Jackanory

Our story today is narrated by the author, Eldest Hobbit...

"Once there was a little boy, he was nice and kind but he was very healthy but he was running. He liked himself. But he was running fast, jumping high and high and he was kind. He can climb up parks he runned up a hill.

And that is the story finished."

What, you wanted a beginning, middle and end? (It doesn't feature the usual suspects, Daleks, Darth Vader, his brother.) Well give him a break, he has a busy life you know, for a 5 (and a half!) year old. He recently brought home his version of Peter and The Wolf, fully illustrated (I really should get the scanner set up) that he made in class.

His version is as follows, (pictures to follow when said scanner is linked up - hint to other half.)

"Petur

(Picture of Grandfather with his gun)

The Wulf

Wulf ate the duck

Wulf go home"

This would be the new version to which they are addicted and which I prefer to my old record that had the wolf sent to a zoo.

Lovely Boy

Eldest Hobbit is, to be quite honest, a chatterbox. He loves to talk, about everything, and ask questions, most of which I don't know the answer to (example a couple of weeks ago was "Mummy, what gases make up the sun?" Where did he get that from, what has he been reading? Was he influenced by that weeks episode of Doctor Who?)

Anyway we were discussing the party he and youngest Hobbit were en route to (this will be the second of five this month alone.) And the wise old soul he is he commented that as the party would keep them occupied for two hours I could now enjoy some "peace and quiet."

He is quite observant.

How long would you give it before you gave up?

Now that I have sent in my last assessment toward my OU course I have been feeling a little bereft. It is strange that when something that has been part of your life for so long ends the effect can be almost immediate. Or perhaps it is just me.

I have also been feeling a little, how can I put it, off? Odd? Out of sorts? Any of those descriptions would do really. And that has resulted in me taking a step back and looking at what else I had commited to in this first year of study (after about 100 years) for me and first year of proper school for the hobbits.

What I am waffling on about is, to be quite frank my commitment to the school via the PSA and through trying to work out this new concept of Parent Councils. I have decided that enough is enough. I had thought that I would be one of many turning up for the meetings, turns out that even in the better schools parents remain unmotivated, I can now see why. While I enjoy volunteering at school parties and helping out for various events at the school I am afraid that the PSA, through a core group of about 10 people, is unfortunately quite clique. I have tried to fit in, I know that I have problems trying to fit in socially and I know why but I do try and sometimes I am so fearful internally of joining in that I remain too quiet at these meetings. Perhaps that has made me seem stand-offish, I have the same affect while waiting for the hobbits at the school entrance. For no matter how much I smile at people, no matter how much I battle to start conversations I stand alone. Okay, there are a couple I talk to but no more than chit chat for less than 5 minutes.

I did mention to hubby once that if I walked into the school handing out chocolate and £10 notes they still wouldn't talk to me, he said I have an air about me that makes it hard to approach me. For God sake I grin like an idiot, I open my mouth and utter verbal shite comes out and I hear myself and think "what an idiot." I just can't do it anymore.

So, enough is enough, I have gone to the meetings, I have helped out, yet PSA members pass me by without so much as a hello. I can't figure out if I did something wrong, I can't figure out if it is because of the fact that I represent the lower-wage earning faction of the school (and am the only one I hasten to add) or is it because I don't live in the town but in another which is not as nice. I give up. I have given it a year, more or less, I will still volunteer but I don't want to sit there at the meetings like a lump of wood.

This sounds so much like a poor me post but I have just been doing a lot of this kind of thinking lately.

Same goes for the Parent Council, I am completely useless there also, the others who attend have their own agendas, their own plans for this new Council. Again I wanted to represent the lower-wage earners but I give up. I couldn't even say I wanted to represent the SAHMs as there are a few who already do that but are from the middle-class rather than from whatever they call the one below that, i.e. me! (I would say working class but then that label has now been taken by the benefits crowd and we are not quite that bad.)

I am not a quitter, I am a giver-upper.

Free Boaby

Oh how much will this not translate to anyone not from central Scotland! But as my readership is probably just me anyway that doesn't matter.

