Happy New Year

I am going to take this opportunity to wish you all a Happy New Year.

Regular readers will know that we in the Boo household are miserable gits and do not celebrate New Year’s Eve at all.  We may watch a little television, we might eat some toast. We will definitely go to bed at some point. Early.

I probably won’t get the chance to post tomorrow as I am being a very brave creature what does not blinch, and am driving my mum, Tilly and Tallulah into London.  We are meeting Andrea and her mum and all going to see The Comedy of Errors at the National.

Usually Andrea drives when we go to London, but there are too many of us for one car this time, so it is my turn to screw my courage to the sticking post and seize London by the horns.  There are worse times to do it than New Year’s Day, when I hope most people will have the wit to stay at home and nurse their hangovers in peace and quiet.

Although I am, quite frankly, terrified, it is one of the little, secret goals I set myself last year when I decided that my driving needed to go to the next level and go from the realms of domestic pottling to full on national adventuring.  I did pretty well, with trips to Crosby Beach and Yorkshire Sculpture Park and friends who live far afield.  London however, eluded me.

You might think I am mad not to go on the train and save myself the anguish, but having been at the mercy of British Rail Sunday services before, and taking into account New Year’s Day and the fact that I will have my mum and the girls with me I decided on balance, that driving myself would probably be considerably less stressful.

It remains to be seen if this is true.

It will be a day of two firsts, the first first being my driving in London, the second being Tallulah’s first trip to see Shakespeare.  I picked this one because it is billed as being very accessible to first timers to Shakespeare, very comedy heavy and starring Lenny Henry. I have no doubt he will do a good job. He made an excellent fist of Othello, so I am sure Tallulah will be won heart and soul.

Knowing that tomorrow would be pretty full on, we have had rather a lovely, domesticated and relaxing day today.  This morning we got up early and drove to Stoke on Trent to visit the Emma Bridgewater factory.  My ex brother in law in Canada had a brilliant suggestion this year for gift giving.  Rather than finding things none of us want or need and paying exorbitant postage etc, we agreed a price we were happy to spend and said we would take our children out for the day as a gift from cousins to cousins, and post the pictures to each other.

I thought this was inspired.  We decided that as we had had to postpone a promised trip in October for the children to paint pottery we would take them today.

It was genius.  It was utterly quiet. We were the only people in the painting studio.  The children were artistic and absorbed and rather than paint ourselves things as well (although we were tempted), we helped them and fetched and carried paint and sponges and slopping bowls of water.  As we painted, because we weren’t in any rush, we had a leisurely breakfast and littered the paint we had spilled with drifts of toast crumbs.

We finished with a poke around the shop for me, and a few bargains (it would have been rude not to), and a trip to the garden to see the planting for next year and say hello to the chickens.

Everyone was lovely to us, the children were a delight and we had a thoroughly splendid time.

On the way home we treated them to McDonalds for lunch, which has given me raging indigestion all afternoon, but made them delirious with joy.

We finished up by coming home and watching the Beeb’s new version of The Borrowers, which aired earlier in the week but which I had saved for just such a lazy, wet afternoon.  It was really fun.  It had a great cast, Christopher Ecclestone, Sharon Horgan, Stephen Fry and Victoria Wood.  It wasn’t in the slightest bit like the books, but none the worse for that.

I will leave you with my resolutions for 2012.  I did pretty well with my resolutions for 2011.  I did not finish cooking all the recipes in Kitchen, but I am not heartbroken and am just carrying it over into 2012 instead, which is fine.  I have learned lots of new culinary skills, been re-inspired to cook again and eaten some damn fine meals, which was the point, so it is all good.

The only thing I felt a bit sad about was that I don’t feel I am any less mental in the head, as a friend used to say, than I was the year before, but as anyone who suffers with these things knows it can be a bit swings and roundabouts, and usually you yourself are the last person to be able to judge whether you are any better or not.  Like the Nigella recipe book resolution, I am keeping on with the resolution of trying to be less mad.  It’s a good one to keep up.

Literary wise I am resolved, as you may know, to read more American classic literature in the hope I will find something I enjoy.  I also aim to finish the Marcel Proust A La Recherche du Temps Perdu series.

