Sunday, 21 October 2012

Good websites for children Age 3-4-5

Although I know we would all joyfully spend our time making cupcakes and doing finger-painting with our little darlings, sometimes the internet helps. Over time Erbie and I have found some entertaining and sometimes even educational sites.
He has had a lot of fun on these:
  1. a great site, which is multi-lingual, has lots of counting exercises, join the dots, tidy the toys, catching fish, songs, hours of fun.
  2. has a games section which is educational and passes the time - I loved Peep on the telly, especially as it is narrated by Joan Cusack who I also love.
  3. is okay if you go to the Duplo section there is an interactive picture and musical game, also the minifigures games are good to play together, don't leave them usupervised on his site though as some of the things are for older children.
    Some of the children's tv sites are not too bad:
  8. we love the series and books but the site can be quite frustrating especially the catching germs game - you have been warned.
  9. the puzzle games are simple for young ones and you can watch clips.
  10. loads of stuff to do but sadly some of it won't run on my ancient laptop.
  11. make masks with little Miss Scary and print out.
Do let me know any other good ones you may have found.

I'm all for a little lightly supervised online playing, Erbie learnt his phonectic and normal alphabet from copying songs on youtube. I don't leave him on youtube unsupervised, even with the safety lock on we seem to get inapproprpriate ads flashing up, not that he takes any notice but all the same.

Erbie has started collecting Moshi monsters already (more to do with his adult relatives really) but is joyfully unaware of the website, yet. Now he has started school I'm sure that will all change soon as will he. My how quickly they grow.

Found this unpublished post - Breastfeeding in Public

Oh my God I can't believe this was really me. I've just found this unpublished post, I was sure high on happy hormones when I wrote this, I can remember smiling. Smiling - big in the noughties, it'll come back... This was before all the trouble started with Belle Mere, before we found out Erbie had an allergy, before we had to move, beofre anyone got ill. Life sure is cyclical. As for Erbie, he is still a little smiling cherub and in his 3rd week of big school, age 4.

Saturday 07 February 2009
5months, one week old.

Erbie woke at 7am. I though it was 5am again and had changed his nappy silently, barely smiling or making eye contact, which was difficult as he was being so adorable, I checked my mobile and realised it was 7am, he quickly got praise and smiles from a ‘silly mummy look at the time’. We heard the Guardian reader stir on the sofa, (Friday boys night out in Carnaby Street) and daddy whistled ‘hello’ emerging in the door way to a full cheeked smile from Erbie and a morning grin from me. Second nappy, yellow poo.

We went through to the living room and Erbie was propped up on the sofa chewing various baby toys. Everything goes in his mouth now. His appetite is back to normal, thank God, he must have been having a growth spurt over the past few days, feeding almost every 2 to 2 and half hours, aswell as through the night. I pulled my leopardskin wellies on over my pjs and popped out to Tesco for croissants, the Guardian and milk. Hardly anyone was about yet, and the streets were still full of the previous nights detrius, a discarded Leffe glass on the step of Nicolas, and a black crocheted hat, dewy with cold on the pavement outside the Charlotte Street Hotel.

Back to cosy flat and ‘top and tail’ time for smally. He seems to enjoy having a hot flannel on his face, I just do one side at a time, so he can always see out of one eye and he doesn’t mind at all. He has scratched his left cheek in the night, almost a gash, it’s deep and scabbed, also the top of his head. I file his nails down for the third time this week! His cradle cap has almost gone, but still smells a little like wet dog. His head is SO dry. I’ve been using the Oliatum prescribed by the doctor after his wash, and will just have to wait and see if it is any better than Vaseline, which did help his hats stay on in the cold, if not much else. I rub some rather lovely lavender scented Molton Brown baby oil on for good measure – a gift.

Under his neck, not so easy, and still a bit red, I’m a bad mother thoughts, hands, feet, belly and tail. I rub him in Oilatum, while chanting, ‘mmmmmmmmmmmmm whose a lovely baby’ and am rewarded with lots of smiles and a giggle. A tiny bit of Sudacrem on the baby exzema behind his ears, knees and a touch on his belly button for good measure. A lovely clean, lotioned baby. New nappy, he’s onto size 3 now, the size 2’s suddenly look comically small, navy tights (hand me downs), marvelous for snuggness, Rolling Stones onesie (daddy couldn’t resist), then off to the bedroom for a feed and nap. He’s started to grink a little and it’s 8.45am. Into his baby sleeping bag, which he always makes a fuss about, then I prop myself up in bed, and after about 10 minutes of feeding he’s fast asleep. I know I should wake him, and I’m making a rod for my back if I believe everything I read, but I can’t bare to. Daddy comes back to bed, Erbie goes in his cot with Pip the bunny, and we all have a family nap.

