tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-280066152012-01-29T05:18:12.059ZAntoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.comBlogger5721100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-6125360471157606282012-01-29T00:08:00.008Z2012-01-29T00:39:19.253Z

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-71520063202287903182011-11-04T21:50:00.006Z2012-01-29T00:55:28.314Z

In case you were wondering, this is what has happened to this blog:My laptop has expired. Even Ian could not fix it, although you can see how thoroughly he investigated it. It is dead and gone.Despite what you might think, having two children is often easier than having one. Once you get past the initial six months of complete and utter inhuman hell, the baby begins to move around, and it follows

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-26004833604035025352011-09-21T20:28:00.001+01:002011-09-21T20:30:17.397+01:00

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-80208226084246806892011-08-16T12:15:00.023+01:002011-08-16T23:35:30.464+01:00

Here, look at this. This is a Creative D100 "boombox", as I am led to believe young people call them. I don't expect for a second that young people use the word boombox: I expect it is used by people of my age who want to sell D100s to other people of my age who want to feel like they still know what's going on. The D100 boombox is a Bluetooth device that talks magically and wirelesly to

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com52tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-39769867026858778682011-07-16T10:36:00.002+01:002011-07-16T10:40:24.365+01:00

Please watch this with a Philip Glass soundtrack: preferably Knee 1, from Einstein on the Beach. I couldn't get it to work.

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com61tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-57239988106636884662011-07-02T10:08:00.005+01:002011-07-03T22:06:41.855+01:00

So: the kitchen wall is soon to be pulled down. This weekend, Ian will be removing an Experimental Chunk: I find this more exciting than Christmas. I find dental surgery more exciting than Christmas, so it is more accurate to write that I find the Experimental Chunk more exciting then Esme finds Christmas.The kitchen wall is also the bathroom wall. The back half of our basement is divided into

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-87668896643477234652011-06-29T09:02:00.012+01:002011-06-29T11:34:54.538+01:00

HIM: It's a bit BIG. And dark.ME: I really want to put one in our house somewhere.How big is it?A bit bigger than that one over the coffee table. That one's 45 cm across. The black one is 52.That's pretty big.Am I allowed to want the smaller version? It's half the width.How tall is it?30 cm.Does it shine light out of anywhere but the bottom?No.[sighing] Does it only shine light onto the table top

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-5204959962829266572011-06-23T22:00:00.003+01:002011-06-23T22:31:12.886+01:00

The old floor, and the new. You'll need an extra-big bucket of popcorn for watching these: they're cinematic triumphs. Of course they aren't. They're videos of the floor. I don't know why I think anyone out there with a shred of grey matter and self-respect is even slightly interested in seeing how noisy the floor used to be, but here we are.Perhaps you could all think of this post as an

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com43tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-24298938480698673272011-06-22T02:09:00.039+01:002011-06-24T11:58:15.300+01:00

Well, here we all are. It's ten-thirty: time for more coffee. I began writing this post at one this morning, when I couldn't sleep: I tried sleeping again at two-thirty, but Ian was sleeping restlessly, worried by a busy week at work, and he kept hurling himself from one side to the other, shaking the bed and driving me mad. I got about four hours' kip on the sofa, eventually.Here is a candid

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com49tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-11289758705763944422011-05-31T09:15:00.003+01:002011-05-31T09:29:17.484+01:00

Hello Internet. We are back from our holiday to damnation on the Isle of Wight, and it was brilliant.I am not going to tell you about it today, because our house looks like this:Because we are us, we came home from our holiday, began talking about home improvement, tearing things up and knocking things down, and within ten minutes we had begun tearing up the floor.It is going to look like this

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-30813179335476691362011-05-19T13:52:00.007+01:002011-05-19T14:44:56.597+01:00

I am off tomorrow for a week. Hooray!I could do with getting out of London for a bit. I very seldom feel like this, but here we are. London is a patchwork of the fabulous and the shit, and all I've seen of it lately is the shit. I am heading for green open spaces, sea views, and a reminder that most of Not-London is populated by lumpy white people who read the Daily Mail and complain a lot. It

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-33450515633740770502011-05-12T08:41:00.000+01:002011-05-13T21:41:42.128+01:00

I've been up since 6.30 this morning. This is an early start, in this house. At this time of year, when the morning's already broken in the small hours and the sunlight's going HELLOOOOO through the cracks in the shutters, I can't go back to sleep. I know that downstairs, there is peace and quiet, a chance to be in the house alone, so I go downstairs. I get up early most mornings now, ahead of

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com47tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-74714532593747239212011-05-11T22:10:00.001+01:002011-05-28T16:55:51.735+01:00

A selection of subjects, in alphabetical order:boilers and all thatbottomscockscormorantdarwindinner!drink!earthquakes!ewar woowar1fire!foxes!heating?helloHello!Hello my love!Hello! Dinner! Books!Huuuuuuge squid! with elbows!2I am a baked bean!Meat!mip! grrr.... yip yip!Ooooove!3Ooove!parcels?pedalsPIE!pointlesssausages!squidSteam Poo!taps!thereminthingthingstraaaaaiiiinstyres!whhhhyyyyyyyyyyyyy?