I am also keeping another resolution which works well for me every year, which is to keep making time to have weekends away and dates just with my husband.  It does help to remind yourselves that you don’t just live to serve the tyrants that you have brought into the world, and that it is possible to sit down to dinner with each other without having to wipe bottoms or mop up blood.

I also want to learn to make Macarons this year, and my friend Rachel has inspired me to have a go at making my own profiteroles at some point.  Her efforts were heroic, and if she can do it, I shall do it too.

I wish you a very happy end of year, whichever way you choose to celebrate it or not. I also wish you a sparkling start to your New Year.

And if you live in London, I wish you to stay firmly off the roads until January 2nd.

Crash

I have just finished reading Crash by J.G. Ballard.  My verdict? I read it so you don’t have to.  Well, you don’t have to unless you like reading 180 pages of absolute nonsense where the word semen appears at least once in every paragraph, and you enjoy the image of women who seem to enjoy being anally penetrated over a steering wheel on the literary equivalent of the M25 in rush hour while the emergency services look on.  It’s like Top Gear meets Hustler but without the staples in the centrefold.

Yes. It is that dull.

And after I finished reading it I felt like I really ought to wash my hands.

Several times.

And then scour my mind with vim.

People claim it is arty and surreal because it is written by J.G. Ballard.  If it was written by Steve who lives down the road; Steve who wears snorkel parkas and smells a bit funny, he’d have been arrested and tagged by now, for the good of the community.

And you’d never let your children near his house.

Or your dog.

the day today

The children were beginning to plot each other’s downfalls in earnest by today.  It was a very good job that my friend Kate (yes, Kate from Germany Kate) agreed to come round with her three children.  They were also working out how to assassinate each other.

When you bring together two disparate groups of children with mayhem on their minds, one of two things will happen.  Either they will all murder each other in a gigantic blood bath, leaving you in peace.  Or they will all decide they love each other and go away and play, leaving you in peace.

Either option is good as far as I, and Kate are concerned, although there is more digging and scrubbing involved in the first option.

Luckily our children plumped for the second option, falling on each other’s necks as if they hadn’t seen other children for at least ten years, and then buggering off to play with each other, leaving us alone with the coffee pot and the biscuit tin.

It has been a good day.

I love that they are now of an age where they don’t need constant supervision.  Well, they do (hence the flooded bathroom scenario) really, but you can sometimes get away with shoving your face in the biscuit tin and pretending they are elsewhere.  I think about this sometimes when I get broody for another one.

And then sanity kicks in.

Many biscuits have been consumed today.  At least three cafetieres of coffee have been quaffed, possibly more. I was beginning to get a bit jittery by the time they left so I lost count.  I am probably in for a long and sleepless night, but that’s ok.  I look at it as more time to consume biscuits.

In other news I have finally gotten around to sending all my Christmas gifts.  The ones most people traditionally send before Christmas.  I do like to buck the trend. I am thinking of instigating Januarymas and doing it every year. It is so much less stressful and surely it’s nice to receive presents when you least expect them?

That’s my excuse, and I’m sticking to it.

I actually do love getting presents late on in the Christmas or birthday week, it has to be said.  I never mind when people send things late.  I think unexpected presents are generally the best because of that frisson of surprise still attached to them.

I know that when the Amazon goodies I ordered with my sister in law’s Christmas voucher arrived today, and my box of Emma Bridgewater sale treats, it was like a tiny Christmas for me all over again, but without the stress of thinking about things I should be doing instead of ripping into cardboard boxes whilst squeaking like a loon.

I am aware that I have promised pictures of many things and delivered none. I shall get around to it very shortly, or not.  But they will arrive eventually.

Or not.

 

 

Book Review of the Year 2011

It is that time of year when I do my ten best reads of the year blog post.  These blog posts are very useful on the days when you have done things like taken your children to Build A Bear Workshop due to a malfunctioning penguin, and you need to blot out the horror.

When I get to this point I often think that I haven’t read enough ‘good’ books, and what will I recommend?  This is the time that reviewing every book I read on Amazon in an anally retentive way comes in very handy.  It turns out that I have actually read more than ten very good books this year and there are some that may have to merely get an honourable mention.

Which is nice.

I shall not pick my ten worst reads.  That list was very, very long indeed.

Let’s just look at the highlights.