Erbie wakes at 10, and so do I, he smiles quietly in his bed and then more broadly when I reach in for him. We go back to the sofa for more chewing, Daddy gets up, I have a shower. I dress him in new jeans (gift from the States) size ‘from 6months’ for the first time, they come down to his feet, I didn’t realise quite how much he’d grown, and last weeks cords look dinky, a lovely black IdaT top with toothy babies, (handmedown) and his new size 2 One Star Converse (ebay). Smart boy. His outfit is finished off with a lovely grey H&M cardi, and a blue bandana to mop dribble. He’s starting to fidget and grink and I think he’s bored, so a quick snack feed, then out comes the Baby Bjorn to smiles. He tries to grab the straps as I put it on, and is a happy as Larry to be strapped on to my front. It’s quite cold so the flying hat, which is still too big gets tied in place with the bandana. His gloves are still at a friends so I’ll hold his hands when we’re outside.

Off to meet Joojoo at Waterstones on Piccadilly. A bright crisp day, and Erbie loves being up front, several ‘oh how cute’ looks from passersby. There is an amazing café on the top floor with views of London, a little pricey but darn good. I know That Erbie will be hungry and tired, I’d hoped he’d fall asleep on the walk here, so am a little anxious but decide to go with the flow. We are lucky to be seated on a sofa, and Joojoo gets smiles and cuddles while I de-strap myself. I have worn my big stripey pashmina as a scarf, and put it round my neck in anticipation. Sure enough after 10 minutes, Erbie wants to let me know he is tired and hungry and starts to fuss in Joojoo’s arms.

I take him and try to subtley whip out a tit whilst whooshing Erbie underneath the scarf. No connectiion, my jumper has pinged back up over my boob and he is snuffling and wriggling in frustration. Second attempt, we have connection. I hold him close and manage to straighten out the scarf avoiding any exposure. All becomes quiet and calm, and the food arrives. Joojoo very kindly balances my plate on my knee where I can reach. Erbie feeds unoticed and falls into his midday slumber, an hour late, on my lap. Joojoo and I catch up and I order a coffee, decaf of course. Erbie wakes to a ‘hello darling’ and manages a sleepy smile and an eye rub, to much praise from Joojoo, who tells me most babies wake up crying. Its just gone three already, we decide to skip the walk in Green Park and both head off home.

It’s colder now so I hold Erbie’s hands in mine, and mop any cold dribble chin with the bandana corners. Daddy meets us in Soho and the three of us walk back together with Erbie being happily vocal. I think he’s telling his dad about his day. It’s too late for an afternoon nap before bedtime so I decide to get the baby bath out. The flat’s warm so we have nappy off time half wrapped in a towel on the sofa. Daddy gets up close and personal for an examination and exclaims in horror, ‘Oh my god, what this on his winkie?’ Just underneath his willie he has what looks like a burst blister, raw and red, ouch. Daddy feels sick and mummy feels bad. We pop him in the bath and discuss doctors, Sudacrem, negligence. Daddy says he will top himself if he has anything wrong with his willie through any fault of ours, I say it’s probably just a little sore, and I never really look just under his willy. All the information I’ve read says not to attempt to move anything around down there too much. We decide it’s just nappy rash and to be more careful.

Erbie is oblivious and managing to splash and eat the rubber duck at the same time. I never let go of him. I get the fluff out from between his toes and wash all his creases, just with the Oilatum bath water. His head gets a tiny bit of Neal's Yard baby shampoo. He has a whimper when I take him out of the bath, but then the towel is rough and it’s a bit chilly. A quick rub a dub dub, and smiles again, lotion, Sudacrem on blister – carefully, Vaseline behind his knees and ears, white vest and white babygrow. A clean, rosy cheeked, warm baby – lovely. Daddy is propped on his elbows looking out of the window at the street, I stand next to him and put Erbie on his shoulders, his tiny legs around his neck, he starts to pull at daddy’s hair and dribbles on his head.