I have an inkling that this may be a publicity stunt but the other morning while driving the Hobbits to school (between 8.20-8.40) I heard this brilliant song dedicated to the "mouse" of a certain wind-up merchant called Cecil. Now Cecil is one of the characters (played by the host Robin Galloway) who participates in the morning wind-up calls made to various businesses - some with absolutely no sense of humour at all shown when taking these calls.

Cecil just happens to have a pet mouse called Boaby, which coincidentally is also a slang word for a certain part of the male anatomy. (Joke on hearing an old woman talking about "Boaby" someone asks "Who is Boaby", the reply "Oh anyone's Boaby!") Maybe it doesn't translate well on the page but it is funny when you hear it - promise!

For some reason best know to themselves (publicity stunt!) the radio station has banned the song (and from what I can tell poor Boaby has had the chop too, ouch!) Well, it might sound kind of, maybe similar to something by T-Rex. Still when I first heard the song we were all laughing and I had to dissuade the Hobbits from singing it as we walked into school.

I am sure if Marc Bolan had a Boaby like Cecil's he would want to sing about it too.

Recognise the need for good old Scottish humour and free Boaby!

Can Of Worms. Tin-opener.

How long has it been?

I have been trying to avoid this subject, a subject that has dominated the news to an almost hysterical level not seen since Princess Diana got in a car with a drunk driver at the wheel (or did she??? And who cares???)

The week before last a little girl was stolen from her hotel bedroom in Portugal. A lot has been said about it and emotions are causing normally rational people to fight amongst each other on the technicalities over what went on and the strong opinions it has garnered. This is fact:

On that Thursday this 3-year-old child was left alone with her 2-year-old twin siblings while her parents had dinner with friends in a "nearby" restaurant. At some point during this time, and between the 1/2 hourly checks on them, the girl was taken.

Now there is no way for me to avoid the crows of disapproval so let me first lay down what I personally feel. Although I do have some sympathy for her parents the person I am more concerned with is the missing child. To leave 3 children under the age of 3 alone, out of earshot, out of view is just irresponsible and dangerous. Now under no circumstances, as the hysterical will cry against my views, do I feel the fact they left her alone means the parents deserved their child to be taken. That idea is abhorrent and quite frankly immature of those who use that as an argument against those of us who feel a huge mistake was made.

The next argument I'd like to blow out of the water is that we should not criticise the parents, they are going through enough. True. But if that criticism stops just one family doing similar while on holiday then it has been worth it. Being a parent is 24 hour risk assessment, we shouldn't smother but we should understand that leaving such young children alone, in a strange country, in a strange bed was a risk too far.

Abduction aside - what about fire? What if one of the children had woken up in unfamiliar surroundings crying out for mummy and daddy? Checking on the children every 1/2 hour as was claimed would not have saved them from nightmares, a fire, any other danger you could think of.

Another hysterical viewpoint is that it could have happened with the parents there or not. Yes, these things happen, but there is a vast difference from cases where the child is snatched from their house while the parents are there or, like Sarah Payne, snatched while out playing with siblings and one where the child is left alone.

There would have been much more criticism against the choice the parents made had they been from a poorer background, that I have no doubt. Then there would have been no one jumping to the defence of the parents, despite the fact that no one is directly attacking them. Just highlighting the consequences of their actions. The only person/s to feel guilt, to feel the hatred of everyone is/are the person/s who took her.

As a parent I can't help feeling strongly, I will not apologise for my viewpoints and having read forums and blogs on this I am a little disgusted at how sanctimonious and self-righteous some people are in their unwillingness to acknowledge the mistake made. To eat in a restaurant 50 yards away, separated by a swimming pool, bushes, hedges, wall and pathway, leaving your children in an apartment with easy access to the road right next to it, well on holiday or not that would have had most people's risk radar flashing like mad.

You have children, you are responsible for their wellbeing and safety while at home or on holiday. When we were in Belgium last year we were sitting beside the enclosed childrens play area when over the tannoy came a call for us. With leaping hearts we rushed to the reception to discover that, under our very noses, youngest Hobbit, had sneaked out of the play area to go to the toilet and had asked a startled Dutchman to help him wipe his bottom! The thought of what could have happened had that Dutchman not been a bemused, kind man who immediately went to reception to say there was a child alone in the toilet was unbearable. A lesson was learned by the Hobbits who were given another stranger danger warning.

