Warning. Rant ahead. Bad language to follow. Possibly even falling rocks.

My stupid bastard brother in law has gone back to his life today. I am not sad he has left.

The carpet will no longer be decorated with tiny threads of tobacco from his rollies. Downstairs will no longer stink of cigarettes. My assistant will stop barking hysterically every time he moves and growling the rest of the time just in case he is thinking about moving. My old man dogs will no longer be in fear of their lives.

But I am sad because I think he is a sad man. He is a salutary lesson in how I do not want to be. Some of it is through no fault of his own and some is definitely of his own making. In this week of thanksgiving in the States I spent my weekend giving thanks to the gods and the Fates that my life is not his.








I note as I wrote this it turned out to be less of a rant. And also there was only one swear word. In fact it has gone from a planned debrief about the craziness that is my bastard b-i-l's life and him inflicting it on my house to a recognition of my own good fortune and how I spent the weekend relishing that good fortune. (That and my "joie de vivre" ;-) But by Sunday I was ready to punch him if mentioned one more time how badly fally-down my old man dog had been last Christmas while I was away and how cold it was then and how he had run out of coal for the fire but hadn't asked any of the neighbours where he might buy more! Stupid Bastard.

A-Z of things that make me happy. Part 1 of 26.

A is for Amy Butler.

Along with half of the UK I met Amy Butler this Summer. I have been enamoured of her designs and use of colours ever since I started building a stash for my Fortnum's quilt some few years ago, and now my blogcrush has grown to encompass Ms. Butler herself being as she is such a nice person and all.

A week later and things are just about back to normal.

This time last Saturday I was making pizza bases and mocktails for the screaming hordes of proto-teenagers inhabiting my house. And CK was out in the rain off to the shops for more mocktails ingredients.

Oh the difference in a week. I am at home in front of a fire enjoying the sight of tired dogs recovering from a walk in the rain. My jeans are in the drier also recovering from a walk in the rain. CK is once again out getting drinks but rather than the supermarket, tonight he is in the pub with his bastard brother. It has taken said bastard brother nearly 12 months to come and face me and he arrived full of stories about what a state my old man dog was in last January. No apology you understand.

I suppose I shouldn't hold my breath.

As the Queen has two birthdays so Princess C-W decided to have TWO sessions of opening presents last Sunday. Firstly there was the gifties from her fellow non-sleepers to open before breakfast. A treasure trove of delicious goodies that she is TOO mean to share fully. Among the deliciousness a pair of softie mice magnets that are too sweet to be left alone.

Once the house was all ours again Pr. C-W decided it was time to open family gifties. This shirt is from her brother.

And then she opened her gift from us. I think she was a little pleased.

It is a purple i-pod nano engraved with her initials across the back.

And finally we round off with a little crafting action from this week past. With the addition of some Amy Butler decorator weight fabric the repurposed Fortnum & Mason teatowel is now an apron.

A little re-adjustment is required around the armhole-y bits to stop the boobwings going on but I am quite chuffed with the finished product.

Trouble is being as it IS my F&M apron I can't really wear it much in case it gets dirty ;-)

getting there

I feel sure normality lurks under a pile of stuff that still needs to be sorted and rehomed, if only I could identify which one! Downstairs the carpet is mostly visible, upstairs still scares me. However on the whole I think Saturday/Sunday was a success and may be praecised as follows.

Provisons underestimated requiring TWO shopping trips in the driving rain by CK. On foot as shops literally around the corner. Earned title of SuperDad.

Emotional breakdowns by a) highly strung daughter of Missus Bit Tired and b) Princess Curly-Wurly (well ... it was her party so ...)

The hour dedicated to a disco spent discussing and then arguing over the group choreography resulting in no dancing at all before dinner.

Overhead conversations about Fine! We''ll all be lesbians then!' (!!! CK overheard not me so don't have any other details) and one child's homelife drama being perceived by other girls as her having 'the best stories!' to tell

Night time walk with all three dogs proving opportunity to exercise my scarey grown-up muscles and reinforce golden rule 'All must stay together always when out'.

The drama and high emotion that comes with being an eleven year old girl.

How that ratchets up a whole other level when they reach critical mass.

The crazy mix of knowing and awareness and small girl giggly silliness.

And ultimately the fact that I do NOT like having to growl at people to GO TO SLEEP at four o'clock in the morning.

I wish I had the strength to say more ...

... my plan was to write a post about my girl turning eleven today but after 18 hours with half a dozen proto-teenage girls in the house and a cumulative sleep total of about five hours between the eight of us (d/Boy was on a boys' sleepover off the hill) ontop of nearly two days of clearing up in the kitchen while the bazillion cakes baked I am k-nackered.