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-72993595329047675742011-05-09T18:30:00.001+01:002011-05-09T18:32:52.397+01:00

Me: "Ha! Oh God! Do you remember the other time we were stuck in traffic on this bridge? In a taxi?""Ummm...""You, me, and Jef. About ten years ago.""Oh God! Yes ...We were reeeeeally fucked.""Super-fucked. ....I remember YOU making the driver go through all the radio stations until you heard some Messiaen, and you made him stay with the Messiaen and turn it up, then you sat there rocking back

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-34605904813022485502011-05-03T22:59:00.004+01:002011-05-03T23:16:20.049+01:00

Hello! Yes. It's about time I posted something. I am full of exciting stories, me. I've had lots of ripping adventures around the house lately, some of them extending into the garden or as far as the local shop. It's a full life.Not posting every day is wonderful. I get to go to bed when I want to, and that's what I've been doing: sleeping. For the first time in two years: proper sleeping. Ossie

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-87633498459156716182011-04-26T11:48:00.006+01:002011-04-26T12:21:11.393+01:00

You can file this under Cornwell family stupidity that no one else will want to understand.When Esme was smaller, I used to take her to Vauxhall City Farm, where urban children go if they want to see a real pig. Mummy, what kind of car is that? It has a snout, and legs. Where does the petrol go? I love the Vauxhall farm: it has a rabbit that looks like Dave Lee Travis. It has goats, too, and they

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com41tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-48575488918224193662011-04-24T12:30:00.004+01:002011-04-24T15:38:58.303+01:00

1. From WikipediaSir Eldon Wylie Griffiths (born 25 May 1925) is a former British Conservative politician and journalist.Griffiths was educated at Ashton Grammar School, Emmanuel College, Cambridge, and Yale University. He worked in the Conservative Research Department and became a journalist and farmer. He was managing editor of Newsweek.Griffiths was elected for Bury St Edmunds at a 1964

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-52945087385381714192011-04-23T18:37:00.012+01:002011-04-24T07:42:20.641+01:00

As my last Lenten post HOORAY, I have a treat for those among you who gave up cookies for Lent. Hast thou been virtuous? Hast thou had no cake, biccies, or cookies? Then why not make yourself a batch of these to enjoy with your coffee on Easter Sunday? They're easy.You will need the following:Plain flour; vanilla essence; bicarbonate of soda (US: baking soda); castor sugar; one egg; butter;

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-21297051708455473862011-04-22T22:18:00.002+01:002011-04-22T22:22:05.671+01:00

I've been staring at a blank white screen for about 10 minutes. Lent ENDS tomorrow. Hooray! My hope is that once it ENDS I will no longer feel this terrible pressure to write stuff, and amazing words will fall out of my head. For now, I stare at blank screens a lot, and every five minutes call weakly for tea, trying to give Ian the impression that I have lost the use of my legs and cannot boil

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-45440012133254336272011-04-21T22:45:00.008+01:002011-04-21T23:48:14.097+01:00

1. Ian, inspecting the children, as he likes to do once a month. He asks them a few general-knowledge questions; where they see themselves in five years' time, that sort of thing.2. The children share a tender sibling moment. Ian excavates his nose.3. After the children go to bed, we put away the gruel that is all the food they think there is in the house, and we bring out the fun stuff. Here are

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-70969074277326692852011-04-20T22:01:00.000+01:002011-04-20T22:02:01.727+01:00

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-46465901399086754132011-04-19T22:20:00.005+01:002011-04-19T23:16:06.605+01:00

Tonight, you lucky bastards, you get a CAT* AND BABY VIDEO. If you watch it with the sound on, all those minutes I just spent pissing about in Windows Movie Maker will not have been in vain.*I can't believe Derek is still alive. She's 16½ and if I had a pound for every time I've peered at her and thought "That cat's dead," I'd be able to shout her a state funeral by now. She is in far ruder

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-26837968696049359972011-04-18T13:23:00.000+01:002011-04-18T13:24:23.666+01:00

The trouble with children is that they have arms, legs, and hands. Parents of small children will be only too familiar with the sensation of rolling over in bed and being pranged up the sphincter by plastic toys or the sharp corners of board books. Then you go to A&E to have Action Man removed from your anal tract and they never believe your story.Our housemonkeys manage to distribute utterly

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-85353526767987969382011-04-17T22:24:00.002+01:002011-04-17T22:39:23.603+01:00

Or: Banana Excalibur. But, no. That makes it sound more exciting than what it is, which is basically a baaaaaby videooooo zzzzzzzzz. But there is a sword involved. Babies with swords! What is this, the Internet?

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-75562736554437836642011-04-16T23:31:00.008+01:002011-04-17T08:55:25.857+01:00

I stopped watching at this point. I just couldn't take it any more.