Now that happened while we were relaxing on holiday. See how easy it happens. But we were there, we had not left them alone in the play area to go get something to eat. The shame we felt at being caught out as bad parents, despite the staff finding it quite funny that this little boy asked someone to wipe his bum was immense. But yet we felt we had let him down, we hadn't noticed him walk out of the play area and away from where we thought he was playing in the huge network of slides and tunnels that made up the equipment. Leaving them in there would not have been a consideration, we had them, they are our responsibility.

Tick Tock

It is noticable that I haven't written very much this year at all. Well, 2007 is not turning out to be the year I expected it to be, to top it all I am probably going to tank my OU course which is not turning out as I had wished. So here is a cheerful picture of the hobbits.

Meet the new Jamie Oliver

Youngest Hobbit has taken to watching Masterchef Goes Large with great intensity. While viewing Friday's offering (on BBC2 Wales thanks to gaelic programming stuffing up the Scottish schedules) he decided that he liked the look of the very fancy and very long titled pheasant dish being made and announced he would like that for his dinner. Fancy on my boy I'm not that good.

When not watching cookery programmes he does like being involved in the preparation and cooking of food itself, the ingredients used and when that isn't happening he likes to talk about food. Interestingly although he enjoys eating and eats a fair amount of food he is not fat, no where near fat, actually he is on the lean side. Possibly because, apart from the treats, he eats about 80% good stuff. Strawberries, raspberries and mandarin oranges being particular favourite snacks.

So watch this space. He has the right temperament for being a chef certainly (take no prisoners, doesn't suffer fools gladly etc.) I discussed this with my mother today and the first thing she said? For me not to let him become a chef.

Considering that 2 years ago his ambition was to be a dinosaur I think he has a long way to go before deciding where his life will lead him. Certainly it is fun to speculate but I would never say to either Hobbit they couldn't follow what they wanted to do. That is what happened to me and look where I ended up! Same mother told me that when I left school I was expected to get a job as there was no way they would support me through university and even though it was expected I could get into art school that was discouraged to the point I completely lost the way.

Had I had parents who let me try, let me discover what I could do things could be different (not focusing on the Hobbits here as I would always have chosen to be a SAHM regardless. In fact it would have been nicer to have a proper career to take a break from and know I had one to return to.) Hubby and I often discuss how what our parents did affected the paths our lives took.

So be it a dinosaur, or a chef, or something completely different, youngest Hobbit I know will at least do one thing. Be able to cook and enjoy the experience of cooking and eating good food. Career wise he can do whatever he wants, he is 5 FFS, though I might discourage it if either Hobbit mention becoming lawyers or politicians. I don't like my boys lying!

Down But Not Out

Have I been a little quiet of late?

Believe me, it is only online for in this house not an hour goes by before I strike up another rendition of Hacking Cough. Not a very pleasant experience for those listening, an even less pleasant experience for those suffering. I have never been punched or kicked in the ribs (tiny babies in utero notwithstanding) but I know how it feels. Yes, the cough is that bad. Doctors don't like prescribing antibiotics, I didn't feel like insisting, sadist.

But what worries me more, for the fourth time in two months youngest Hobbit is ill. So after the last "chest infection" where he was given medication which seemed to work he is now on other medication, and if that doesn't work he may have to be tested for pneumonia. Doctor was very reassuring, that it probably wasn't as blah-de-blah. Whatever else he said I wasn't particularly listening as my mind stuck with pneumonia. I entered the land of Every Parents Nightmare™.

One of my very good friends had pneumonia about 14 years ago, it knocked her out for a month, which she spent in a hospital bed fading away.

Apparently this is extreme and if he has it, he has it only mildly.

So this medication is not the acid house yellow of the previous one, but a subdued chalky white. And it is working. Thank you science.

(I would like to point out that the side effects of the medication is not the appearance of a tigerish aspect to the patient's face. This is just Bubble, as we know and love him, and the paint washed off.)

