Retrospective Blog 2/3 - Bonfires' Night

When I was young, bonfires' night was always a favourite. We'd have a big old blaze of deadwood and odd remnants of furniture. My Dad would carefully work his way through a box of fireworks which childhood memories recall as a long and spectacular display. We'd frantically wave sparklers around until the sparkle burnt out and the glowing metal bent in our flailing hands. At the time our cooker was a coal fired Aga which spread heat through the kitchen floor and into the room. It was pretty much inevitable that we'd have jacket potatoes that had been slow cooked to perfection. The following day would see me raking through the bonfire ashes, trying to coax it back into life and hunting down the spent rocket shells as trophies of the night's fun.

As I grew up, bonfires' night took a bit of a back seat. We moved house, away from the convenient back garden and the Aga which so suited traditional celebrations. Later I went to college and made do with watching Battersea fireworks display from the roofs of our student digs. It wasn't quite the same.

Then, moving up to Liverpool for my first job, bonfires' night got so much better. The evening would start at Keith's Bar before swaying gently with the crowd to Sefton Park for the big display, making slightly inebriated oohs and aahhs. Then on to one of the old park mansions, run as a commune and putting on it's own display - an enormous bonfire of planks and furniture and a comically small fizzle of fireworks that could barely compete with the heat and light of the blaze behind it. As an adult the occasion had suddenly become less about the explosions and more about gathering together with friends to drink, sing and enjoy the company.

Cambridge only reinforced that. When we bought our first house just in time for November's celebrations, eighty friends packed our garden, trying to strike a balance between singeing themselves by the bonfire and freezing up by the house. Almost without exception every one of them had come with packs of fireworks - it took three of us over two hours to work through the rockets and roman candles. At one in the morning a frantic search was carried out for the last remaining sober driver who could help collect a large unwanted cupboard which was just right for keeping the fire burning bright that little bit longer.

Now we're out on the edge of the fens, with young children of our own and bonfires' night has changed again.

Last year we bought a very small pack of fireworks to see how William and Becky would respond to them. Not too surprisingly William very quickly decided he didn't like the unexpected noises and we called a halt before he could get that idea lodged in his head. This year we thought we'd try again - I'm looking forward to them both being old enough to come along to the fantastically well organised Cambridge City display. After a couple of fireworks, William started to ask what kind was going to come next, and by the end he was asking for 'the sparkly one' or 'the green one'. Even Becky joined in, standing on the window ledge inside the caravan and watching me setting off rockets. We used up a pack and a half of fireworks (this year's and the remnants of the previous year which had been languishing on top of a cupboard) and every one was happy. Especially William's proud/pyromaniac dad.

Retrospective Blog 1/3 - Halloween

We planted the seeds, grew two impressively healthy pumpkins after a couple of false starts, hollowed them out and made tasty if rather surprisingly spicy soup. Then I managed to make this with the help of a template from the interwebs (you didn't think I was that artistic did you?).

 

Not bad for a couple of seeds!

Assassin's Trousers

We need to find a shop that sells Assassin's Trousers. It's amazing to discover just how noisy a normal pair of trousers can be. Jeans, chinos, it doesn't matter - they’re all equally loud.

If you don’t believe me, try the following experiment. Get a small 18 month old child that is teething (parents of young children might be able to see where this is going). Place said child in a cot where you hope desperately that it will spend an hour or two catching up on the sleep it is so sorely missing. Sit next to child making shushing noises, patting it fitfully and (if you're brave) singing old McDonald until you run out of sensible animals. For this purpose lions are quite normal farmyard animals. However I can't quite decide what noise a gnu makes so that’s where the line gets drawn.

At some point you should find you’re in the enviable position of sitting in silence next to a rumpled ball of sleeping toddler. At last! Enjoy the moment. Soak in the calm after the storm of tears and tantrums and cries of ‘teef’, ‘teef’ with one hand in a dribbly mouth (theirs, not yours).

Now try to stand up. In silence. Without waking the baby.