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-37239913173251542232011-04-15T13:59:00.004+01:002011-04-15T14:07:37.625+01:00

They do this on Twitter, don't they? (You know. Them.)I'm all a bit ker-pfffft today, so this is a perfect opportunity to point you in the direction of brilliant Internettery.Please to read Pizza (and Profanities) in the Park by The Reluctant Launderer, who is My People;lose yourself in Matt Lyon's incredible illustrations on Flickr;laugh at Pie charts for free, on 27b/6;and get a vivid taste of

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-4791542790684901632011-04-14T22:03:00.005+01:002011-04-15T08:07:44.974+01:00

Meanwhile, in my own neighbourhood,this gentleman was walking along South Lambeth Road towards the Tube last night. He had a long, pointy, KKK hood-shaped clear plastic bag over his head (it wasn't raining) that he was holding in place as firmly as he could. Either he likes the smell of his own breath, or he likes a carriage to himself when he travels by Underground.Another man of similar age and

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-51566646930606624652011-04-13T19:28:00.007+01:002011-04-14T09:32:35.516+01:00

I said I was drawing this cartoon for you, but it was as much my art therapy as your entertainment. We can share it.

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-41503245349432728182011-04-11T11:42:00.028+01:002011-11-17T21:38:17.571Z

So. It was brilliant. Sarah emailed and asked, "How was the Cornwell version of Christmas?" and that was an excellent way of putting it. The Tweed Run pissed on Christmas.The weather looked like this:we looked like this:and there were about 500 people there in total, at least half of whom looked like Ian, so if we lost each other in the ride, we just went with it. I realised early on I would

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com73tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-3195463765498512192011-04-08T11:54:00.003+01:002011-04-08T11:58:40.245+01:00

TUESDAY NIGHTI get into bed. Ian rolls over to face meIan: Hello.Me: Hello.Ian: You're in bed with me.Me: Yes.Ian tickles my face, rapidly and clumsily, being deliberately annoyingMe: Is this foreplay?Ian: Maybe.I stick my tongue out, so that his hand gets all wet and horribleIan wipes his hand down the front of my faceI extend the first two fingers of my right hand and poke him in both eyesIan:

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-53513316634933158722011-04-07T21:51:00.005+01:002011-04-07T22:02:35.837+01:00

I love Graham Chapman. I don't care if he is 30 years older than me. And gay. And dead.

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-39098112949835854092011-04-05T21:23:00.006+01:002011-04-05T21:49:58.404+01:00

One of the first observations I made about Oscar when he was newborn was his similarity to a bulldog puppy. He was built like a little brick neckless shithouse, and extraordinarily soft to the touch. He yelped as though someone had trodden on his tail, and made a snuffling/snorting/grunting noise that I've only ever heard before from Peewee.A year later, he is actually more like a small dog than

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-22958398275815586002011-04-04T00:22:00.001+01:002011-04-04T00:23:50.787+01:00

We took our sticky children to a public playground this afternoon, in Chelsea, in the shadow of St Barbour's Church of the Latter-Day Range Rovers. It is a far cry from our parish of St Stab-in-the-Face, and everyone there was frightfully well orf and from Paris or Milan, or San Francisco, in the case of another parent we ended up talking to.I liked the San Francisco chap. His daughter was

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-78111151096698646952011-04-03T01:21:00.003+01:002011-04-03T01:44:54.914+01:00

I went OUT tonight. I really did. I never go out. I put on a dress and washed my hair and wore heels and went out to the Oval Lounge to celebrate Andre's birthday.Last time I rolled in drunk and blogged after Andre's birthday, I'd had two Kir Royales. I have also had two Kir Royales tonight (TYPING IS REALLY HARD) and I've had two glasses of champagne, and a pint of water, because if you don't

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-707958888260177722011-03-31T21:56:00.003+01:002011-03-31T22:00:51.710+01:00

I have a new rule for this daily blogging during Lent thing. I found this rule up my own arse, just a few minutes ago.My new rule is: I am allowed three days during Lent on which I am too knackered/pfft/urrgh to post anything, and I shall call those days Basket-of-Kittens Days, because on those days I just post a picture of some kittens in a basket and go to bed.There.

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-17649490920422569712011-03-30T15:21:00.004+01:002011-03-30T15:33:44.788+01:00

Write in and tell us your favourite Yeast Foam recipe, and win a year's supply of Lard Drops!What the sweet rubbery fuck does this stuff do to your insides? Are you allowed on public transport afterwards? Has that girl/boy/child with Victorian cameltoe just eaten some? I don't think I want any.