A Man's A Man For A' That

It may have been the national celebration of Robert Burns birthday yesterday and no, we didn't partake of the traditional haggis, neeps and tatties for dinner (as yummy as that is, no really it is lovely), but today was the 'Scottish Assembly' for the Hobbits at school. Have heard snippets of what happened, lots of 'so and so from such and such a class' going on stage to recite his poems and I spent yesterday afternoon running around trying to find tartan for them to wear. I mean really, Linlithgow is a tourist town, I just couldn't think of anything in time, had I gone into Edinburgh we would have had tartan to clothe the entire town.

A lot of the children wore kilts, but unfortunately the Hobbits don't have kilts, would look cute though. The Hobbits now know Robert Burns although they don't realise his importance yet, or the fun in some of his poems. He calls government 'a parcel o' rogues' can you think of a better description! Youngest hobbit came out with the quote of the day. As we were walking out of the school he told me "Mummy, you know Robert Burns wasn't at school today" I should hope not, he has been dead 200 years. "No, he was in his spaceship."

I must have missed something when we were getting taught Burns poetry at school, I don't recall any spaceships.

My favourite tale of Burns's life is when he was out for a country walk one day and happened on a young milkmaid carrying her yoke. A reknown womaniser Burns introduces himself, the milkmaid sighs and says "will I put the buckets down now then?" Class.

Yesterday morning was awful. Let me just say that if you think of saying what you really want to someone and that you will find some satisfaction in it, then you are wrong. Even if you do not resort to swearing, name calling, fisticuffs or below the belt remarks. You will neither feel dignified or happy in yourself even if you get the upper hand. As I was once told, if you get down in the dirt with the pigs you just make yourself dirty, and the pigs like that.

300 Years Ago

It was 300 years ago that the 'parcel of rogues' signed us over to the English. A contentious statement but true. I imagine that if Scotland didn't have as many resources then the Union would have ended long ago and perhaps, considering the current feeling perhaps the Union is soon to end.

There is debate on both sides and, more infuriatingly, mud slinging. The English call us scroungers (must have seen the ridiculous amount spent on benefits and anyway we get a lot less than the Northern Irish and nothing is said about them), we call them bullies. It is an antagonistic relationship that does not hold when one person speaks to another and we cease to see them as English/Scottish and start to see them as individuals.

I think England would benefit from our Independence in gaining back their own culture as a separate state. Yet, having heard all my years about the "Queen of England," and the use of England when it should be Britain, they hopefully could try and understand the frustration of being denied a voice. Even if we moan, we are good at it. Both countries have good and bad points in their psyche.

Would a split make us respect each other more? We would need to wait and see. There are a lot of English living in Scotland, we must be doing something right.

Oh and there was no party to celebrate the Union, but there was a new £2 coin. There is a moral in there somewhere.

One of Two, Two of Two

As Husband calls the Hobbits a rather Trekkie name I ponder on the whole world of multiples.

No, I am not going to embarrass myself by navel gazing or anything wistful or superfluously pensive. This is all brought about by watching Nanny 911, an American take on Supernanny using British nannies to sort out American families. Nice to see American tiddlers can be as wild as home grown ones.

So this episode featured a family with triplets, one girl and two boys (didn't say if the boys were twins or not as can be the case with triplets, with one split egg making what would be twins triplets instead - end of technical discussion.) The tiddlers were 3 years old, cute as anything and although naughty it wasn't in the sense that you would think they should be sending them to boot camp. Turned out that the mother unknowingly had been favouring youngest boy over eldest leading to the youngest being spoiled and the eldest having esteem issues.

To put it bluntly, the eldest was being ignored, punished for things his brother was getting away with and it was not only heartbreaking to watch (look, real tears I had in my eyes and all) but was leaving the poor boy confused and lonely. There is nothing that will tug at the heart of a mother more than seeing a child treated like that, his big sad eyes pleading with his mother to play with him as well as his brother. The sister, as all girls do, was content to play by herself with her annoying brothers being dealt with, or not, by mother.

So here is the ponder.

