A Benecol bottle, a Prince and the world at our feet

If only you could bottle your children (put the phone down, there's no need to call Social Services).

The other day, I asked Daniel (5) to come and sit on my knee for a cuddle and he sensed I was feeling a bit glum and asked what was wrong.

"Oh nothing, I just had a bad dream about you last night".
"What happened mum?"
"Well son, we were playing on the beach and a big wave came and washed you away from me."
Daniel gave this some thought and replied: "Don't worry mum, you know how the sea works, the waves go in and out so I would come straight back to you on the next wave."

Such moments of wonder followed by opening his school bag to find rather a large pool of water swishing around in the bottom with his school work and the usual assortment of sticks, elastic bands and bits and bats floating around in it.

In and among the drenched debris was an old Benecol yoghurt drink bottle which he had filled with water to surprise me.

The lid had been secured with sellotape and he had wrapped it in an A4 sheet of paper (cue smiley face with lop-sided smile and eyebrow raised).

Speaking of which, a piece of A4 paper dominated world news the week.  (Did you see how I seamlessly segued from mumsy trivia to a historic moment in history? Or was it the other way round?)

A child was born; undoubtedly a special child, a future King, of interest to us all, whether we want to admit it or not (you know who you are, S).  But, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, was nothing else happening in the country, nay the world?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  (Please read capital letters in a shouty voice and excuse the blasphemy, you know who you are Rev.)

I felt for the presenters who had to smile a jaw-aching smile and endlessly wax lyrical without repeating the sentence 'it's a boy'.  And I felt for camera operatives who worked for years to gain knowledge and experience in their field and were subjected to a day spent zooming in and out on an easel.

Twenty-four hour news coverage is superb when there's actual breaking news, yet mind-numbing when the news has broken and it becomes like a stuck record (once again, apologies to anyone under 30 who has no idea what this analogy means, imagine your ipod shuffle not shuffling).

And speaking of 'news' that isn't really actually 'new' or even 'true' in my humble opinion, I was reading the Daily Mail this week.  No, I didn't buy it, the in-laws left it for me to clean the windows with (another top tip thrown in there, see previous blog).

I always thought the media's 'silly season', when they roll out the equivalent of Primary School 'what I did in my holidays' articles, was August.  However, it would seem the DM is padding out column inches with seasonal yet entirely non-newsworthy drivel in July.   Zoe Brennan wrote a scathing and entirely biased article entitled 'Scams, cons and the TRUE cost of your budget flight' (the sub editor must have wanted to shout the word TRUE for some reason or perhaps in caps it fitted in the space better).

I won't insult you by explaining in detail what the article is about.....Ryanair, easyJet, baggage charges, legroom charges, jump-the-queue charges, pricey in-flight snacks, yadder yadder, you get the picture.

Cobblers.  COBBLERS, I say.

I could end the blog here, but allow me to pad out my blog with silly season rambling (what's new, I hear you cry!).

Are we all really stupid?  Does anyone actually think that a flight advertised at £17.99 is fully inclusive of return trip for a family of eight to Dubai in Business Class with on-tap champagne, caviar, Pringles and a head, neck and shoulders massage from a handsome man with an Irish accent?!

YOU GET WHAT YOU PAY FOR!  Does that not apply to absolutely everything in life?  Why then do people like Zoe feel that budget airlines are somehow pulling a fast one.  (I hope Mr O'Leary is reading this, I might get extra legroom thrown in on my next flight.....OK, maybe not).  But that's exactly my point, if I want extra leg room, I accept it's an added extra and I will pay for it.

Has Zoe and like-minded thinkers forgotten how we used to fly?  Or should I say, how we didn't fly, BECAUSE WE COULDN'T AFFORD IT!

While living in Portugal, I would endure exhausting day-long journeys with my baby /toddler city-hopping via places such as Frankfurt or Paris because I couldn't afford direct flights.  I could now buy a flight WITH all the fee-payable extras of leg room, baggage and priority boarding for a fraction of the price I would have paid for a direct flight from Porto to the UK in the early 2000s.  AND (oh my, now I've started.....) so-called budget airlines should be applauded for acknowledging that there IS life in the north of England and us lovely folk who live there would like to go abroad too, without a long-haul trip down the M1 first!!

The Ryanairs and easyJets of this world have made this world more accessible to the masses.  End of.