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-26444712413891653142011-03-29T22:07:00.002+01:002011-03-29T22:12:52.559+01:00

Among the last things to be ticked off my Tweed Run to-do list are 1. make a dress; and 2. lose 10lb.I decided to do No.1 because I always get super-over-excited about upcoming major events and like to put far more effort than is necessary into them. I used to make my own clothes a lot, as a teenager, and that was 20 years ago so I am ridiculously out of practice and it will probably be a

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-20325023351472250072011-03-28T21:27:00.003+01:002011-03-28T21:51:01.837+01:00

Kat, of Housewife Confidential, has a copy of Let's Panic About Babies! waiting for her. Congratulations, Kat: your number came up (everyone got a number, then I asked Esme to pick one at random) and I'll be in touch to find out where to send it.Esme also got to cut Ian's birthday cake today. Have you read the Hyperbole and a Half post about the God of Cake? That was Esme, today, all afternoon,

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-18783331569672042022011-03-27T20:42:00.004+01:002011-03-27T20:48:52.142+01:00

If you aren't already reading Better Myths, and from the sparse comments it looks like not enough people are, then you ought to be reading Better Myths. No, I mean it. Don't just go "Oh, I can't be arsed." Click the link. Read the funny blog. It's made me cry tears of laughter all day.

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-77144841037056856512011-03-26T22:40:00.002Z2011-03-26T22:44:04.403Z

Oh, 1974.Bonus points for spotting the bass player's lucky dead squirrel.

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-82853373581980093502011-03-25T14:57:00.006Z2011-03-25T15:34:55.889Z

I have a prize giveaway for you today!Two of my absolutest favouritest bloggers, Eden and Alice, have written a bloody brilliant book, a much-needed, about-time book, and I have a copy to give away.It is, of course, Let's Panic About Babies, the book that was born of the website. If you've ever made the mistake of buying a pregnancy/childbirth manual, you will know the kind of thing they are

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com151tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-39220258766275480082011-03-23T22:10:00.002Z2011-03-24T09:20:30.987Z

I am ill! I have a cold. It is rubbish.I am not so ill that, were I in full-time office work, I would have to stay at home. I just have a half-arsed cold, and I'm not going to stay up until midnight writing blog posts tonight.If you are in full-time office work, by the way, and you have a half-arsed cold, you can't face the BEEEEEP of the photocopier, the smell of microwaved curry, or the way

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-44669363189054475362011-03-22T22:00:00.006Z2011-03-23T09:35:14.461Z

Scene: Our house. Specifically, about four square yards of our house, four square yards that the whole family seems to want to be crammed into at once, because hey, everyone's here, so it must be good; in the evening, this evening, in the busiest time of the evening, when the children are hungry and insane, and Ian has just got home from work and is tired, and my brain has recently fallen out of

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-39020660219220586562011-03-21T21:18:00.004Z2011-03-21T21:26:51.976Z

It's probably just me.

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-79514265891453483692011-03-20T23:43:00.013Z2011-03-21T21:36:20.393Z

I was in Battersea Park this afternoon. So were lots and lots of other people, because it was the warmest and sunniest Sunday we've had in this country in months.I was on my bicycle. So were lots and lots of other people, some of whom even knew how to ride their bicycles.Many did not, however, and were having a terrific wheeze, filling the carriageway on hired recumbent bikes, crowds of eight of

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-1425250468125075542011-03-19T09:40:00.003Z2011-03-19T09:57:37.403Z

A few weeks ago, I was seized by the Joys of Spring and the Desire to be Silly.While waiting for the kettle to boil, I spontaneously busted out a few disco moves, singing like a Bee Gees reject and clicking my fingers.Ossie, watching from the next room, fell about laughing, and encouraged me to do it again. He couldn't click his fingers, though, so he did the next best thing, and ever since that

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-75057339674432945242011-03-18T23:12:00.004Z2011-03-18T23:46:45.529Z

I have nothing for you today. It's been a crap day, a rainy day, a cabin-fever day. I caved and smoked my first cigarette in two months OH GOD IT WAS GOOD anyway it was that sort of day.Because I have nothing for you, I looked through my Drafts folder, where I keep, oh, everything. I found a blog post I wrote while pregnant but never published, so here it is. It is from a Dark and Gloomy and

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com38tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-18773207095970519382011-03-17T22:07:00.005Z2011-03-17T22:35:22.740Z

I've been knitting this jumper for Ossie since, pfft, I don't know. January? December? Some Time. It's taking fucking ages because I am using tiny tiny needles that only mice can see, and there's been a very real danger throughout its creation that it will not be finished until he has already outgrown it.The other day, I was doing a bit of sleeve, and nagging myself: Come on. Hurry up. Get to row

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-85514067327884458712011-03-16T07:05:00.003Z2011-03-16T07:12:30.864Z

I went to sleep on the sofa; he went to sleep on a baby mattress on the floor; at some point before dawn, all that changed.I wonder if it still smells like Ian's insides upstairs. Is insides upstairs a euphemism for getting your hand into a lady's blouse, or is it the name of a sitcom? I'm too tired to remember.

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-66229781743179102502011-03-15T22:16:00.004Z2011-03-16T19:37:20.898Z

We all deal with illness in our own ways.Oscar's, QED, is to lie on one in a variety of listless attitudes, like an overheated cuddly lapdog with ennui.Ian's method is less endearing, more violent, and always requires a bucket.I won't be able to write much tonight: any minute now, the clackety noise of the keyboard is sure to wake the baby, asleep on a makeshift bed to my right, under the piano.