The Selected Works of T.S. Spivet by Reif Larsen was something I started the year reading. It is a wonderful book about a boy obsessed by maps who sets off on a grand journey across the USA.  It is a kind of odyssey and fantasy and adventure story all in one. It is wise and sad and funny and wonderful.  The biggest joy of the book is its unorthodox layout and unconventional style.  The maps that T.S. Spivet creates litter the book and are ingenious, clever and add real richness and texture to the book.

Tracey Emin: My Life in a Column is exactly what it says:  Tracey Emin’s collection of weekly columns from her time as a guest columnist for The Independent newspaper.  Emin is a fascinating character. I love the way she thinks about art and life and everything.

You’re A Bad Man Mr. Gum by Andy Stanton.  This is one of the funniest books I’ve read all year, about an evil man called Mr. Gum who lives in a place called Lamonic Bibber.  Andy Stanton writes for children, but in such a far out, creative and unusual way it is totally accessible to readers of all ages.  His style is fresh and utterly fabulous.  The books are a quick read, but if you want an hour or two of unconfined joy I recommend them whole heartedly. I laughed until I cried at some of this.  I was reading it out loud to the children, and there were times we all had to stop, laugh uproariously and then recover ourselves before going on.  Top tip. If you get this from Amazon in the next few days and you own a Kindle, you can download it for 99p.  It is the best 99p you will spend on books in the year to come.

Mary Ann in Autumn by Armistead Maupin.  I am a die hard fan of Armistead Maupin.  His Tales of the City novels are an absolute joy to read and they are one of the few sets of books I own that I would consider taking with me on Desert Island Discs.  The characters are wonderful and I hold a special place for them in my heart, as if they were real friends instead of characters in a book.  This is the latest one in the series and it is stupendous. If you haven’t read them I recommend starting with the first one, which is surprisingly called Tales of the City.  You won’t regret the investment.  You will know how much I rate them when I say that I often think about how I wish I was reading them all for the very first time all over again.

The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman.  Gaiman is a genius author.  He has a wonderful way with words that makes you burst out laughing one moment and then burst into tears the next, all executed with a wonderful lightness of touch.  The Graveyard Book is one of his books for children, but do not let that put you off.  It is not childish in any way, and like all the best books of any genre or for any age range it is just universally wonderful and touching.  It is a dark fantasy adventure about a young foundling who lives in a graveyard among the ghosts.  What is even better about this recommendation is that it was recommended to me by Tilly.  I love it when my children can actually start recommending things to me that I genuinely want to read.

Wait for Me by Deborah Devonshire.  These are the memoirs of the youngest Mitford sister, Debo.  You know how much I love the Mitfords.  I really, really love them, and this is my favourite of all the books I have read about them.  Deborah is a legend, quietly poddling along in the background loving Elvis and saving Chatsworth and obsessing over chickens while her sisters steal all the glory. She is my absolute favourite.

Rivers of London by Ben Aaranovitch. I think this has been my very best favourite book of the year.  Ben Aaranovitch deserves to be HUGE in my humble opinion.  This is kind of the Sweeney meets fantasy fiction with the added bonus of being set in, and kind of a love song to London.  It reminds me of Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere, but with detectives.  What finer recommendation could you need? Even better news is that it is one of a series and you can already get the second one: Moon over Soho, if you fall for this as hard as I have.

The Hare With Amber Eyes by Edmund de Waal.  This was one of the sensations of the last year, and rightly so.  It is a wonderful book by the ceramicist Edmund de Waal, which traces his family history through his inheritance of some beautiful Japanese netsuke.  De Waal writes with the eye of someone who is used to working with his hands and eyes and it makes for a whole new reading experience that is immersive and beautiful.

The Milkman in the Night by Andrey Kurkov.  I’ve never read anything by Kurkov before, but I will definitely be excavating his back catalogue after reading this.  It is a surreal story set in Kiev, that wavers on the borders of the supernatural and which is a constant surprise and delight to read.  Kurkov reminds me of a Russian version of Haruki Murakami.  How can that be bad?

A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan.  I didn’t really know what to expect with this book, but having just finished it I am so glad I can just slip it into my top ten of the year.  It is a kind of elegaic journey through post 9/11 America told through the eyes of countless characters whose stories bob and weave and interlap.  It is sad and funny and clever and wise and gnomic.  I loved it.

