Seren

This morning just isn't happening for me...I'm feeling about as dull and grey as the weather outside, so while the kids are happily occupied and the caffeine I've just had starts to percolate through my system, maybe I'll just blether on about the garden until I can be arsed to get up, get showered and take the kids out. I'm sure you're thrilled.

( In glorious technicolour... )

It's hot. And sticky. Or it was - until I woke up at some point this morning, too hot to sleep, and then suddenly felt the temperature drop as the rain began. Oh, sweet release...And then there was the flash flooding, which was fun, followed by thunder but no discernable lightning (shame).

So what do you do when it's too hot to go out until after dinner and the kids need entertained? Or wet? Well...

1. Start potty training Rosie. This is going fairly well so far (in spite of the incident at Sainsburys today), being used to using the toilet when she doesn't have a nappy on anyway. Now we're contending with the addition of underwear and clothing. Being far more open to bribery than Tom, she's responding well to the offer of a gold star every time goes to the toilet (so she's easily pleased, too...), with the added incentive of keeping her Peppa Pig underwear nice and dry. We wouldn't want Peppa to get dirty now, would we? Yesterday Rosie proudly informed me that she'd made a snake. A snake, I asked? A poo snake, she said. In the toilet.

Ah.

Delightful.

Tom's also started with his training at night now - no nappies at all anymore, and we started off well with two dry nights and then Mr Seren came home and Tom wet the bed.

2. Garden, with added hosepipe fun. I've been eaten alive by midgies as I've been working on the flowerbeds and mowing the lawn with my brand new lawnmower (that actually cuts the grass! My lawn has stripes!), but it's all looking good so far. And after the kids are in bed, I've been waging war with Teh Ebil Slug Overlords as they set about their evening munch. They're not as cute and cuddly as bunny rabbits, that's for sure. My neighbours probably think I'm bonkers, wandering about the garden at 10pm with a trowel and bowl to flick the slugs into, but as I'm being all organic it's my only option at the moment - I've not had much luck with organic slug barriers in the past and haven't had the chance to try different organic alternatives yet. Is it beer that's a tried and tested remedy? I'm not sure I could put enough out, short of having a distillery onsite.

Rosie has very helpfully been picking all the blueberries to illustrate the fact that they're not ripe yet. No shit. And Tom's discovered the joys of putting out imaginery fires with actual water. And the fact that Mungo hates water. And that Rosie loves the stuff.

3. Take the kids and dogs to the park when it starts to cool off so they can run off some steam. And Mungo can give himself heatstroke because somebody brought two (gorgeous) spaniels to do the same with one of those dog tennis ball launchers that flings the ball miles away (candleshoe  gave me one for Eddie, but I didn't take it with me this time...). So Mungo got overexcited chasing the other dog and Not. Stealing. The. Ball. even though he desperately wanted to (I had to give him props for his restraint at least, it was very uncharacteristic), while Eddie had to be put on the lead because he was being a stereotypically small yappy-type dog. And then we had to wait 15 minutes in the shade while Mungo cooled down a bit, because he could only wobble around like a drunk, rather than walk. He lay on the floor panting heavily and looking otherwise dead, but with a very self-satisfied demeanour at the same time. He got awwwwwed at a lot as people walked passed.

4. And amongst other things, we did a ridiculous amount of baking. The punnet of blueberries needed used, so we made blueberry muffins. And then cinnamon swirl bread (most of which Mungo ate, sod), followed by fluffy lemon cake with homemade lemon curd for the filling (with added cream, and all gluten free too. I's proud). Who knew lemon curd was so tasty? I liked it before, but making my own has put a whole new spin on the stuff *is definitely not spooning it out of the jar*. And I've been experimenting with cheese again - I've had a go at making crowdie cheese after I found mention of the method for making it in Barbara Fairweather's Highland Heritage, that I'm reading at the moment. It's simple: just put some milk that's soured in a heavy pan and put over a low heat until the curds are formed, strain through a muslin cloth and hang to allow it to dry out thoroughly, then press the curds into a ball.

I've had varying degrees of success so far, and I think the main problem is over heating (distracted by small children trying to 'help'; not always a good thing) - it makes the curds a little rubbery. My first effort was better than the second, and in spite of the rubberiness with the last batch I tried it tastes OK - a bit bland, but mild and creamy by itself. I had some milk that got left out in the heat and went off, so it would only have gone to waste otherwise. I decided to take some photos of the process.