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-66496593705007910382011-03-14T23:14:00.006Z2011-03-15T14:30:09.576Z

NO ONE underSTANDS how HARD it is to have MAN FLU when one is not yet EVEN A MAN

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-90882659229850849022011-03-13T22:18:00.013Z2011-03-15T14:14:14.128Z

(All of my posts feature Ian, by the way, because he's the only adult human being I ever see.)(I am writing this from a dog crate in the shed.)Last year, when Oscar was only about ten weeks old, Ian went on the Tweed Run, a bicycle ride for 400 people dressed like the Countryside Alliance. I hated waving him off, because I wanted so badly to be a part of it all, what with fancy-dress and cycling

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-64828565080235281312011-03-12T22:08:00.005Z2011-03-12T22:35:47.872Z

Laurel shrubs that have been waiting for me to plant them at the front of the house since November 2010: 10 pointsIan: 5 pointsCasserole dish containing unspeakable remains of chili from October 2010: 5 pointsAncient baking-sheet, ejected from house and abandoned since That Time I Tried To Heat Food, doing unconvincing job of hiding the casserole: 5 pointsBlack refuse bag full of garden waste and

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-27523474010637122412011-03-11T22:47:00.004Z2011-03-11T23:15:25.976Z

Ian had a crap day at work yesterday. It began badly in the small hours, when he was woken by Oscar, and steadily worsened until he came home late, delayed in a meeting until well after six, after a long working day of fuckups and frustrations, to a house shrill with the sound of children's voices eager to burst his eardrums.After the children were in bed, I pulled up a chair beside him, had a

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-6097299020350760842011-03-10T16:44:00.003Z2011-03-10T16:46:57.315Z

Remember that year when I gave up being crap, for Lent, and posted every day? I think I might be trying to do it again. Shhhh.I've also given up looking like shit for Lent. I'm going to try to wear NOT JEANS for 40 days. I've worn Nice Lady Shoes and a SKIRT for the last two days, and some other clothes, because it's a bit chilly, and social diktats, etc. I have not worn jeans smeared in rejected

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-51717630271724113182011-03-09T22:40:00.003Z2011-03-09T22:44:13.010Z

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-74081368382603691912011-03-08T14:09:00.001Z2011-03-08T14:11:14.248Z

Ian is cooking burgers. Esme is upstairs, fishing for mice with a hook between our ancient, gappy floorboards: presently, she comes down to the kitchen."Did you catch any?" Ian enquires."No, there weren't, I didn't, I think all the mice have died," says Esme."All died?""I didn't catch any, so I think they have just died," Esme confirms, nodding at Ian, her head on one side, her brow furrowed like

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-5266366202675298072011-02-18T15:27:00.005Z2011-02-18T15:59:01.060Z

Okay, I've cheered up now.P.S. Esme helped with this one.

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com43tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-5633493089503432202011-02-16T11:56:00.003Z2011-02-18T15:35:32.599Z

I am trying to cheer up over here. The sunshine has been out for a couple of weeks, the daffodils are coming out, the house is flooded with sweet, warm sunshine every day, helpfully pointing out how dusty our house is, how filthy our windows. I must clean the windows. I think it would cheer me up. Patricia cheered me up greatly, but it takes more than a clip of exemplary big-toothed comedy to

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com48tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-81347995555346505932011-02-10T22:15:00.002Z2011-02-10T22:19:24.009Z

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-45227257807110581492011-02-08T22:52:00.009Z2011-02-18T15:35:42.322Z

Oh! I just want to write anything ANYTHING else here. Earplug; amnesia; gesundheit. There. Moving on. Enough of Awful People.I have always felt that Airing Dirty Laundry must be a strict no-no in this blog. No whining, bitching, grumbling, no dirty laundry. This blog is supposed to let stupid things out of my head that make me laugh and might make other people laugh too.About 10% of me feels a

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-36793791907474064562011-02-04T23:48:00.005Z2011-02-22T09:26:12.353Z

Thank you for all your comments on the last post. I haven't worked it out exactly, but maybe half of you? responded to say that nothing would ever cause you to reject your child. Those of you who could imagine cutting your son or daughter out of your life would only be driven that far by things like child abuse and murder.I'm sorry I neglect this blog as much as I do, because this week is one of

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com127tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-87502532457223435272011-02-02T16:17:00.006Z2011-02-02T23:01:29.601Z

What would your child have to do for you to permanently shut him or her out of your life?I will partly explain my question by telling you that a family feud erupted a couple of years ago that brought out some true colours, and those colours are the cheap, nasty sort you find in the flammable upholstery of small-minded suburban households. I am writing it all up, either to post here or publish in

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com62tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-10793479747109304982011-01-19T23:13:00.005Z2011-01-19T23:58:38.763Z

So! Here we are. January 2011. Probably about time I updated this floundering blog. All the people who used to read it have wandered off and now their cats are left, peering at the monitor. Hello, readers' cats.I'm having a really good January! Januaries are never really good. They are times of grey skies and blocked sinuses and very little daylight, at least where I live. But! I seem to be

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com55tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-7540391600368593892011-01-16T21:33:00.005Z2011-01-16T22:16:32.012Z

At this point, the voices in Oscar's head woke up.I waited for the crash,but he took the tower apart reeeeeally carefully,and what's more, he used the Force,again,and again,until he found the one that the voices in his head were telling him to eat for breakfast.