Does this happen with all multiples? It would kill me if I ever thought either Hobbit felt I loved the other more. With esteem issues myself steming from childhood (therapist heal thyself, okay I'm not a therapist...I digress) I tell the Hobbits every day I love them, that they are great boys and praise them both with each achievement. I want confident not arrogant boys so don't go overboard as it sounds like from my last sentence.

Yet while eldest Hobbit can demand the most attention youngest hobbit, by virtue that he was fished out last, has that whole baby-of-the-family going for him. It is a hard balance, a constant juggling act. We try, when we think the boys are feeling left out in any way, to have what is known in the TIBS household as 1-on-1s. One day Husband has one Hobbit for a day out while I take the other on a separate day out, then the next time we swap Hobbits.

Like I said, a juggling act. But if it means my Hobbits are confident, have good self-esteem and a sense of self worth then it will all be worth it.

There is nothing guaranteed in life but...

Death and taxes....

And now some smart plug in government has thought up a new way to get us to pay for their expensive pensions. Another purse crippling idea wrapped up in the concept of being environmentally friendly. Charging us for the amount of rubbish we throw away. (Hmm, don't we already cover that in our council tax, a good deal of which goes towards said pension fund.)

I get annoyed though when they announce we are to be charged more to encourage recycling. I can envision our lovely neighbours stealing about in the early morning dumping their rubbish in everyone else's bins. You know that is what is going to happen, there are enough dishonest people to make those of us who do take care with our rubbish have to lock our bins away.

Why don't they offer a tax rebate on the amount you have recycled during the year?

Instead of constantly lumping yet more and more taxes and costs onto the average taxpayer why don't they offer us a light at the end of the tunnel. This rebate doesn't have to be much but I would bet that it would make a difference, quick a large difference if people think they are about to get money from the government.

Alternatively why don't we just hand over all our earnings each month and have them hand back food vouchers to exist on.

The Emperor's New Clothes

Do you ever get the feeling that something blindingly obvious is only ever noticed by you?

Like for example how long Tony B*liar has gotten away with being a complete sycophant? I digress.

Anyway, have just watched a programme on childrens diets and lack thereof. I cannot believe that any mum would give her child two packs of crisps, a well-known brand of sugary drink that is hyperactivity in a bottle and expect that child to get through the school day. Yet that was in just one example of the lunchbags they looked at.

I'm sorry but how long does it take to make a packed lunch? How long does it take for the parent to then wonder why little Jonny or Jessica bounces off the walls after every 'meal'?

I don't believe the bull about children not eating good food. I haven't been blessed with the worlds best eaters by any means, the Hobbits would sell me for a Kinder egg in a second (then buy me back so I can open the toy for them - what is the reason for that little capsule to be so tricky to open? Kinder, s'for kiddies, right?) I have to say I don't bother with carrot sticks, I just hand them the carrot and they munch the entire thing, just like I used to do. Yet I can maintain a fairly good and healthy balance for them with the treats of chocolate, sweeties and crisps as that - treats.

Everything in moderation after all, that is the motto in the TIBS household.

Contemplate the idea of charging the parents, such as the ones who were feeding their fat children chips through the school fence last year, with abuse. Surely it is abusive to clog their little arteries with fat and food that the dog wouldn't touch, and lets face it, when you see the things a dog will eat, if it doesn't touch a certain food would you?

Being a SAHM has meant I have time to think of what they have to eat every day and to spend time and effort preparing their meals. But I know plenty of working mums who are equally as vigilant and it isn't really us or WOHM who are to blame. Once again the eye falls on those who are living off benefits. They say they cannot afford proper food, not so say I and everyone else living on a tight budget, and with things the way they are now it is people on low wages and not on benefits who are truly poor. Maybe that is the key, they need to budget the money they get each week better and organise their time better. How long does it take to make a good nutritious meal? It can be as little as 15 minutes from first opening the fridge door to setting the plate in front of the hungry little devils. I know I sound harsh, but having lived in an area rich in the 'jobless culture' I have ample experience of the attitude that is causing this problem.