( The courtesy cut... )

Looking for a class in Scots Gaelic in my area, I stumbled across this:

http://www.ccgp.org.uk/

You can download the class notes and the audio for each lesson, which seems to be very helpful for beginners. I thought I'd share seeing as it seems to be an invaluable resource.

And like a local bus service, three posts come along all at the same time(ish)...

( Slight snarking, followed by practises and pictures... )

Or at least, one of Cthulu's friends does...

Seriously, I find these creatures so utterly horrifying and fascinating at the same time:


Apparently they're bryozoa.

Ding dong, the ole baggage is gone...

I'd like to say something along the lines of "and quick as a flash, she was gone again..." but no, not really. To be fair it wasn't entirely unpleasant, it's just entertaining houseguests can be exhausting after five days or so and this is the longest stay she's had yet...And I think the feeling was entirely mutual by the end of it.

Mum was relatively normal, inoffensive, and vaguely apologetic about her past behaviour in a way that only a mother can be with her daughter, I think. There were no great revelations, no details or abject apologies (and nor was I expecting them, really, but it would've been nice...), but she mentioned that she'd been so messed up that she decided she needed to get tested for dementia because she was doubting herself that much. She's fine in that respect at least. "So it turns out I was just having a nervous breakdown instead, ahahaha," she said. "Oh. Well done," I responded in kind. Thanks for letting me know.

And that was that.

So we had a very family heart to heart, where nothing and everything was given in general terms, and what was needed was taken. And everything and nothing was resolved, because it's all good now, until the next heated argument springs up and we have to have something to hold against each other...

Stiff upper lip and all that.

Really it was all a big let down, because before she arrived I was dreading it - as I usually do. And once she arrived it was a bit of an anticlimax by comparison, because I was expecting the shrillness and outrageous proclamations, but there was none of that. She was more interested in enjoying the kids, and Rosie was being very obliging with the cuddles. Mum's driving hasn't improved, but being all philosophical I don't really have much to complain about.

We shopped for shoes (by which I mean mum did, as always), we went to Largs and had ice cream and flew kites on the beach as the dogs took a swim, we took a trip to Loch Lomond and had lunch at Luss, where I'd stopped with Mr Seren on our way back from my birthday camping trip, and we took the kids to softplay and then went shopping again to take back most of the things mum had bought on the Friday (as usual).
( A wee courtesy cut for pictures... )

Now mum's gone, and as of 5am this morning, so's Mr Seren - he's off for meetings dahn sahf for pretty much the rest of the week, I think. The Big Bossy Boss has thanked Mr Seren for his understanding during such difficult circumstances but we've not really got any more of an idea of what's happening financially, as it were. He has plenty of ideas for Mr Seren to be getting on with - and finally the BBB has decided that making documentaries is a good idea again, and decent ones this time, so Mr Seren is happier with the prospect of getting back into editing. He's spent most of the time that mum's been here learning new techniques to impress the BBB with, in the hope that it will keep the momentum going (and to avoid mum).

For now, it's just another waiting game. Tom's officially on holiday now (I had to suffer the first of many sports days, along with a graduation ceremony - graduation?! For three-year-olds? Jeeesus), and we have seven glorious weeks to fill with lots of fun (and preferably inexpensive...) things to do. We were hoping to make time for some more camping trips but inevitably we're putting any plans on hold while Mr Seren's work is so up in the air, but maybe when my mother-in-law gets back from her holiday in Canada we can do a few journeys a little further afield. Thankfully her driving is nowhere near as terrifying as my mother's.

My evening constitutional with the dogs turned out to be a little more eventful than I expected...

Mr Seren usually walks the dogs these days - being all healthy (*ahem*) as he is after his health scare a while back. But he's busy and stressed at the moment, and I could do with the exercise, so I offered to do it instead tonight. I usually walk them down towards the sea or along the edge of the woods, but the midgies are out in force these days so I decided to stick to the streets instead, where there aren't so many places for the wee bastards to lurk and attack me. The scenery isn't as nice, granted, but the streets are quiet - especially this late at night - so I can still enjoy some quiet contemplation as I get some fresh air and the dogs can enjoy rooting out some different smells, at least.

As I walked up the road, towards a nice view of the sea from the clifftop, I found a cat in the road - must've just been run over and was clearly on its last legs, poor thing. It lifted its head as I crossed the road to see if it really was what I thought it was, and I think that was that for the poor bugger. Either that or he lost consciousness, or decided to play dead because of the dogs and me standing over it. From a distance I thought it was the fox because he was quite long-haired and looked bigger than he really was. But no, he was a long haired browny-black moggy, as far as I could tell in the street lights.