Bedtime, into the sleepbag – not happy, up onto lap for a quick ‘The Very Hungry Caterpillar’, for my sister Christa. Bedtime feed, his eyes are wide open, and I worry that he may be over tired, from missing his afternoon nap, but soon his eyes close and he finishes feeding, full and almost asleep. Into the cot with Pip the bunny to cuddle and kiss goodnight. It’s 5.45pm. I don’t think he’s had enough to eat today and expect him to wake around 8 for a top up, which he does.

He starts to make a noise at 9.45pm, I go in quietly, his eyes are closed but he’s searching for breast. I put Pip back in his arms and watch over quietly as he trys to put himself back to sleep. His eyes don’t open but his arm starts to flail and he hits it on the cot, grabbing on to a rung with his strong little fist. He wriggles his head in frustration and makes muted throaty little mew grunts. I watch, feeling heartless and aching to pick him up. He falls asleep, it can’t have been more than 4 minutes. I’m very glad I didn’t pick him up, and proud of him. I expect him to wake around 11.30/midnight for a feed, and then we shall see how the night is. I think it was about 6 times last night. Where has my little dot who nearly got to sleeping through gone? It’s day three of our getting back to a daytime napping routine, I hope the café sleep hasn’t set us back.

It’s 11pm now and I’m off to bed. The Guardian reader is still out at a party in Jerusalem, I think I’ll put the spare duvet on the sofa for him again.

Musings of an idiot.

Why would anyone not have brown sauce in a sausage sandwich, a bit rich coming from someone who was vegetarian for over 20 years.

No, not that kind of musing, more family orientated, as I have a couple of opinions that would be much better kept to myself but if I don’t air them somewhere they’ll slip out at a gathering after one too many pinot noirs, so air them  I will.

Which brings me to my first subject, the word ‘fart’.  I loathe the word, hate is too strong, but it wasn’t likely to slip out in regular conversation (couldn’t help myself there) so wasn’t really a niggle, until that is I had a small boy and ensuing grandparents, now I hear it almost weekly. I can’t bring myself to use the word and thankfully on an early reading of Roald Dahl discovered and happily stole, ‘whizzpop’ which myself and Erbie now use. I can’t stop the Belle Mere saying it though, which brings me right around to my next subject.

The dear old Belle Mere. Things have been tough on our side of the family to say the least but now I cannot help but feel sorry for the old bag. All she ever wanted was a nice big house to host visiting family, a daughter-in-law,  grandchildren that could speak her mother tongue and perhaps even a friendly relationship with the father of her children. Well she has that all now in spades. Her ex regularly stays over, she has a new daughter-in-law with small baby in tow and her son living with her, she even got invited to the wedding - well she had to, seeing as it was held at her house.

And do you know why she has all she ever wished for? Because her eldest son is terminally ill and she is his primary carer.  Be careful what you wish for, very careful, because you usually get it, just not quite how you’d planned.

I can’t really say much more about it because it is truly awful for everyone involved. Up until recently that is where we were spending our weekends but this weekend the Belle Mere has taken a well-deserved break in Devon and The GR on seeing his older brother’s latest incarnation brought about by new smart drugs earlier in the week, has suggested Erbie and I stay away for everyone’s sake.

And as to the opening paragraph on brown sauce with sausages I take it all back, tomato sauce and English mustard is equally as good.

Health and happiness, health and happiness.


Monday, 24 September 2012

Toilets in Central London - Living with ulcerative colitis

[N.B: For W1 toilet locations - scroll to the bottom!]

Reading Jennifer Killicks’ piece in the Guardian this Summer prompted me to write about my own experience of living with colitis, probably one of the least talked about (amongst the most common) chronic conditions, due to it’s embarrassing and painful symptoms. I have a confession to make (that’s how it feels) I’ve been living with colitis for 20 years. 24 if I count the 4 years undiagnosed.

It all started after one of those crazy youthful Summer’s of Love that I expect most 20 somethings experience in varying degrees. Sadly mine was followed by a Winter of Discontent, after I found out my long-term boyfriend was sleeping with my best friend.

It’s rather shocking seeing bright red blood in the toilet bowl when you know you haven’t got your period, so I went to the doctor. Stool samples were duly sent off and came back negative so I was sent on my way. I stopped crying out every time I got one of the stabbing pains in my groin. I went through a break-up. I met The GR. I fell madly in love. Falling madly in love helped – a lot, my symptoms disappeared. We had 6 blissful weeks then a lot of bad stuff happened (which maybe I’ll share one day). I took Prozac for a couple of weeks. I moved in with The GR. The bleeding started up again.

