Nor about the magnificent rendition of 'Bright Eyes' on the trombone by my son. Nor the BMB meet-up in Manchester last week. Nor the builders' optimism about finishing the job on time.

I haven't told you about the book's progress: how it is loved by my writing group but nearly annihilated by others. I haven't managed to write about orange albinism (inspired by the story of the black couple who gave birth to a white baby) nor wax lyrical about the beauties of St Andrews (aside from the golf). I haven't entered the writing competitions that I planned too, nor read the books that are piling up in my bedroom.

I haven't shared all the exciting things we're going to do during our summer holidays. We're moving house. We hope. (Well, now I have shared all the exciting things we're going to do during our summer holidays...)

Don't despair: I'll be back imminently with tales of family laughter and woe. Just not last week. And maybe not next week, but who knows?

With love,

Catharine