2nd July 2010

As often expected, for a British summer, the last few weeks have been peppered with drizzly showers, not that I’m complaining. It’s given me plenty of excuses to avoid the garden, abandon the washing line mid-spin cycle, and sit down to write this blog with a smug cup of coffee in hand (brewed, I might add, by our swanky new ‘Tefal Quick-cup’, lukewarm in 3 seconds flat!).

Having just dashed out for the hundredth time to rescue the laundry, I now have a brief window before I collect Sarah from school at 10.30 am. She has a long break between lessons and likes to come home for a proper cup of tea and some top-tier fatherly wisdom (or possibly just a biscuit).

At the moment, the whole family is on tenterhooks waiting for Charlotte and her unborn offspring to get a move on. The recent warm spell left our heavily pregnant daughter resembling a beached whale, albeit a stylish one. I’m told she spent most of her time lounging in Lucas’s paddling pool like some sort of sunburnt mermaid. With any luck, the cooler weather might encourage the little blighter to make an appearance, either that or Charlotte will turn into a water feature.

Lucas recently had a taster day at his new school in preparation for the autumn term and, by all accounts, loved it. That said, he wasn’t best pleased to hear he’s expecting a baby brother; he was holding out for a sister. Hopefully, starting school will distract him from the terrible injustice of having to share toys. I still remember Sue during the final stages of pregnancy, irrational and emotional to the extreme. I quickly learned that the safest place to be was out of sight and preferably in a different postcode. I suspect Suraj has adopted the same strategy; we’ve not heard a peep.

Nan has been glued to the telly watching sport in glorious HD, thanks to her brand-new Skybox. She ventured out on a day trip to Bridlington earlier this week, only to be greeted by a thick sea fog. Not one to be deterred, she did what any British seaside visitor would do: she hit the shops. The excitement must have been overwhelming, as she was in bed by 7.30 pm. Her garden is apparently thriving, with potatoes and onions ready for picking. The air-con unit I bought her three years ago (which had previously seen about as much use as a chocolate teapot) has finally proved its worth this year.

I’ll be heading up to Thurcroft next week to give the outside of her house a lick of paint, weather and energy levels permitting.

Sue and I have done a few supply days in local schools lately, but with budgets tightening, our services are increasingly surplus to requirements. On the bright side, the house is clean, the garden looks respectable, and the washing smells faintly of lavender and domestic success.

In a burst of country-inspired creativity, I made elderflower cordial the other day, and if I may say so, it’s utterly divine. Sue’s taken quite a shine to it too, which means it’s vanishing at an alarming rate. I foresee another foraging expedition on the horizon.

We’ve booked a week away to the Azores with Sarah in October. Nine volcanic islands in the Atlantic, what could possibly go wrong? Given our track record (most places we visit suffer a minor catastrophe soon after), we’re half-expecting an eruption. You heard it here first.

Last week, I went on a delightful walk along the old Harborough to Peterborough railway line with Roger Woolnough and Jim Hankers. It’s now wildly overgrown and crosses the River Welland several times, but the bridges are long gone, which provided just the right mix of adventure and potential personal injury. We were relieved to stumble into The George Inn at Ashley for a well-earned pint on what turned out to be the hottest day of the year so far.

Later that week, we hosted an England v Germany BBQ with friends. The food was delicious, the swim refreshing… the football? Utter tripe. England were hopeless. I’ve officially withdrawn my support. I could’ve done better in my slippers.

Jamie and Harley are now “just friends” (whatever that means). Apparently, there was a falling out, likely linked to Jamie’s rather blunt attitude to romance. Harley, ever charming and chatty, is still a welcome visitor in our home, but I suspect her patience may be wearing thin. She flew off to Crete with friends on Thursday, fingers crossed, she returns relaxed, tanned, and slightly more tolerant of our boy’s cluelessness.

She has become part of the furniture here, in a good way, and it would be a shame to lose her. Jamie, take note.

Right, must dash off to pick up Sarah. And yes, I must remember to book those driving lessons… before she gets any ideas about me being her personal chauffeur forever.