If your child is like ours, teething sleep is not deep. The slightest noise that suggests that Comforting Parent is about to leave will wake them instantly. Shushing, patting and Old McDonald’s entire menagerie will be required all over again. The fear can keep a sane parent rooted to the spot for hours, wondering if it might be easier to sleep right there next to the bed. Even though it's actually 10am. But no, it’s time to go and let them rest.

It’s only when you're praying for the absolutely silent exit to the safety of the front room (and a stiff drink, 10am be damned) that you’ll discover that everyday sorts of trousers are surprisingly, distressingly noisy. That first moment of straightening your legs in preparation for a tip-toed dance to the exit is a symphony of strange little noises that you never knew simple material could make. One hurried step could return you both back to square one.

That’s where assassin’s trousers come in. They must have them. Trousers for assassins. Surely the need to be able to creep around without a noise must have led to advances in silent trouser technology? Especially if your professional career (and indeed life) depend on it?

So where can I buy a pair? I’m only asking because I've been stuck here next to the cot for three days now and the supply of rusks has run out

Sunshine - in Spots

 

I've heard a few people comment on the 'terrible' summer we've had. The flowers, fruit, vegetables and (ahem) nettles disagree. So do I. It's certainly been unpredictable - the barbecues we promised never quite materialised. But in between the unscheduled showers it's been rather good. So long as we've been happy to take opportunities when they come, we've had some lovely days out and about in Cambridgeshire. From Milton Maize Maze to Wimpole Hall, from Denny Abbey to the Big Weekend Parker's Piece, the rain has held off and a good time (and ice-cream) has been had by all. That's ignoring the easy trips to the park, the local paddling pool and up to the river to watch the boats.

All in all, it's been rather a good summer. We could have done without a couple of colds and it would have nice to be building a house but it's hard to worry about these things when you're taking it easy outside.

 

Here are some late pickings from the garden - potatoes, plums, broccoli, raspberries and eggs. That's pretty much a meal all in itself.

Stud Locator

We're doing a little bit of re-organisation in the caravan. Will has been in a proper bed for some time and Becky is ready to do the same. They're on holiday with their mum and grandparents in Scotland right now, sharing a bedroom and loving it. They go to bed full of giggles and chatting to each other until sleep overtakes them.

I, on the other hand, am in the caravan with a bunch of 3x2", a saw and a couple of sheets of MDF. Whilst the rest of the family enjoy their holiday I'm moving bedrooms around so that the kids can share a room at home.

To help the job, and in the vague hope that I could avoid drilling through a mains cable, I bought a stud locator. So far with relatively thin caravan walls it appears to work well so I'm happy with my purchase.

Except...

Except when I got it I carefully put it away so the kids wouldn't find it and wreck it. Now I can't find it. I would see if I could buy a stud locator locator, but I'm afraid I might loose it.

Retrospective Blog..

 

Harvest came and went surprisingly suddenly this year and shortly afterwards we zoomed up to Scotland to visit 'Ness parents so this event went uncommented:

Like any small boy, William loves big tractors (almost as much as train!, train! and hello airplane!). So when the combine came to do the field next to us, I took him out to watch them setting it up. To my great shame in the two years we've been here, I've not managed to say hello to the guys that farm the fields next to us. So I took the opportunity to say hello to Gary (bossman) and Rob (combine driver) whilst William attempted to take the wheel off one of the trailers.

As the combine was about to set off, Gary kindly asked "Does he (William) want to have a ride?". He's only two, and wouldn't remember it so we didn't want to get in their way as they got on with the job. Despite telling him this, Gary was insistent that it wasn't any trouble and stopped Rob. Of course Will would love to sit in any vehicle he can, so we found ourselves climbing into the cab for a ride (glass enclosed and air-conditioned - it wasn't like that when I was a lad).

Rob was wonderful (his grandson is also two, so I suspect he knows) and happily worked his way around the field with two extra passengers. William sat on my lap on his best behaviour - he didn't once ask for the keys - and stared down at the machinery below us. He loved the experience and I couldn't be more grateful for our little trip.

Of course, as predicted, the next day Will had no recollection of where he had been, but I've got the photo to show him when he's older.

