Hi Wales we're here if you didn't already know...

Yep arrived with a bang or in my case with some rather choice Anglo Saxon after an eight and a half hour trek from Suffolk in the east to New Quay, Wales in the west via the M25 (deliciously clear) and the M4(what was that about nose to tail right through to bloomin Carmarthen!)
By the time I stopped driving I was literally seeing stars and felt as though I would never be able to stand straight again. There are times I truly believe I'd be able to get to Australia faster than I can get to the land of my forefathers and we're meant to be part of one united kingdom.
Crossing into Wales over the bridge in amongst the most godawful traffic this side of a bank holiday I glanced over to the opposite carriageway taking people back to england it was empty, it made me panic a bit thinking that all of those holiday makers trying to get back were still stuck trying to get in..
Anyway, we got here and just as I drew up it started to rain hence my choice words. The Boys were round eyed and let's just say very keen to help mummy unload and get sorted. The quickly hunkered inside 'sorting' everything out while I grappled with getting the gas on.
Every year I have the same problem or at least variations of it trying to remember just how it's done and every year I have forgotten - this year was no exception just that it was a bit wetter than normal.
A lot wetter than normal so much so that even my knickers were wet
And it wasn't until I called the cavalry in the form of next door neighbours, caretakers etc that I remembered to turn the butterfly valve to vertical...
It was time for a little more Anglo saxon - I really wish I could do it in welsh.
So hi Wales we're here if you hadn't already noticed....
And I remembered that I had to turn the butterfly to vertical

'Scuse me Anglo Saxon...

I think I am related to Hagar the Horrible, well I am afraid my language is; it is definitley Anglo Saxon (although Hagar is of course a Viking but where my language and Hagar are similar is in the fact that both are basically dirty!). Someone once told me that swearing indicated a lack of imagination - but when I swear I promise my language is highly imaginative. The cadence of my voice, the rhythm of my speaking, the feeling I put into those four letter words - I need no others.
But perhaps I really should moderate my language...it's not as if I have not been warned!
A few years ago my Mother and I went shopping to Norwich to buy The Boy some shoes. He was about three or four at the time. It was a glorious sunny spring day prbably teh first for many weeks a bit like now. We parked the other end of Pottergate and walked in past teh market and to the Royal Arcade looking for children's shoe shops. Everywhere we went we saw people eating ice creams.
The Boy: Mummy can I have an icecream?
Me: No darling we are going to buy shoes...
After traipsing about some more we found the perfect place for shoes and bought a pair of beautiful red trainers which met the approval of my mother, my approbation and of course, most importantly, they got the nod from the Boy.
Passing waterstones on the way to Habitat, The Boy saw some more people eating ice creams.
The Boy: Mummy I want and ice cream!
me: I want never gets, now come on Boy we have more shopping to do.
And so we did, wandering around Habitat and  detouring into Jarrolds. Finally after what must have seemed like ages and feelign just a tad hot and bothered we started to make our way back to the car up Pottergate.
We passed and ice cream vendor.
The Boy: Mummy I want an ice cream...
I ignored him.
The Boy: Granny I want an icecream.
My Mother ignored him
The Boy: I NEED an ice cream
We both ignored him as we strode purposefully on up the hill with him dawdling a little behind.
Finally the longing got too much for him and just as we all strode into a small square full of studentsd laying around on the grass and smart ladies loitering in front of smart shop windows a carrying voice was heard..
The Boy: I WANT A BLOODY ICECREAM!!!!!!!!
Much as I wanted to charge after my mother, who by now was practically racing away in her attempt to distance herself from us both figurativley as well as physically, I was in no position to pretend he wasn't mine mostly because with that demand he also decided to have a sit down strike...
A few years down the line and I find that I don't like hearing my children swear, while it may be funny in a four year old on the odd occasion it is no good in a seven year old especially when other children are about who are quick tattle tale to their parents.
We now have a swearing box and my purse is definitley getting lighter and as for his swearing - I have hardly heard a bad word...!
Picture shows: Hagar The Horrible by Dik Browne