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-74147256993658314892011-01-05T20:12:00.004Z2011-01-05T20:22:04.939Z

Things Derek Cannot HearDustbusterMaracasSqueakersDrummingBoxes of matches being rattledPaper tearingTinfoil crinklingWhistlingThe children squealingI bet she went deaf deliberately, the crafty old sodThings Derek Can Juuuust About HearKeys rattlingBells jinglingHandclapsStatements That Are Utter BollocksLiving in our house with two small children has significantly relaxed the catThe cat is

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-11570816424291330692011-01-04T12:27:00.004Z2011-01-04T12:55:30.927Z

When we adopted Derek, our cat, five years ago from Battersea Cats & Dogs Home, she was 11 years old. Don't worry, she isn't dead. She is an alive, well, big, matronly, stripy old bag of a cat. I was about to add "no-nonsense" to that list of adjectives, but she does go apeshit at three in the morning and chase toy frogs around the house.When we adopted her, Derek was fearless - I once saw her

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-64928957451159962672010-12-26T22:14:00.002Z2010-12-26T22:24:15.527Z

"Trifle?" proposed Ian. "We have trifle to finish off from last night.""Yes, we do. Yes please."Ian went to the fridge, and returned with the trifle and two spoons."Oh," he said. "There's not much trifle.""No, I ate a lot of it last night. You have what's left.""You ate all that?" he asked, astounded."It was my dinner. I had trifle for dinner. I was hungry.""I thought you were going to make

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-23802780951690655922010-12-24T23:25:00.004Z2010-12-25T00:30:18.851Z

"Good God," said Ian, coming down the stairs into the den. "Radio 4's on a bit of an opera thing this evening.""I KNOW," I said. "It was doing it earlier as well. Oh! AND there was a bloody opera-singing woman busking in Covent Garden this afternoon. Gah! It's Christmas Eve! People are stressed! Don't come and sing bloody opera at them. Bitch. Last thing you need is someone bursting out of a

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-31475581191275500612010-12-22T22:36:00.012Z2010-12-23T00:22:38.522Z

Ian got home this evening to find Esme and I putting the finishing-touches to the Christmas tree. We I went for all-out colourful tat-tastic this year, and you can just about spot the 24 moustaches among the 1970s crap.The tree is on a chair, so this is what Christmas looks like to Oscar, who tried all afternoon to pull the whole shooting-match down. He will try again tomorrow.I love these. I

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-46657442984431438922010-12-21T08:45:00.004Z2010-12-21T09:00:40.453Z

I am happiest when I get some quietish time to sit down and make things or draw things or paint things. Often, when I make something or draw something or paint something, I like to show the Internet, just as Esme insists I look at her when she masters a new way of jumping three centimetres from the ground. Look, Internet! And the Internet looks, and says very nice, Antonia, and gives me the

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-28501705626491503902010-12-20T13:48:00.016Z2011-01-16T18:06:42.814Z

Saturday, 06:30The alarm goes off. Ian silences it, then rolls over and pokes me vaguely in the head. I swat him away and pretend to be asleep. He does it again. So do I.Five minutes later, I take out one earplug, the sign that I am ready to admit the new day into my head. It is dark. It is quiet."Shall we do this, then?" asks Ian, in a pained voice.06:55Ian and I are downstairs in towels and

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-72512904343143711482010-12-17T18:06:00.014Z2010-12-17T20:38:23.149Z

It was Esme’s Nativity play at nursery school today. Yay! Who doesn’t love a nice Nativity play?I had ten days' notice of it this year. This was a huge improvement on last year, when I got 24 hours' notice and was up before 06:00 sewing two costumes because I didn't know if she was meant to be a wolf or a pig.This year, the staff said, "We're not doing a real play. Most of the children are too

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-60505573881186472902010-12-15T22:51:00.010Z2010-12-21T09:09:30.288Z

Ian came home in great excitement a few weeks ago, hurrying into the house with rosy cheeks and quickened breath. “Do you want to go to York on a steam train?” he asked, looking flushed and sexy, like a thrilled lavatory.“Yes!” I said, at once, carried away by his glowing lavatorial allure. I love going to York. And on a steam train!Ian had seen an advert for a steam-train ride, from Kings

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-71409254051474484462010-12-13T23:03:00.005Z2010-12-16T16:14:00.162Z