Another unpleasant side effect of having rotten guts is having rotten breath. I was exhausted, constantly had a cold as my immune system was beating itself up and my skin was ravaged. At the time (my late 20’s) I worked hard and partied harder. I constantly felt dehydrated – the back of my mouth dry but put it down to not leading a particularly healthy lifestyle. I went to another doctor. I remember him saying: Now what is we can do for you?’ A little more ‘au fait’ with the lingo myself this time I replied: ‘There is blood in my stools.’ And him being the first person to acknowledge there may be something wrong by saying: ‘Oh that’s not good. Let’s get you to a specialist and find out what’s going on.”

She (the specialist) was lovely.

Specialist: ‘Do you get stabbing pains, like someone is pinching you on the inside?’

Westendmum: ‘Yes.’

Specialist: ‘When you have to go. Do you HAVE to go?’

Westendmum: ‘Yes’

Specialist: ‘Has anything stressful happened to you lately?

Westendmum: ‘My mum died.’

Specialist: ‘Oh your poor thing.’

Then I had my first colonoscopy. Someone holds your hand. They give you a sedative. A camera is inserted up your bottom, what you can’t do with fibre optics these days! There was a monitor above the bed which displayed what the camera could see.

Specialist: ‘Look, and then you’ll understand.’ (she really was very good). ‘This is healthy gut.’

I opened one eye, cripes there I was, inside-out on telly, all red and shiny.

Then. 'And this is one of the ulcers'. Euew, coldsores on the inside is how I’d describe it. Basically ulcerative colitis (notice I’m not giving you capital letters damn disease) is when your body over reacts and starts attacking itself, devouring the stomach lining leading to the production of lots of painful ulcers. And as happens with an allergy, your body produces lots of mucus to counteract the attack, which to put it politely is very slippery stuff.

Finally diagnosed I was prescribed a course of steroid suppositories, I put on some weight but they worked. I was symptom free for a wonderful and stress-free (it does make a difference) year.

That was 2005.

Since then I have done several clinical trials at the UCH one of them that worked for me was diet-based. I was tested for food intolerance and was flagged for yeast and eggs (I blogged about it here). My symptoms cleared quite well with extreme management on my part and again a stress-free time.

The new drugs don't work for me, in fact they seem to have an adverse effect. Sadly the company that made steroid suppositories does not make them anymore and as I only have about 30cm affected at the end of my colon the doctor is adverse to giving oral steroids.

I have found ways to cope over the years. If I am working I don't eat - anything and only drink black tea or water, no sugar or milk.

Erbie has never known me any other way and as up until recently he insisted on coming to the bathroom with me every morning knows me very much this way!

I recently came across the LO FODMAP diet which rang true for me. While I was pregnant and working I used to have a cup of tea with milk around 4pm, I rarely made the 15 minute walk home at 5.30pm without having to make a dash for a public lavatory.

I could tell you the location of all the accessible public lavatories in central London - in fact I will, this might make a good app.!

W1 Toilets
Marble Arch area.
Edgware Road - MacDonald's - downstairs.
Oxford Street - Mothercare - downstairs
Oxford Street - Marks & Spencers - downstairs
Oxford Street - Selfridges - basement

Oxford Circus area
Libertys - basement
Marks & Spencers - basement
John Lewis - up the back stairs

Trafalgar Square
National Portrait Gallery - basement

The British Museum - ground floor beside the shop.

Goodge Street
The Fitzrovia Tavern

Tottenham Court Road
Costa Coffee

Bedford Square
The Dog and Trumpet - basement

Thursday, 20 September 2012

Pocoyo is here!

If you had not discovered this adorable little boy before, now is your chance - he has come to UK TV on Nick Junior.
Erbie and I used to watch him on the internet, goodness only knows how we found it, but he is very cute. Originally in Spanish I believe and now narrated by Stephen Fry in English he runs around with his gang of friends Pato the duck and Ellie the big pink elephant, getting up to allsorts. I especially like the dancing competition episode, Spanish dancing at it's best!
Image: copyright Pocoyo.

Thursday, 17 May 2012

The Tiger-Skin Rug & The Tiger Who Came To Tea

I happened across this book in the library and was so pleased, I think it’s just lovely. Beautiful illustrations and a funny sweet story of a ragamuffin becoming a hero who is then accepted into family life. I’ve read it to Erbie two nights in a row and he asked for it “again mummy” this evening falling asleep during the second reading.

The Tiger-Skin Rug was written and illustrated by Gerald Rose, originally published by Faber & Faber in 1979, the copy I have from the library was republished by Bloomsbury in 2011.