I knocked on the nearest door to see if the cat was theirs; nope. But the lad came out to see if he recognised it, which was decent of him. He didn't, but suggested I try the neighbour because they had several and he didn't know all of them by sight, so I thanked him and went to ask there. A woman came to the door but refused to open it at first, so I had to shout through the letterbox. She couldn't understand me so eventually opened up and I had to tell her the bad news. She was shocked and confused - some random stranger knocking on her door at 11.30 at night, telling her there was a cat lying on the road, and was it hers? Yes she did have a cat, however, fitting the description, so she stepped out of the house and I tried to warn her that it was going to be upsetting. She came out onto the street in her dressing gown and just started trembling. I put my hand on her shoulder and asked if there was anything I could do but she just ran inside the house. So I was just left on the street, Mungo trying to tie his lead in knots and Eddie looking happily vacant as usual, and me standing there, wondering what the hell to do...

The lad from the first house I went to came out again and he didn't know what the hell to do either, so I explained that the woman was very upset and suggested he go get a bag or something, so I could move the cat off the road, at least, and see if it really was dead. Her husband came out then and wanted to know where the cat was and if I'd seen anything - kind of accusatory, as if I'd done it - but the street had been quiet as I walked along it and the lad hadn't heard anything from his house. He picked the cat up and stood there looking bewildered for a bit, and then wandered up towards his front door, his wife wanting to know if the cat was really dead and the husband just looking like he didn't know what the hell was happening. So I just turned to the lad and said I'd be on my way, they obviously didn't need anyone gawking and were too stricken by grief to say if there was anything we could do, and there wasn't much else to be done anyway. I gave up on the walk and came straight home after that, leaving the husband and wife, and their neighbour hovering awkwardly in his driveway. As it happened, I saw the fox run across the road as I turned onto the street I live on.

But what a way to end the day. I just hope the cat didn't suffer too much.

Friday night postings seem to be a habit for me these days...I'm currently procrastinating because a) I'm probably supposed to be wallking the dogs tonight, and b) I'm feeling writy but I'm not quite concentrated enough to work on the Lùnasdal article I've been trying to write for...ooo, a year or so now.

So instead, I shall tell you about my day at the safari park. I know. I'm sure you're all wanting to read on with bated breath now....
( Lions and tigers and...not bears, they weren't there today... )

Well I've done my bit for charity, and it was a lot of fun too! Not least because it gave Mr Seren and I the opportunity to have an evening out the night beforehand.

( George Bush and tutus... )

All in all though, it was a good day. My mother-in-law asked if I was interested in doing any digs over the summer - she's a member of an archaeology society (having trained as an archaeologist herself) and has volunteered her services wherever they're needed and apparently they're looking out for more people to come and help too. So I said "Yes please!" (please, pretty please) - provided I can accommodate kids and husband and so on - and maybe I'll end up doing a few digs or post-excavation work for a few weekends here and there. My mother-in-law mentioned a dig going on somewhere in Lanarkshire, I think - one of the oldest (if not the oldest) settlement sites found in Britain, apparently. I wouldn't mind having me some of that. But we'll just have to see what happens.

Mmmmm cranachan...

The school was closed for a long holiday from Friday to Tuesday this week, so we've had a few days of freedom again - it's the countdown to the holidays now, so yay! On Friday we went to on a playdate with one of Tom's friends from nursery. They're both known as Thomas at the nursery, so to avoid confusion they get called by their full names, and so they call each other by their full names too. Thomas' mum was very nice, and Rosie had fun dressing up in Thomas' older sister's fancy dress clothes, which we were duly dispatched with when we went home for lunch because they don't fit Thomas' sister anymore. To be honest, I think Rosie had more fun than Tom did; he doesn't seem that keen on Thomas and never really talks about him, but they seemed to get on well enough.

Saturday was a last minute dash into town when I realised we needed to get a birthday present for one of Mr Seren's friend's offspring. I was supposed to be going to Kircudbright with my mother-in-law and the kids but forgot we'd already agreed to go to the birthday party, and it wasn't really something I could duck out of because they wanted Mr Seren to take photos of the party because they liked the ones he took at Rosie's. The kids had lots of fun, and Mr Seren's friends were very pleased with the photos from the sounds of it. And thankfully it was only a small party, so there weren't too many screaming children.

