Age; having recently passed a very insignificant birthday (21 again, literally!) it did however seem significant that all my cards featured pastel colours, flowers and butterflies. Hmmmmm....
FB. Still not a huge fan but tracked down an old school friend who now lives in Bali and still looks like she IS 21 and a friend who's a doctor with a perfectly formed family; bah humbug!! Going to keep on searching until I find old friends with grey hair, five divorces and jobs at call centres in Croydon.
(only joking S and A; thrilled to be back in touch, and apologies to S (another beautiful and successful school friend) for the Croydon reference.....)
Anyway, and finally, holidays. Shared my photos on FB when I got home which is a lovely side to FB. On a cynical note (you know me) however, why do people share their every waking move, drink, swim etc etc while they are still away!? Is it not just like putting a big sign on your front lawn saying, 'we're away, keys under the mat, PS3 warranty in shoe box under stairs in case you need it'.
Well, we HAD (we're home, Rottweiler is back from kennels and hasn't been fed for a week) a lovely holiday in lovely Portugal. Sadly it ended with my heart being ripped in two at Faro airport when Teddy got on a different plane to visit his dad in the north.
It was a rather uneventful (in blogging terms) holiday, filled with sunshine, table tennis and delicious yet stroke-inducing Portuguese fodder (the term 'pinch of salt' translates into Portuguese as 'three tablespoons').
And speaking of translations, I spent the week brushing up my fluency skills in the national tongue while all the native Algarvians responded in their first language; English. And I nearly slapped the Cockney holiday rep who, despite living there for years, STILL didn't pronounce Albufeira or Carvoeiro correctly!!! You know where I'm coming from don't you, K. When in Rome, learn how to £$%*ing pronounce Albufeira properly for Goodness sake! And breath.....sorry.
We were treated to a 4* hotel (thanks mum, you know who you are), which, however, has its downside. Having worked really hard to lose two stone (thanks WW), I like to think I at least don't embarrass the kids when I don my Bravissimo bikini (sponsorship deals available). However, why is it that at a posh hotel all the ladies are size 8 and under? Yes, I'm over-generalising (before you shoot me down in flames) but..... Still, my uber-slim mum was right at home, damn her.
The kids entertainment was limited to a small-ish pool, a rickety old pool and ping pong table with accompanying rickety old balls, bats and cues.
But you know what, you can stick your fancy kids clubs and aqua parks (that's french for water), my amazing boys had a ball (no pun intended). They made friends with Lars, Mario, Luke, Max, Sam, Daniel, Max (a different one), Duarte and Tiago and the little international group of buddies with ages ranging from 5 to 15 played and played until the sun went down, and some days, nearly came up again! (They even learnt the skill of catching the pool balls before they went into the pocket to save themselves another Euro and enjoyed the hour-long entertainment of the bar guy dismantling the table to retrieve wayward bouncy balls, about four times a day!)
Even Gary made a new friend; tennis ace Rudger from Holland. Happy days.
I enjoyed yoga in the shade of a carob tree but was unfortunately popping Predisolone by day three when, despite leaping from shade to shade and slapping on the Piz Buin, I still came out in a nasty rash.
I even had a go at the Kareoke. I stepped up to the mike for an untuneful rendition of Fico Assim Sem Voce, when Teddy said, 'oh no, don't sing that mum, it'll make me cry'. Nice one Teddy. I then proceeded to gurgle the entire song through a mouthful of swallowed salty tears.
I took three back copies of Psychologies on holiday with me, determined to spend some quality 'me' time reading (and learn about mindfulness, CBT techniques and 'the rules of success' at the same time).
However, it was not to be. I would lay (with strategically placed items of clothing covering the rash) under the parasol, and raise my magazine.
But then I'd hear the joyful cries of Daniel whooping his beautiful cheeky laugh having pushed unsuspecting Teddy in the pool, or I'd hear Teddy's amazingly fluent and perfectly pronounced Portuguese banter with the boys from Lisbon as they tried to teach him to dive, and the magazine would be gently laid aside. Plenty of time to read when they leave home.
PS. Tip of the month: don't try to wash leather ballet shoes.....
PPS. For new readers to withdewrespect, I'm only joking!!! (most of the time) I don't really have a Rottweiler (I'm of the opinion that children actually need their limbs intact for later life), we don't even have a goldfish. I'll leave my thoughts on the British obsession with keeping animals (especially that strange breed of human who has multiple Rottweilers) for another blog; don't get me started on Pets At Home.....
PPPS (yes, I know you can't have 3 Ps, look, whose blog is this?!)
This blog is dedicated to my wonderful son Teddy, table tennis champ 2013 (last week in July) Colina da Lapa, well done son, you did yourself proud. Love you and miss you Teddy, without you, I'm quite simply an 'aviao sem asas'.