Ian left a comment on the post about squirrels and the Internet, but it was long enough to have its own ISBN so I told him to do it as a blog post instead.Do you struggle with long division? Do you like marmots? Do you like lots of words? Would you like a window into the brain of the man I share my life with? Here it is.We met a marmot mammal with ears and a tail once, look:Next week: Calculus

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-61095294178939000542010-12-12T00:43:00.003Z2010-12-12T01:04:42.140Z

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-39163500584772178302010-12-11T01:36:00.003Z2010-12-11T01:42:35.025Z

Hello Antonia,I am sorry for the misunderstading.By specific requirements I meant that you have to credit your prepaid account first, as we have then to send a special request to the Registry. But no other criteria are needed. Everyone is eligible.Looking forward to hearing from you,Best regards,SophieAha! Thank you, why didn't you say so, and UNNNGGGHH. Anyway.Just as Sophie and I had broken the

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-20865070856887710852010-12-09T22:36:00.008Z2010-12-10T12:15:30.795Z

One of the running jokes we sustain in this household has to do with the interpretation of dreams.I used to be quite interested in interpreting dreams. I remember one I had as I was on the brink of leaving York for London. I had a choice: stay in York and do a shit job, go to London and do a shit job, stay in York and faff about, etc. I chose the last option for about ten years. But one night,

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-39440982765448038682010-12-09T18:32:00.005Z2010-12-09T18:47:11.696Z

I did this on my flight to New York this August, after waiting for the shuttle transit thing at Heathrow. I am usually a nice person, but you don't want to be around me when I have to fly later in the day.Seriously, though. You couldn't miss the bloody transit shuttle. It appeared like the Second Coming. I understand the sign is there for people who can read but who can't see trains, but still.

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-87015458228255888562010-12-08T16:53:00.003Z2010-12-08T16:56:12.852Z

"And now you are a beautiful butterfly." (March 2009)Oh, I love this picture.

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-25296475601565476222010-12-08T12:09:00.006Z2010-12-08T12:26:30.231Z

I am in two minds about this blog at the moment.My life is terribly uneventful and uninspiring. It features a lot of snot, dribble, teething, and broken sleep from Ossie, and cheerfully going "Gosh, yes, darling!" when Esme shows me how masterfully she can lift one foot from the floor.When I have seven hours' sleep behind me and a sense of humour, I can see the funny side of stuff, but at the

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com49tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-69913297917492338592010-12-07T21:14:00.022Z2010-12-08T22:03:03.269Z

Once upon a time, I had a grey jumper.You see my profile picture? That's me, wearing the grey jumper. I am lying on my back on chilly grass, in the grounds of Leeds Castle ("The Loveliest Castle in the World"), one March circa 2005. I am clutching a stick between my teeth and flicking a V at the camera. (I explain all this because when people see the original print of that photo, they sort of

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-87354380566467806312010-12-06T22:07:00.000Z2010-12-06T22:08:03.261Z

I just sent Ian up to hoover the bedroom, because it is full of dustbunnies, and I suspect they're the reason the baby coughs at night like a cancerous tramp.Esme had just been put to bed, and I could hear, over the baby-monitor, her entreating him to stay up there with her."I need you to stay with me. Please, Daddy.""Oh, but honey, I have things to do downstairs. I'll stay until the hoovering's

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-19575272571970335442010-12-06T15:52:00.003Z2010-12-06T21:59:32.818Z

1. Sorry about all the decapitated bananas in the background.2. I know you're all clamouring to see my doghouse, so here you go. No. 2 was a splendid bulldog before Esme coloured him in: now he's a shadow of his former self. Oh! I'd forgotten how funny I am. I should blog more often.*tumbleweed*

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-91318749441164863362010-11-14T23:12:00.006Z2010-11-14T23:51:22.785Z

"I have to say, darling, looking at this photo: if I didn't know you, and it were back in the day, and I were out picking magic mushrooms, and you drove up, stopped, and glared at me like that, then - no matter what you said - I'd - just - run away.""Is it the kind of glare that implies a shotgun and a dog?""Yes. But not a dog that sits up in the passenger seat. A dog that is one of a legion pack

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-52918757673990951682010-11-13T08:07:00.000Z2010-11-13T08:08:54.543Z

Hello. I am going to see how far I get into writing a blog post before the baby needs to cling to my arm, or Esme needs some part of her wiping, or something in the kitchen catches fire. Hello. My life is not very excitng at the moment.I know I haven't updated this thing in forever. I am shit. FOUR people have left comments asking where the fuck I am, and I can't ignore that kind of public

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com45tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-2430950942160892312010-09-28T17:34:00.004+01:002010-09-28T17:47:11.352+01:00

Mine is worth 66 points! Ian, if you're reading this at work, you can pack it in for the day. I've earned enough points for us to point at stuff WELL into the middle of next week.