Monday was a day recovering from the party; Tom was knackered and grumpy the whole day and I even persuaded him to take a nap. Rosie dozed off too, and it would've been very relaxing had they not fallen asleep on me. I didn't dare move in case I awoke the Beasts...So Tuesday was a trip into Glasgow, just for a wander and a pointless attempt to find a pink t-shirt - I'm doing the Race For Life on Sunday and they've run out of official shirts, but ah well. I did get some sunblock, though, which naturally means I won't need it because we'll be getting thoroughly rained on instead.
( The red TARDIS, om noms and my mother doing the usual...(mild bitching ensues) )

On that note...I'll stop with the moaning and get ready to go and cast my vote in the European elections. I'm not massively keen on Europe, but if my vote means the BNP don't get a seat then I'll be a happy bunny (they leafleted the area my in-laws live in and my mother-in-law said they were promising English jobs for Real English People - so they're racist and stupid. Luckily she put it in the recycling bin before my father-in-law saw it. Although that particular rant would've been well worth seeing).

Thanks to my in-laws throwing a bit of cash my way for my 30th, I had a small splurge on some books I've had my eye on for a bit - ones that are a bit more than I'd usually pay for without knowing what was in them.

So I've just read Irish Folk Custom and Belief by Séan Ó Súilleabháin, I'm working my way through Barbara Fairweather's Highland Heritage (while I take a break from Miranda Green's Gods of the Celts - I'm a bit Gaul'd out), and Dáibhi Ó Cróinín's A New History of Ireland (Volume One) would've landed on my hallway floor with a heavy thud this morning, if it had fit through the letterbox. It's huge!

But I have to say, I'm really impressed with Ó Súilleabháin's book. If I'd've had enough to buy his A Handbook of Irish Folklore - which is extortionately priced at the moment - I would've got that instead. But this one was cheaper and a preview on googlebooks intrigued me enough to want to see the whole thing, and in a way I'm glad because I think it makes for a good introductory sort of book.

( Irish Folk Custom and Belief )

I've just had a knock at the door from a neighbour who lives across from me, wanting to know if the cat pictured on some handouts she was carrying was ours. She was asking around because she was taking the cat to the vets tomorrow to be rehomed - they're moving house at some point and she's been feeding the greedy sod for months, so the very nice, chatty and strongly perfumed lady wanted to make sure she'd be looked after, but also she thought she should check just to make sure she wasn't effectively stealing someone's cat. She couldn't take the cat with her, she said, because it was scaring her own cats - mugging them for their food.

So apparently 'Daisy' comes round to the Strongly Perfumed Lady's house at 4am every night (or morning, depending on your perspective) and cries until she gets fed, and then comes throughout the day for more. She's been giving 'Daisy' up to eight pouches a day, the Strongly Perfumed Lady says, because she seems so hungry, and she puts up her wee paw and looks so earnest and pathetic. Feed me! I'm wasting away! And while she's been mugging the other cats for food, 'Daisy' has also been defending them from the Evil Neighbourhood Cat, Hobbs, so 'Daisy' is rewarded for beating it up.

Yes, it's our cat. Although when she initially asked if I recognised him in the pictures, my first thought was "Oh God, what's he done? And how expensive will it be?" I was wondering why he was looking a little rotund these days...

Grumble has been living a second life ("She's such a character, so she is, how can I refuse?") as Daisy the lady cat. (Does this look like a Daisy to you?)



Me neither. We called him Grumble because he's never seemed too impressed by anything since we got him. He almost ended up as 'Zorro', but aside from the fact that he's not heroic or dashing, it seemed a little obvious given his markings. And it's a silly name.

