Welcome to Wet Welsh Wales!

New Quay, Wales

Well at least that's what it says I can look forward to this coming week on my weather app. Not a good start to our annual pilgrimage to New Quay in Wales but not an unexpected one either - it is the wild west after all and nobody said it had to be dry!
I'm half looking forward and half dreading it.
It will be the first time me and the boys will be down there on our own and although I have no qualms about managing the caravan - two bedrooms, two bathrooms one en suite - looking after two hyperactive boys and two mad whippets is quite another matter! I fear I may have to put out warnings for other holiday makers in the nearby vicinity...that  or ensure I get up at sparrows fart to exercise both dogs and children while the Traeth is relatively clear of human, animal and other animate obstacles!
Although we may be a small family as families go we are, to say it politely, rather loud and have a tendency to make our presence felt.
The boys chat to all and sundry and if the Olympics are anything to go by the youngest will be on the prowl for food to supplement his mother's pathetic attempts at a picnic while the dogs, going on past performance will not be saying please and thank you and will be making off with other people's picnics or else pissing on their sandcastles...
Ah the joy of seaside holidays with rats (whippets to the uniniated) on stilts and feral boys.

You Have Been Warned...

They’re back at school…so now what?

They are back at school so now what do I do? All summer long I have longed for them to go back to school as I couldn’t get anything done and now they are back and already time is hanging heavy.

I suppose it’s because I have the time that I manage to fill it. Everything gets organised (sort of) and jobs get done on a regular basis. The clocks all tick, the bins are never too full, the clothes get put away (at least once a week), the dogs get walked, my office floor can be seen, bills get paid on time, I have cash in my purse.

It’s just when they appear for any length of time that things unravel and priorities change. Getting them up and organised and entertained is top of my list. I cart them to swimming, to riding, to hockey, to friends. I organise parties and BBQs and holidays. I make sure they eat and stay semi clean. And I try to keep my head above water.

And now this morning I have managed to clear the kitchen, make bread, take the dogs out, sort the office, done an interview for work, sort the laundry, feed the cat, feed and move the chickens, kill some cockerels, prepare lunch and start writing a blog post.

There is still loads more to do, reams and reams of stuff, but it’s kind of quiet, too quiet and no one is interrupting me to say:

“The Boy hurt me!”

“I did not! You wouldn’t do as you’re told and anyway you hit me first….”

“Mummmmmmmy! Boy hurt me here, LOOK!”

“I didn’t Mum and anyway I didn’t hit him hard…he’s always saying it hurts”

Yep it is far too quiet, at least until 3.15….

10 top tips to survive a family weekend…

1. Travel with an open mind …or no mind at all. It is always best NOT to think or dwell, as the case may be, on things that may or may not happen… you may be pleasantly surprised to find out that you and your partner are NOT (this time) told that you are overweight, your car is too dirty, your hair to long, or your children too feral…
2.  It is better to remain silent and thought a fool than to open one’s mouth and confirm that you are…best left to your brother/sister-in-law to fulfil those fantasies
3. Never speak until spoken to – you never know you may not have to speak to them at all!
4. Remember prior preparation prevents piss poor performance and seem suitably surprised that you have been given the room furthest away from the rest of the family and don’t forget to tip the hotel management for “understanding” ….
5. Arrange a massage/beauty treatment lasting three hours on the first afternoon, it is wonderfully relaxing and by the evening you are so chilled out nothing and I mean nothing can upset your wa especially as you did not have to go on the annual family yomp across the moors in the drizzle…
6. Leave everything to your partner – after all it is not your family you are dealing with…
7. Do NOT volunteer or else you may land up looking after everyone else’s children at the swimming pool while the rest of them prop up the bar, there again this may be the perfect cop out (remember MOST teachers agree it is not the children that are the problem…)
8. Arrange for children to create a crisis necessitating a trip to A&E 40 miles away…
9. Be NICE to your partner they will owe you…!
10. Smile …you’re on holiday!

Great Expectations

It’s never good to have high hopes is it? Knowing what was to come after we arrived at our final destination in France, I had spent hours trawling the internet, researching, refining and finally choosing the best place to stay for our one night of freedom on the way down to Brittany.

I worked hard on Dear Charlie for months to allow me to do this and to spend something in the region of £200 for the privilege. This was going to be the one night that would make the next seven bearable. It was going to be fabulous, stylish, charming – it turned out to be unremarkable, uncomfortable and just a bit tedious especially for the Boys.

I should have known as a friend remarked so sagely when I trilled about my wondrous find: “Gays and children just don’t mix.” I hate it when that happens. You tell someone about all your plans and you are really excited by the whole prospect and then they pour cold water on them – oh but how right she was…

The thing is that we don’t go on holiday often basically because we can’t afford it with everything we earn going straight to the money pit that is our home or else on the boys’ education. It’s a lifestyle choice (or the fact that we are too proud to say we’ve cocked up somewhat but I believe that that IS a kind of lifestyle choice too). Anyway we pretend we don’t want to go on holiday and would rather stay at home. But really I long to go on holidays. I love to visit new places and try out new food. I like exploring and just getting away from it all. I like being abroad if only for the fact that I adore coming home again. But enforced staycations – well come on. Who are we kidding here?

So having the opportunity to go away, even if it is with the in-laws was just too good to pass up and it was all supposed to be so perfect….

But when the start of your holiday doesn’t quite match up to your expectations it seems kind of prescient. We arrive at the Chateau and well it is rather bijou, more hunting lodge than castle. But things look up when our host offers us a drink although I should have worried a bit by the fact that he darted inside to do this leaving us to struggle with our baggage and to dump it untidily in the middle of the hall.

We were left bereft and had to venture into the house with some trepidation to find him with open bottle of champagne talking to two other guests. I was slightly non-plussed to be handed a glass of insipid white wine instead of champagne but didn’t get much chance to drink it as the boys rushed in having been released from their seven-hour confinement in the car. Let’s say they were overjoyed to be free and their exuberance was palatable.

The look on the owners face said it all and my heart did a double flip and belly flopped to the bottom of my stomach. Despite being forewarned about my boys and despite me being reassured that children were more than welcomed – it was clearly not the case. Although no words were said it was made abundantly clear that children and probably my boys in particular we barely tolerated.

I asked feebly where we were to stay and my host graciously deigned to show me stepping over our luggage at the bottom of the stairs raising only one eyebrow, and then preceding me up two flights of wooden stairs wincing at the sound of the two small elephants that accompanied us on the trip.

It sort of went down hill from there on in really. What with my boys shouting out they needed feeding, entertaining and of course needing a poo, and mine host was sort of there in the back ground - wincing. A lot.

And the final straw was being handed the bill the next day and realising I had to pay nigh on £15 for a couple of glasses of warm white wine and two small cups of orange squash that both my boys had pronounced yucky. I felt terrible with no way of redeeming the situation.

However, the gods move in mysterious ways and the next morning as I was about to leave and in the middle of shaking hands with the patron, I caught a glance out of the corner of my eye of a tray with our glasses on from the night before, still sloshing with wine.

I am afraid I disgraced myself unutterably and I probably ruined any chance of ever returning to the establishment again. Reader, I sank both glasses there and then and proceeded to wolf down the boy’s rejected orange squash as well to the horror of all. I have no idea what made me do it but I caught Dear Charlie’s eye and that was it we could hardly suppress our giggles. We made an excellent departure, heads held high and on to the next adventure.