Honourable mentions this year go to:

How to be a Woman by Caitlin Moran for making me laugh till I wanted to wee, and for making me think a lot.

The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet by David Mitchell, beautiful and haunting and the best thing of his I’ve read so far. (this is available on Kindle for £1.99 for the next few days).

Rabbit Run by John Updike - a terribly bleak book but written with aching intensity and real beauty.

The things I am looking forward to reading in 2012 already include

Snuff by Terry Pratchett - I am an unashamedly huge fan of Terry Pratchett and have been reading his work since the very beginning.

IQ84 by Haruki Murakami – I love his work. It always throws a curve ball. I am truly excited about reading this book.  There are three volumes of this book to read and I waited until they were all out before I bought them so I wouldn’t have to wait to find out what happens.

House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski – I read about this book years ago and meant to read it. Then I forgot all about it.  My parents bought it me for Christmas, so it is definitely on my to read list for the coming year. I feel it will be one of those marmite books. I will either love it, or hate it.  I certainly won’t be bored by it.

 

Kick Me – Tallulah Stylie

Tallulah has been inspired today.

Along with a very complicated story about snow fairies having three kidneys, which I may or may not try to disentangle later on, she was caught having stuck this poster to Oscar’s back:

I love the way she has added the word ‘seriously’

and also the way she has spelled diarrhoea.

I have been laughing myself sick over this for the last twenty minutes.

Dream a little dream not like me

I didn’t post anything yesterday because I was struggling with some post Christmas blues.  I was doing fine, all was good, then suddenly all wasn’t good and I wasn’t doing fine, even though everything around me was just the same.

One thing I did notice that when I thought about it, absolutely contributed to the massive dip in mood was that I had had a terrible, and I mean terrible, night’s sleep the night before.  I had nightmare after nightmare after nightmare and kept waking up adrenalised and shaking, and feeling sick and frightened.

When I finally got up I felt absolutely battered and throughout the day I kept experiencing horrible flashbacks to my dreams.

This happens to me quite a lot.  The only thing that can mend me after a night like that is having more sleep.  The problem is that after a night like that I absolutely dread going to sleep, which makes it hard for me to succumb.

I hate going to sleep as I have horrible panic attacks falling asleep every night anyway, but when I have nightmares as well it is doubly hard.

I finally gave in at about eight o’clock last night as I spent the early evening gradually feeling darker and darker and more and more miserable.  In the end I figured that even the hell that is going to sleep would be better than the hell in my head while I was awake.

In the end it was a good call, as I was so knackered it only took me about an hour to drift off and then I slept twelve hours round.

I only remember having one bad dream, and compared to the dreams the night before it was quite gentle, although I woke up fairly stressed out by it.  I dreamed that we had gone on holiday to Canada.  Jason had left me at the supermarket to do the grocery shop, and had gone off somewhere with the children.

I got to the check out.  There was a huge queue and I waited patiently until it was my turn.  When all my things had gone through the till the lady told me the total and I put my card in the machine and put in my pin number.

The reader refused it.

I was, as you can imagine, quite distressed.  I knew there was money in the account because it was the first day of our holiday.  Despite that, I felt like a total criminal.

To make matters worse, all the people in the queue behind me were starting to grumble.

I tried again.

It rejected it again.

I daren’t try any more as I knew that this time it would deactivate the card and we would be stuck all holiday without money.

The lady on the till rang through to the bank.

She got off the phone and explained that the Canadian Government were still working with the banks on accepting bank cards from overseas. They were doing it in numerical order starting with 1 through to 0.  They wouldn’t get to 0 until November, which explained why the pin on my card wouldn’t go through.

It was only June.

I was devastated.

The people in the queue behind me were planning a lynch mob and I had no groceries and no way of accessing our money.

I woke up with my last dream memory being me sitting on the end of the bagging area, crying my eyes out.

Strange.

Boxing Day (I’m too stuffed to think up clever titles)

Do you wish people Merry Boxing Day? I don’t know. It sounds weird to me, but it is what I wish you in whatever form you want to take it.

We have had another lovely day today, and I got my girls back this morning, so we are all in one piece again, which makes me happy.  I don’t like my chicks to wander far at this time of the year.

Boxing Day in our house is all about going to granny and granddad’s house.  We do not do Christmas with them.  This is by mutual consent. It suits us all very well, but we do meet up on Boxing Day.