The Tiger Skin Rug © Bloomsbury Publishing

In 1960 Gerald Rose won the Kate Greenaway medal for illustrating for Old Winkle and the Seagulls a collaboration between him and his wife, sadly now out of print, I’d love to get my hands on a copy - (come on please republish). Gerald Rose was born in Hong Kong in 1935, during WW2 he and his family were interned which was where he saw his first real tiger.

Old Winkle and the Seagulls by Elizabeth & Gerald Rose

While I’m on the subject of lovely books and with tigers on the mind I can’t help but mention The Tiger Who Came to Tea by Judith Kerr which, if you have a preschooler and have been into a children’s bookshop or library you cannot have missed. First published in 1968 it has become an absolute classic and rightly so. The author, Judith Kerr used to tell the story to her own children, it was only when they were older she wrote it down and illustrated it. 

The eponymous tiger comes a knocking and consumes everything that Sophie and her mummy have to offer. We especially like reading about the tiger having, ‘drunk all of daddy’s beer’.

The Tiger Who Came to Tea by Judith Kerr © Harper Collins

In the end daddy comes to the rescue by taking mummy and Sophie for a lovely tea of sausage and chips in a cafe. Then the next day Sophie and her mummy go shopping to replace all of the food and buy a large tin of tiger food in case he ever visits again.

Friday, 11 May 2012

School Place

Erbie got a school place.


It is at our first choice school over the road.

The letter came today.

The sun is out.

I took Erbie to the Toy Museum (Hamley's Toy Store) on Regent Street for hand painting and a Disney Pixar Cars 2 Carlo Velosa.

Life if GOOD.

I feel for all the poor families still waiting to hear about primary places though.

Thursday, 10 May 2012

Diamond Jubilee Treats - Biscuiteers

I love Biscuiteers, they always manage to come up with really pretty and cool ideas for biscuits to suit almost any occasion. I know we are all going to be SO over Union Jacks and bunting by mid June but who could resist these biscuits. And if you visit their site now you are in with a chance to win one of 10 of their fabulous Diamond Jubilee garden party packs in conjunction with Emma Bridgewater.

Biscuiteers Diamond Jubilee Tin - £40

Biscuiteers London Mini Tin - £30

Biscuiteers Diamond Jubilee edible biscuit card - £9


All images © Biscuiteers

Monday, 7 May 2012

French hot chocolate

What do I crave on yet another wet morning in May? Something to transport me, why a french breakfast of course. Not a grown up version with freshly baked croissants and sharp espresso, no mes enfants, a steaming bowl of hot chocolate, crusty baguette and Bon Maman strawberry jam.

One of the most popular brands of breakfast hot chocolate in France is Banania another Nesquick, but it was Banania I was after, with it's super cheery packaging and promise of energy giving properites. I tell TheGR of my desire and he profferes that any house with a box of banana chocolate milkshake mix has to be a house of happiness, I'm sold.

I find some at the online provider of fine french foods: and indeed one click plus delivery charge and it arrived by courier tout suite.

A big box of it, with this lovely chap on the front. It mixed into perfectly sweet hot chocolate and whilst I drank a steaming mug of it, the rain and the broken heating and the faulty kettle all melted away. Y'a bon! All I need now is the bowl...

or perhaps a vintage sign.

or a tray - French ebay is my huitre!

Saturday, 28 April 2012

Liberty Bunting Sewing Class

If there was a year to invest in some bunting then 2012 is it, or how about making your own in a sewing class at Liberty’s.

Great British Garden party Projects takes place on Saturday 16th June at the Liberty Store in London (£50 plus morning tea and afternoon coffee) with textile designer Charlotte Liddel. You can learn how to make and embellish bunting and create jam pot covers. The session will cover both machine and hand - sewing techniques and is ideal for beginners.  See the website for more information and to book. 

All this rain must be bringing out the English in me what with afternoon tea and now garden party decor!

image © Liberty

Tea and Jewellery

image © Alex Monroe

I just love this idea. Alex Monroe has designed a new necklace, a rose gold shrimp and come up with a charming method of delivery. During the month of May one can take an Alex Monroe tea at the Goring hotel in London and have the beautiful shrimp necklace delivered to your table in a presentation box. £195 for tea and jewellery. Alex was inspired by memories of his Suffolk coastal childhood running wild over the dunes and taking potted shrimps home for tea. Delightful!

image © Alex Monroe

Thursday, 19 April 2012

London School's Waiting List Lottery

Today is truly a grey day in London, when thousands not hundreds of families woke up to the realisation that their 3-4 year old child did not get into their preferred or nearest primary school and for many, did not get offered a place in their borough or even like us at all.