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-59873681139512978702010-09-25T00:43:00.006+01:002010-09-25T00:50:04.898+01:00

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-15826762120135843692010-09-17T20:23:00.003+01:002010-09-17T20:26:04.428+01:00

I dreamed about Ian last night. We were at Gemma's and I'd somehow ended up cooking dinner. Ian said "Are we friends again now?" I said "We've always been friends. I've always loved you. We always will be. But..." I can't remember what the but was.I also dreamed about Frank Butcher out of EastEnders. We said "'Allo darlin'" to each other.

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-33694973534650099812010-09-07T23:15:00.003+01:002010-09-08T00:06:29.981+01:00

Ian's brother gave Esme a present last year of two pink plastic telephones, a vintage toy that he used to have working in his old studio. Esme was delighted, and someone is often entreated to pick up the other phone so that she can conduct conversations with them. This is what happened last night.Ian had recently come in from work, but had had a cup of tea, and was feeling affable. Esme got the

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com57tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-3690522138628167172010-09-04T23:56:00.002+01:002010-09-05T00:02:27.473+01:00

I never follow links other people recommend, so I'm sure you won't follow these either. Why am I having such difficulty typing the word follow this evening? I keep writing floolw and having to go back and correct it.So. Writing as one who never follows (I got it right that time) links, I promise you that these are all worth reading. Only the best for you lot.1. The Asshole's story about naked

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-27387466614415185102010-09-04T00:40:00.003+01:002010-09-04T00:42:31.432+01:00

This could have been so much worse. Let's all be grateful it isn't crying.

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-3561090707401895002010-09-03T18:22:00.003+01:002010-09-03T21:06:07.187+01:00

Muji has produced a portable eyelash curler, as opposed to the bulky kind you have to leave at home.

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-27486656283851404252010-09-03T12:16:00.008+01:002010-09-03T17:52:26.743+01:00

About five months ago, when I got diagnosed with wonky bits (which are much better, although I haven't been back to see if I need sewing up or not yet), I had to resign myself to being largely confined to a chair. I was told not to stand up, amble slowly, lift the baby if possible, breathe, or look at anything. For at least three months. It was shit.I decided to do something useful with the time,

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-49386900849319805672010-08-29T17:12:00.003+01:002010-08-29T17:21:43.186+01:00

We are in McDonald's, because it is the Sabbath. The baby is climbing over my shoulder and going WERRR in my right ear, and there is a soundtrack of whiny R&B.Esme: I have a staw in my cup. Daddy? I have a staw in my cup. I have a staw in my cup. Daddy. I have a staw in my cup. Daddy.Ian: That's a lovely straw.Esme: Mummy? I have a staw in my cup.Me: Yes.Esme: There is a staw in my cup so that I

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-82252408623286894842010-08-24T22:50:00.004+01:002010-08-24T23:55:40.315+01:00

Sarah handed me a parcel this evening. It was cylindrical, all wrapped up in lovely paper."What is it?" asked Esme."It's for your mommy and daddy, but it's kind of for all of you," said Sarah."Can we drink it?" asked Ian, hopefully."No," said Sarah. Ian looked confused.I opened it. There was a cardboard tube inside, and rolled inside the tube was a beautiful print.I said, "Hey! This is by Sam!" I

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com48tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-13613801212391276102010-08-23T22:01:00.002+01:002010-08-23T22:11:53.282+01:00

23:00 I go to bed. I push open the spare-bedroom door, kiss Ian on the temple, and whisper "Big hairy bumholes" in his right ear. He says "?? Same to you. ... I love you." I want to say "I love you too," but I must not. I go to bed in the main bedroom, where the whole family normally sleeps.03:30 Ossie wakes up in his cot. I feed him, then he falls asleep beside me in the big bed. He likes to

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-32950701123200432112010-08-22T22:45:00.002+01:002010-08-22T22:49:22.611+01:00

Ian has to get up at 4 AM to go to Glasgow tomorrow. For work. For one day. It beats me why anyone should have to do that in this age of Skype and the Internets, but I can't blame people for really wanting to see him.He was tucked up in the spare room, but not yet asleep, when I took the last of the kids to bed. I crept in and curled up with him in the dark.Me (whispering): Don't die in a plane

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-65759706712737363272010-08-21T16:15:00.001+01:002010-08-21T16:15:00.385+01:00

I stumbled across a kids' questionnaire while I was nosing around the Internet's nether regions today. Please feel free to ask these questions of your own children, and repost. I might do this annually. I said anNUally.1. What is something Mummy always says to you?Don't break any of my things. And don't bite things.[Actually, the answer is HANG ON, ESME.]2. What makes Mummy happy?Cuddles.3. What

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28006615.post-48723770523378650922010-08-20T21:48:00.002+01:002010-08-20T21:52:34.162+01:00

Esme left most of her tinned spaghetti & sausages tonight, and ONE OF THE STUPID ALAN MOTHS IS EATING IT:THIS IS WHAT MOTHS EAT! I HAVE THE ANSWER!1! LIFE LIST ITEM CROSSED OFF! This blog is absolute quality, sometimes, isn't it.

Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12754292976861979028noreply@blogger.com15