I have to say that before the Hobbits came I wasn't really into cooking. Sure I enjoyed watching cookery programmes and reading books but I never really bothered with anything other than recipes I already knew. Certainly the family I worked for as a nanny in the US would testify to that (you want gourmet, you pay me better.) Now I enjoy it and even bake (see photo for proof, banana bread - slices make for very good lunchbox snacks!) The Hobbits enjoy it too, especially the gooey bits...and the eating bit.

And A Happy New Year

Yeah, yeah, so I am early. Allow me the novelty of being too early instead of too late for once.

So, 2006, an interesting year but here is hoping that 2007 brings more with it, and good things only please.

When I was younger, and I mean Primary age, my dad and I would walk to the end of our street, wait for the bells in the local church (which was a good mile and a half away at least) to ring and then be 'first footers' for my mum. Instead of the lump of coal we were meant to put on the fire we would give her a box of chocs, well, we had a gas fire, mum would have been livid if we starting throwing great chunks of coal at it.

I loved that experience of being out in the cold night air, holding my dad's hand, more than anything and the memory is saddened knowing I will never get it back. My dad is getting on a bit, I mean he was 50 when I was born and I just turned 35 so you do the math.

The last good Hogmanay I had was the Millenium, which seemed to suck for so many other people. Husband and I drove up to the Kilsyth hills and watched the fireworks from Glasgow, across the central belt of Scotland to Edinburgh. It was a wonderfully clear night and I even saw a shooting star (yes, the wish was fulfilled.)

I can't remember what we did the next year but the year after that we celebrated in hospital with our new born baby boys and a group of other parents, and a grumpy nurse telling us not to wake the others. FFS we all had newborns, who was sleeping?

Hogmanay with little ones is somewhat subdued, apart from the revellers who go to parties to see in the New Year through beer-goggles does anyone actually celebrate it properly?

All Grown Up

Today is a very important day.

The Hobbits are now 5 years old and celebrated, as is becoming tradition, with a visit to Dynamic Earth in Edinburgh. A good day had by all even though I can't speak thanks to my voice giving out due to this cold, some would say that was a blessing.

Eldest Hobbit practically burst with excitement, telling everyone he was 5, and for good measure Youngest would add "Me too!"

How Was It For You?

Fate has a way, sometimes, of dealing you up a hand you deserve. I didn't have the Christmas spirit in the usual bucket load, so for my Christmas I got a stinking awful cold. Which has lasted until Boxing Day and now, at 9pm, is still going strong. Serves me right for being so bah-humbug this year really.

Short and sweet, I am watching telly, feeling sorry for myself and although I got a new camera for Christmas I haven't even taken it out the box to try it out which is so unlike me. I did take photos with old faithful though and will post them here as soon as my head stops aching like it is about to explode.

Still managed to cook an excellent Christmas dinner though. Hope no one at it got an extra present of this cold (evil smile.)

Currently Reading aka The Lovely Surprise

I should have written this on Tuesday when it happened but there you go, I wouldn't have been able to say anything about the book itself. So there.

Let me explain myself. On Tuesday we were sitting in the living room up to our eyes, literally, in wrapping paper and various toys. Outside a delivery van drives up, Husband and I look at each other, I'm not expecting anything, neither is he. As the Amazon package is handed over I begin wondering if I had ordered anything that was out of stock to be delivered later.

Nope, instead it was a lovely present from my American Friend, forever known on here now as Hazelnut.

The book is one she had previously talked about I Like You (Hospitality Under The Influence) by Amy Sedaris. Last year, for Christmas, she sent a whole bunch of books by David Sedaris, whatever Mummy Sedaris fed them as children they have grown up into very funny, very witty writers.

I hadn't heard of David Sedaris before Hazelnut mentioned him and reading those books led to a very merry Christmas indeed. I've only just started this book but already I was up to 1am last night reading it which is a very good sign for someone like me, cantankerous and hard to please where books are concerned. And there are recipes! Take that Delia (or Martha for any Americans.)

Now I must go and make my self-esteem collage using pictures of people I wish I was! Quote of the week "Accentuate The Positives - Medicate The Negatives." Wonder what Christmas is like a chez Sedaris.