The usual form is that mum and dad have an open house and there is a kind of rolling buffet on the go from midday onwards.  Most people are busy with their friends or family, but we get the odd one or two visits throughout the day and it generally goes along very convivially.

This year my brother decided we would do it differently, so we had an Uncle Robber led Boxing Day.  He had to work this afternoon, but he slaved all morning and when we arrived at midday we were treated to a splendid roast dinner with all the works.  Again no turkey, but this didn’t sadden us one bit.  He had ordered the most enormous joint of beef (different cut and make of cow to mine), so we had beef and roasties and veg and Yorkshire pudding (much to the children’s delight).  It was very fine and there was lots of silliness and laughter at the dinner table, which is just as it should be.

Pudding was raspberry pavlova with a huge bowl of extra raspberries and a jug of thick, whipped cream.

Then the bit we like the best.  Granny and the children had put together a two tiered bowl of fruit and nuts and sweets and chocolates.  It looked gorgeous and we snacked our way through it as the afternoon rolled before us.

I confess to having over indulged regarding the raspberry pavlova.  I love it dearly.  My sinuses do not love it dearly and I will undoubtedly suffer agonies later on, but it was far too good to deny myself the pleasure frankly.  There must be some excess at some point or it is no fun at all.

We exchanged gifts in front of the fire while the cat marched up and down shouting and getting in everyone’s way.  I did stupendously well.  My brother bought me a Bridgewater etched glass jam pot that I loved but thought I would not get from anyone.  My mum found me a glorious picture book of one of the stories in one of my favourite books as a child. The book is ‘All About The Bullerby Children’ by Astrid Lindgren, who is best known for writing Pippi Longstockings.  I love Pippi, but I loved The Bullerby Children better.  My copy of the book is disintegrating, but it is still out of print so I have it stashed away somewhere and guard it with my life.  The story book mum gave me today is Christmas at Bullerby and the illustrations are wonderful.  I love them so much I might get one copied and framed.

I also got some other books and a lovely 1920′s tea cup and saucer.

My friend David turned up to see us today.  He lives in Kent but he is an old school friend of mine and his parents live just down the road.  He popped in to try and steal Derek from us and to give me my gift.  Frankly, after the wallpaper eating incident he can have her, gift or no gift.

David bought me two of his photographs.  He is, although he won’t admit it, a very talented photographer, and I have one of his photographs already.  When I have a house of my own it will be going on my wall.  The two photographs he gave me today are two of my favourites he has taken this year, both of apples.  I can’t really explain how cool they are, because he has monkeyed around with them, but when I dig my camera out I will take pictures and post them for you.  I feel very lucky to own them.

After coming home to indulge in a very frugal supper we all snuggled down in front of the television and watched Dr. Who.  We loved it.  When it finished there wasn’t a dry eye in the house, and Oscar said: ‘That’s not fair! It was only a very short episode.’  We explained to him that when the story is extra good it feels like the time goes nowhere because you are completely immersed in it. He was amazed and super impressed.  True Christmas magic.

 

Merry Christmas.

Happy Christmas everyone from us here at Boo Towers where the festivities never start.

And you know what? That’s not a complaint.

We have had a wonderful Christmas day. Truly wonderful.

Every year I wonder if we are fools to ourselves to opt out of the madness.  Every year I realise that we are not, as another Christmas day is spent with the people I love the most, doing the things I love the most, and there is no upset, no trauma and no rage of any kind.

The children slept in until half past eight this morning.  This is not noteworthy for my children on Christmas day.  This is standard. Last year they may even have slept in a little later.

We wandered down and had a pre breakfast breakfast to tide us through the present opening.  There was coffee and brioche and panettone, and quiet enjoyment for all.

Then we adjourned into the lounge where Santa had deposited his gifts, which we duly opened.  Not only do I not do Christmas cards, nor do I do wrapping paper. The children’s gifts go in their stockings, and what is left goes into or under a quilt cover.  This is most satisfactory.

They do get to open a few wrapped things as other people buy them stuff which arrives wrapped, so they are not deprived, but it does mean that the sum total of our rubbish this year fitted into one carrier bag.

Nice.