It looks like the gremlins aren't being fed enough. These are the things that are sorely in need of mending right now :

Push chair	One bent axle
Toaster	Only cooks one side
Video Recorder	Won't wake up
Camera Lens	Out of focus
Cell Phone	Not recovered from bath incident (glug)
Caravan Floor	As straight as a bouncy castle
Car undertray	Hanging loose
Remote car key fob	No response
Son	Projectile vomiting

Of all of these, the most important and most distressing is the last. First Born Son has no symptoms other than the obvious (oh dear me, it's obvious allright), and is suprisingly happy given that his body has learned a whole new trick that's keeping him awake at night.

All of the others are survivable, except for the fact that we can't record Doctor Who. Ever get the feeling that life is getting on top of you?

Cough

Cough, splutter, hack, hack..

Little jobs here and there, but no energy whatsoever, with all of us gripped by a rather malicious cold. First born son and beautiful daughter are no doubt suffering the same headaches, stiff joints and hot-behind-the-eyeballs symptoms, but have not yet discovered how to tell us the full gory details. We can see the snot without them having to learn to speak. We can see the snot from a long way away. Buy shares in tissues.

Luckily they are both remarkably stoical in the face of illness, and it's only when they want to sleep but can't that they need us to make things better. Dad definitely gets the best part of the deal here, as I'm the only one who can take the full range of prescription drugs without having to consider whether I'm too young or breast feeding. If you have ever breast fed, you'll know just how many innocent products say somewhere on the packet:

"if you are pregnant or breast feeding, please consult your doctor before using this product"

Once you discount those, you're basically left with water and jam, neither of which have been known to have that much effect.

Unfortunately, even prescription drugs don't do much about the very disturbed nights, so I'll write up some of our little victories later.

Rather Busy

The reason for our silence in the last few weeks is quite simple. We're very proud to introduce Rebecca Grace, born on 8th December and weighing 6lbs 2oz. She's a lovely little girl even if she hasn't yet got the hang of going to sleep when everyone else has. Mother, brother and dad are all well if a little shell-shocked by a busy Christmas visiting family and friends with a new born in tow.

Monkey!

 

I was going to put up a picture of the 'repairs' I've done on the shower in the caravan. The plastic it's made out of is old, yellowing and rather brittle. When the caravan was used irregularly for the previous owners' holidays it was certainly up to the job. Now that we've been showering regularly for over a year of continuous occupation, the cracks are showing.

Literally.

The disturbing sign of leakage isn't wet feet or musty smells. Instead the chipboard that the floors are made out of starts to sag where the water has penetrated them and softened the glue. These little dips that bounce as you walk over them act as a map showing where the shower has sprung yet another leak.

So, knowing that plastic like this can only be stripped out and replaced, and that a specially caravan sized shower will no doubt cost way too much, I've botched it. Fibreglass repair tape and resin used to build and repair small boats does a fantastic job of holding the edges together and keeping the water in place. It's not pretty - not even slightly - rough and browning as the resin reacts with daylight. But it works, so I'm happy.

However, having taken a photo to share online, I realised just how ugly it looks. So instead here is a picture of Monkey, one of William's favourite toys who unexpectedly got thrown into the bath and has had to be given a seat to dry out again. 

Harvest time

This time of year is an absolute favourite. We both grew up working on farms and bringing in the harvest was a great job.

The combines are out, running on past sunset until the dew comes down and makes the grain too damp to store. Trailing behind them like lost puppies are the tractors and trailers waiting for the auger to swing up from the side of the combine - ready to unload again.

I couldn't help smiling today as I was walking back from the village and stopped so William could watch the big old combine starting a new field. Even in the face of modern farming techniques and mechanisation everyone helps on the harvest, keeping every tractor, trailer, combine, grain blower and shovel moving. True to form the tractor following the combine was being driven by a skinny teenager, sitting proud in the cab and obviously full of the importance of his job. I bet the radio was on loud.

Now the air is damp with dew and the bats are out chasing insects. The smell of dusty straw is sweet and mist is coming up from the fields. Time for bed.