Who'd a thunk it?

That Christmas spirit would be found by helping out at the Primary 7 party?

Well, surrounded by a crowd of screaming, excited 10-11 year olds, enough tinsel and decorations to sink a ship, it is hard not to get carried away. And yes, dancing was involved, not only that but traditional Scottish country dancing - oh the English don't know what they are missing if they haven't been hurled round a room by the Dashing White Sergeant (name of a dance, not the dancer.)

I have some food for thought as well this Christmas, something to mull over while getting on with things. Someone I am related to, though you wouldn't think it if you saw us together, announced in her card to my parents that she had returned to live with her parents in a manner that suggested she has split from her husband. Now, this could be an occasion to gloat. Her mother called my wedding a "pauper's wedding" as we chose not to have the big white version but one with only a couple of guests, but in a location special to us. Hell mend us but we chose to spend our money on the honeymoon! (Touring around the Alps in the lovely summertime, highly recommended!)

So that is what the mother (my aunt) said. It was also considered that as this cousin was engaged before I had met Husband and I married first that I had rushed into it to beat her and would divorce. Hmmmm, doesn't work that way does it?

Which is proof that it is not how you marry but why you marry. I always thought cousin treated her other half appallingly, and that is not because she is of an odd nature towards me. He was one of those soft, gentle souls and on more than one occasion she shouted at him in front of the family, more embarrassing for us to witness really. She also said they didn't argue which is complete bull. There is nothing like a good argument to air any grievances and get them sorted out.

So there we have it. The breakdown of a marriage is sad, luckily there are no children involved, there will be no gloating from me but I hope she learns from this as she has lost a good husband.

Its beginning to look a lot like Edinburgh

I know, I know, you wait for one post and three come along at once I hear you say, or rather the one voice singing in the darkness who I know does read this (thank you Pewari!) Like I said, it is a busy month, what with helping the Hobbits write a total of 64 Christmas cards, the whole concept of "choose who you want to send a card to" completely bypassing them. Why not send a card to everyone!

And we are still receiving cards from girls unknown, addressed to either hobbit, and always signed off 'Love'. God help us come the teenage years. Worst is I can't write cards back, the conversations go as follows;

"Hobbit, who is Banana?"

"Um, she is my friend."

"She isn't on your class list, what class is she in?"

"Don't know."

"Wouldn't it be nice to send her a card back?"

"She is in Primary 2, or maybe 3."

Lordie!

The nativity went as well as could be expected really. Niall and Adam behaved perfectly, the show was quite entertaining and the competitive mums lined the front row with their cameras and camcorders. You could smell the money from them (sorry, can't help myself, I find them highly amusing!) Then a very odd thing happened.

Once the nativity was over and the school day at an end I was waiting at the infant entrance with the usual crowd of mums and dads. I hear behind me one dad saying how his daughter had refused to be the donkey as she had previously been a sheep, but Primary 2s don't get to participate in the nativity, they form the choir singing all the songs. Then this woman, standing near me, tells one of eldest Hobbits' friend's dad that her child was the donkey! I saw him look a bit confused, I don't know him that well, it is usually his wife who does the school run. But what a bizarre thing to do, claim your child is the donkey when it obviously wasn't (the donkey costume consisted of a mask held perfectly in front of his face until the singing started, then he waggled it about in time to the tunes!) Husband finds this hilarious, that the competitive mums (for she must be one) not only covet Mary and Joseph but also the lone Donkey! It was a weird turn to the day.

The Christmas spirit, though somewhat subdued, has appeared in the form of a visit to the German market (here is the kick, in Edinburgh!) Also the fact I spent the better part of today up to my eyes, quite literally, in wrapping paper.

Photo, Edinburgh Christmas Market 2006. Big Wheel and Hobbits on the Carousel.

A Turkey's Plea

C'mon you two, just hop over the fence and lift the latch on this door, please. I know what date is coming up, I know what it means for a bird like me, well, if it were up to me I would eat the goose, have you seen the size of her?

- The turkey gets desperate, don't worry, this turkey lives at Almondvalley Heritage Centre, he won't be on anyones plate this year.