We were all delighted with our presents. The children oohed and aahed and played, and showed each other their things. There were no tantrums, no complaints and no tears at all.  This year, to my greater delight there were also no gifts that required batteries.  Oh yes.

After the grand opening they took all their things upstairs and sorted them out.  Then we had brunch.  The children had hot buttered crumpets with cheese and lots of fruit.  I had H. Forman’s three cured salmon (Swedish, Russian and Japanese) with split, toasted English muffins, poached eggs and Hollandaise sauce (salmon benedict of a sort).  The cat was my friend.  Jason had cereal because that is what he fancied.

The children did not crack open a single sweet until nearly midday, and there were no complaints about it, despite the fact that they received the European sweet mountain for Christmas.

Then they adjourned to play on the X-Box while Jason and I read our books.  My sister in law had got me an Amazon voucher, so I also had a wonderful time browsing my wish list and picking a couple of things I have been wanting for a while.

UE came to take the girls to his house at 1.00 p.m.  Jason went to play X-Box with Oscar, who was utterly delighted to have his dad to play with.  I went for a bath with my book and some salted caramels that the lovely Michelle, a.k.a The Scribbler had sent me for Christmas.

I stayed in until I was a salted caramel prune.

Jason helped me prep the dinner at 3.00 p.m.  We had aged Hereford roast beef, roast potatoes, onion gravy, carrots and peas.  It was simple and delicious and we pulled crackers and toasted each other with lemonade.  Oscar had two helpings of roast potatoes and declared that this was truly the best potato Christmas he had ever had.  He is probably right.

Since then we have played with Oscar. We have stacked robots and played Moshi Monsters, and read stories, and helped him with his D.S. game and covered his arm in fake Mexican wrestler tattoos.  He has spent all day dressed as an Imperial Storm Trooper from Star Wars and has been as happy as a sand boy.

I had a small snooze in the middle of it all.  I am the queen of the cat nap at the moment.

I wish the girls were here, but this is what being a divorced parent is about.  I am happy they are with their dad, because they love him, and it is great that he gets to share in the festivities.  I miss them, but I am glad that they were here to share the finest part of the day with us, and we will see them tomorrow at mum’s Boxing Day bash.

In terms of my gifts I am thrilled and feel utterly spoiled.  Jason got me tickets to see John Malkovich performing The Infernal Comedy at The Birmingham Symphony Hall in May.  I got some Bridgewater pieces I wanted and the Alan Measles silk scarf from the British Museum exhibition which I am going to have framed.  As well as my lovely salted caramels from Michelle, Mrs. Jones got me a book  of Nancy Mitford’s letters and Keith and Noreen sent me Keith’s wonderful book of photography.  I am replete.

Oh, and I got four chocolate oranges this year.  You know I don’t feel Christmas has truly taken place until there has been a chocolate orange in my stocking, and so to find four was a fantastic bonus.

I think it was definitely a four orange christmas.

Festivities at the Eleventh Hour

We finally ventured over to the storage unit where the rest of the boxes of stuff that make up our lives are stored.  Last year we managed to retrieve the Christmas decorations and the tree, but when we got all the things out we realised we had forgotten the Christmas stockings.

This year the children were sad that they might have to use pillow cases again, so we set forth to go and hunt them out.

As you might expect they were in the last box we looked in, in the darkest corner of the furthest end of the storage unit.

Still, at least we found them.  I had a horrible idea that we might have accidentally binned them, or given them to a charity shop.

My mum made my brother and I beautiful stockings when we were young. We loved them.  Then one time we moved she put them in a safe place.  We found them last year, after over twenty years of them being lost.  We were quite traumatised over this, so I was rather worried I would be following in another unwelcome family tradition.

We went home after yet another trip to yet another supermarket, where we also had lunch because although the shop was heaving, the Co-op cafe was virtually empty just at the time we realised our bellies were also empty.  I love the Co-op cafe in Glenfield.  The storage unit we use is just down the road from our old house, so we popped round to check on the house and make sure it was still there, and then to the Co-op and lunch.

The children were ecstatic with us.  They love the Co-op cafe as much as I do, which is strange because it really is a bit rubbish, but it is our rubbish and that’s why we love it.