And don't get me started on baggage allowances. If you choose to avoid the fees to stow your luggage in the hold, then you must comply by the cabin baggage rules, simples!  It's not rocket science, if your bag is too big, it won't fit in the overhead locker, duhr (no matter how hard you shove it or shout at the nice lady in polyester).  There are ferries you know, or I hear Margate is lovely at this time of year.

And if you are required to print your boarding card before arriving at the airport, why the hell are you surprised, and offended, if you have to pay to hold up the process.  If you didn't print out your ticket before you got on a train, for example, you would have to pay the full fare on the train, it's just the same.  Zoe, in her article, even whinges about fees for missing your flight!  Does she think an airport control tower runs like a bloody school walking bus!?

OK, I'm going to shut up as I can sense I'm going on a bit.  I'm off to clean my windows....

Fun in the sun

I read my own blog back to check for typos and I suppose it's reasonably funny and yet I don't really consider myself a 'funny' person.  My own husband and mother are always keen to tell me I have no sense of humour ('just like your Grandma', my mum reliably informs me).

However, I am fortunate that those around me ARE hilarious and all I have to do is recount what they say and do and, hey presto, I've got myself a blog, hopefully, worth reading.

This week, I've decided I might venture into 'parenting tips'; here's my top five.

Tip number one: Don't stop digging (ever)

Sunday afternoon, Bridlington beach.  I had been tasked with digging a hole while my beautiful five-year-old trekked up and down with buckets of water.

I made sure I was busily digging while Daniel walked the 100 yards back to the hole and then took a small break while he marched back out to re-fill his bucket.

That was until, on one return journey he calmly said: "Mum, you need to keep digging, even when I'm not watching."

What is it they say about parents having eyes in the back of their heads?

Tip number two: Join in (but avoid cold shocks)

It's not just family that supply the anecdotes, friends are superb blog-fodder too and it seems I'm not the only one who will happily participate in children's activities, with the odd proviso.

Teddy was round at this mate's house for a sleep-over at the weekend and, with the sun blazing, aforementioned mate's dad decided they would all have a water bomb fight.

So off he went to prepare the water bombs while the boys played on the PlayStation.
What a fun and helpful father I thought to myself.

But he let me in on his secret.  If he was to be involved in any water bomb-related 'fun', he always made sure he prepared the water bombs himself so he could leave them in the sun to warm them just enough to take the 'chill' factor out of the fun, for his own sake!  Priceless.

Tip number three: Take a walk (it's a big world out there, so share it with your kids) 

Anecdotes come from the most unlikely sources.  Here's one I heard at the dentist.

As you know I run a walking bus at my kids' school and armed with 20 hi-vis vests while booking an appointment, I got chatting to the receptionist about kids and walking, or should I say, the rarity of kids walking.

Debating the issue, the lady told me a story she had heard that week.

Her son's class were on a school outing to some local fields (a field trip, perhaps).  As they walked from one field to the next, her son's friend, clearly exhausted, turned to his teacher and asked, 'are we in a different country now?'

Tip number four: Avoid slip-on shoes (and ensure their socks are clean)

And speaking of fields, I can't resist this one, although you maybe 'had to be there'.  At school sports day, an adorable friend of my sons' was taking part in the obstacle race.

She had just completed the 'sack' section and was ready for the final sprint to the finishing line. However, as she stepped out of the sack and set off she realised she was running in her stocking feet, having left her shoes behind in the sack.

Bless her, instead of carrying on with a chance for victory, she went back, fished her shoes out of the sack and returned them to their rightful place, much to the amusement of the onlooking peers and parents.  She finally finished the race just as the next one was about to begin, giggling all the way.  Now, that's what I call a good sport.

Tip number five: Make up your own title (that's an instruction, not a title, by the way)

Of course, my inspiration (and indeed my reason for living) largely comes from within my own four walls, courtesy of my beautiful boys.

So I'll end on a Teddy special this week.  While outside playing cricket with the local kids, Teddy said our neighbour had come out and joined in their game.  He later informed me, out of interest, that our neighbour was left-handed but right-footed.

Anyway, we chatted some more and I commented that our neighbour had probably enjoyed the chance to join in the game with the local kids, as he didn't have any children himself.

To which Teddy replied: "Is that because he's left-handed and right-footed?"