I walked Erbie to the library this morning and every mother with child I passed was talking about school admissions either on their mobile, at the bus stop, to one and other , all in a state of outrage and shock.
‘What do you mean they didn’t get a place anywhere?’
‘It’s a lottery.’

I went cold when I read this email at 6pm last night:

This is an automated message from the Pan London eAdmissions System Team regarding your Online School Admissions Application.

Application reference: XXX-2012-XX-X-XXXXXX

Child Name: Erbie XXXXXXXXXXX

Child Date of Birth: XX/XX/2008

No offer possible

Unfortunately it is not possible to offer a place for your child at any of the schools you stated as a preference in your application.

Unfortunately it has not been possible to offer you a place at one of your preferred schools. You will shortly receive a letter from Admissions Service giving full details of the outcome of your application and information on what to do next. Please read this letter before doing anything further.

I watched the minutes tick by this morning from 6am until 9am when the local authority phone helplines opened. I spoke to a nice lady who assured me Erbie would automatically be put on a waiting list for our preferred school and they were trying to organise extra classes at many school to meet some of the demand and take in more children.

Statistically I found out that 500 people applied for 30 places at my first choice (30 places were already allotted to siblings). Th last child to be accepted lived 0.24 miles from the school – we live 0.25. This is academic as the school gates are chock o block with 4x4s dropping children
off in the morning. If they live less than 0.24 miles away Ill eat my admissions form. In fact I know of cases where people rented close to the school to get their oldest child in then decamp back to their large houses in another postcode and automatically get the rest of their brood in

The school literally 100m from our front door was another choice - a church school, don’t get me started on that, rumours are rife of perfectly law-abiding atheists suddenly taking up a hymn book and smiling in the face of God for the sake of Petula Pippikin’s pocket-money going
into church coffers, so we knew we more or less didn’t stand a chance there.

Our third choice had 600 applicants for 54 places. I won’t go on, I’m sure you are getting the picture dear reader.

My twitter account this morning was aflutter with tweets from London mothers who had been in similar situations themselves with the resoundingly sage advice – don’t panic and stay positive.

So, it looks like we may not be losing our little August baby to school in September after all, as legally he does not have to go until the term after he turns 5 which won’t be until 2013. He has to have been given a place by then right? Although there is no guarantee of anything anymore it seems, I may be reviewing educational toys for stay at home kids soon – eh gads.

Sunday, 4 March 2012

The Big Egg Hunt London 2012

The Big Egg Hunt has hit London, join in the fun and search out some of the 209 eggs created by artists and hidden over 12 egg zones in London. You will also have the chance to win this gorgeous Fabergé (no less) diamond egg. All you need to do is text a keyword from an egg to 80001 to enter and it’s all for a good cause, money raised will go to Action for Children and Elephant Family (remember the Elephant Parade that Erbie and I so enjoyed). Text entries are open from now until the 3rd of April. You can be sure Erbie and I will be out looking on the next sunny day in London. The eggs are also available to buy at auction.

Check out the website: to see the beautiful zone maps alone. - (Note to organiser please make the maps available in printed form, I’d buy them all!)

Diamond and gold Fabergé prize egg © bigegghunt

Saturday, 18 February 2012

Cute jumper

£28 Cath Kids jumper.
Image © Cath Kidston

Hacked and Flattered!

I haven’t been here since November last year but it would appear someone else has. I guess it is quite flattering that someone is taking the time to write stuff in my name, that appears when one searchs for my blog, but really - who is going to be searching for my blog?

It’s my own fault really, my last post was about a gift for girls, that the gift was ‘pants’ and ‘13 year old’ appeared in the same sentence might have attracted 14 year old boys with a little too much computer knowledge was furthest from my mind at the time.

So I apologise if anyone has been offended and not least to the 14 year old boy looking for a 13 year old girl in pants.

Other nonsense

Quote of the day

‘They tuck you up your mum and dad...’
Anon - after Larkin

“Philately will get you everywhere”

“It’s not the despair, I can handle the despair. 
It’s the hope I can’t deal with”

“Each new friend represents a world in us, a world not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.”
Anais Nin

‘Come on Dover move your bloomin’ arse’.
Eliza Doolittle