They also love spying on their old house. We all miss it a bit. It was a lovely house. Jason proposed to me there, we got married there and we made some fantastic memories there.  But it’s good to go out on top, and it’s better to have good memories than be stuck there getting resentful.  We noticed as we drove by that at least two of the houses that were for sale at the time our house was, are still for sale.  We counted our blessings.

When we got home we dusted off the tree and then the children and I decorated it.  Jason always gives up helping us because he is a very minimal less is more kind of decorator.  We are all more is more and even more kind of decorators when it comes to our Christmas tree.

We used every last decoration in the box, much to our satisfaction.

I still have a huge box of glass baubles which are in storage. I haven’t used these since before I had Tilly and I yearn to get them out, but as Derek attacked the tree four times, trying to climb up it and eat it and that was only while we were putting it up, I think the glass ones can be in mothballs for a few more years yet.

And here is the finished result.

I will leave you with my favourite decoration.  Tallulah made this angel several years ago. I try to keep as many of the children’s home made decorations as possible and put them on the tree.  I want them to see the tree as an expression of  love and family memories and our own important traditions, not something that is colour co-ordinated to match the table napkins and which must never be touched in case it breaks.

The look of woe on this angel’s face gets me every time.

Merry Christmas Eve everybody.

The naming of names

Yesterday afternoon after all our chores were done I took the children to visit mum and dad for a few hours.

We mostly sat in front of the fire eating biscuits and chatting.  It was very nice indeed.

Our conversation wandered far and wide, as it tends to in our house.  Mum and I both have butterfly brains, so we flit from topic to topic with no apparent rhyme or reason, but it all makes sense to us.

At one point we were talking about an article which made the national news, but which is local to us, having taken place in a nearby village called Ratby.  A small girl was hit so severely in her pre-school by another small girl, that the girl who had been hit ended up in hospital with a suspected fractured eye socket and a black eye.  According to the report I read, none of the carers who were employed at the nursery were in the room at the time of the attack, which is shocking.

Equally shocking is that not only had the injured child already been hurt on four other separate occasions by the same child, but ten other children at the nursery had also been hurt by her.  The story continued by saying that the nursery were refusing to take action over it.  Not only that but the violent child’s mother was also refusing to do anything, her excuse being that her child was only two, so she was just being a child.

The whole thing left me stunned, as did the fact that none of the other parents had done anything about it until some poor kid got hospitalized.  Firstly I wouldn’t let my child get hit by the same child more than once without making an unholy row, and secondly if the nursery were being that useless I certainly wouldn’t be leaving my child there in their care.  The whole thing is pretty disgraceful from start to finish.  Although to be fair to the parents, I read the story in the Daily Mail, so who knows what the exact truth of the matter is?

My dad has a habit of listening to these discussions between my mum and I with only half an ear. Sometimes he listens with only half a brain, as was apparent yesterday.

His ears must have pricked up when he heard the word ‘Ratby’ and then he filled in the blanks.

He said: ‘What was she called?’

I said: ‘Who?’

He said: ‘The little girl?’

I said: ‘I don’t know what she was called.’

He said (in a puzzled tone): ‘But I thought you said she was called Ratby?’

I said: ‘Why? Why would I say she was called Ratby?’

He said: ‘Because you mentioned the word Ratby.’

I said: ‘Yes! I did! Because that was where it happened.  What parents in their right mind would call their child Ratby?’

He looked hurt and said defensively: ‘Well! There’s that Beckham child called Brooklyn.  People do name their children after places.’

Yes they do.  They definitely do.  But usually not places that have the word ‘Rat’ in them.

By this point mum and I were laughing so hard I thought I might die.

Dad retired behind his paper in dignified silence until we had finished.

Then I burst out into peals of laughter again as I envisioned the teacher calling the register when the poor, imaginary child got to school: ‘Ratby Smith!’ ‘Here miss!’

After this we completely forgot the plight of this poor child with a dented eye socket and a black eye, and instead spent a happy half an hour coming up with other names for children based on local place names that you wouldn’t in a million years give to your poor child.

Jason and I have decided that should we ever be blessed with any more children we will name them

• Peatling Parva Wheatley (Peatling for short)
• Sheepy Magna Wheatley (Sheepy as above)
• Sileby Wheatley
• Wanlip Wheatley
• Fenny Drayton Wheatley (we weren’t sure if we’d shorten this)

Any local place names you long to name your imaginary children?