Since last summer he's been pretty much feral, and happy as a pig in shit about it, too. Relatively speaking, anyway (he has an image to maintain). There aren't too many cats in the neighbourhood, but there is extensive woodland close by with lots of small, furry things living in it, and apparently there are also neighbours who are very generous with the Whiskas. He stays out all day, waits on the garden wall to get fed at night time before Mr Seren goes to bed, and then buggers off again. Every month or so, Grumble decides he wants to come in, so in he comes and sits patiently and stares at me until I trim all the knots of fur off around his mane (by the time he comes in, attempts at grooming are pointless - in fact I've never had to groom him really, because previously he's homed in on strongly perfumed ladies of a certain age in the neighbourhood, who will fuss and coddle him, and bathe and perfume him and then give his fur a gentle blow dry until he looks like a puffball - sadly for him, there's been a distinct lack of perfumed shampoo this time round) and remove the odd tick that he picks up now and then. Then he treads and purrs furiously for half an hour, whilst getting down to the serious business of having some fuss, and then he sleeps for three days or so. He won't even come downstairs unless he needs to use the litter tray, and will mug Eddie for food if necessary before having to go downstairs to get fed, in case it means he gets thrown out. Occasionally, however, he'll leave our bedroom to go and torment Eddie, who tends to lurk with Mr Seren in his office. Mungo's finally learnt to keep his distance and generally just hovers and looks nervous and excited at the same time, until Grumble gets bored and goes out and goes back to mugging the neighbourhood cats.

We noticed he wasn't hanging around as much recently, and according to the nice neighbours over the road, who we've been having playdates with for the kids, Grumble spends all day asleep in the long grass in their garden. In fact, it's pretty obvious he does because there are two Grumble-shaped dents in the long grass, which he evidently alternates between, for variety. And since our last playdate over there, when I found him in the garden, he's decided that it's OK for him to wander into their house whenever a door or window's open. Apparently they've also been feeding him treats now, even though Helen's allergic to him and she doesn't want him in the house (he's so lovely though, she says - though I suspect it's her husband who's been sneaking the treats).

Just the other day I noticed Grumble sitting in the porch of Strongly Perfumed Lady's house, next to a food bowl. I'd mentioned it to Mr Seren because their house has been up for sale for quite a while. "Do you think we should say something, in case they take him with them?" I said to him. We were still debating the issue; would it seem rude? "Hello, erm...Please don't steal our cat, but thanks for looking after him..."

Such is the hospitality he's been receiving at the Strongly Perfumed Lady's house, he's apparently started bringing Yoda round for dinner, too (she thought Yoda was a she too, and possibly pregnant because of his paunch). We thanked the Strongly Perfumed Lady and assurred her that Grumble (and Yoda) was being fed and looked after, and that she really didn't need to feed him. But she insisted she still would, y'know, just to look out for him too...But maybe a little less than she's been giving him.

I think I might have to get her a bottle of wine and maybe a nice box of something as a thank you.

We came, we saw, we got rained on...

And had a lovely time, too. The weather forecast said it was supposed to be dry and sunny, but naturally Scotland had other ideas on that front (which, with hindsight, shouldn't have been a surprise, really). And obviously I forgot to bring a coat, so that added extra excitement.

Before I go on, I'll give a link to the whole set of photos if you want to have a look. There are a few (OK, more than a few) under the cut but I've tried to keep it down, and there are plenty more to be seen.

( The fun stuff... )

...Frolicking with ice cubes in the sunshine, apparently...



I'm never sure whether I should be concerned about the slightly manic expression on Mungo's face whenever I take a photo; it always seems to say, "I could eat you alive if I wanted to..."

But anyway. Happiness is also a camping trip in Argyll for my birthday, as far as I'm concerned. YAY!

We're setting off tomorrow morning, with a slight detour to drop Eddie off at the in-laws before taking the long way round to get to the campsite at Lochgilphead. Seeing as we're staying beside a loch, I'm glad I bought some insect repellant the other week (I've not used it yet, but I got it just in case I decided gardening at 10pm was a good idea again. Last year the midgies ate me alive). Though Mr Seren is laughing knowingly at my naivety on that front. As if insect repellent will deter the Highland midgies...Highland midgies laugh in the face of insect repellent. Ahahahahaha.

So we'll be taking the kids and Mungo camping for the first time ever, and while we're at it we'll be taking a gander around Kilmartin Glen. Mostly. So there will be no glorious lie in for me on my birthday, because the kids will no doubt be waking up as soon as the sun starts poking its head above the horizon. But given the location, I think I'll manage....

FREEDOM!!!

In just about week I turn 30, which means in just over two weeks, dynigirl also turns the big three-oh. And naturally, seeing as dyni's all organised (and sociable) and ev'ryfing, and I'm not, she's got a whole birthday party planned towards the end of June to celebrate her big day with family and friends coming together from all over the place.

So I've booked my flights to get there and back, with a little help from candleshoe and mudrat doing a bit of generous taxi-ing me about the place while I'm dahn sahf, and fingers crossed (assuming I can get the hang of online-checkin for the airport) I'm all set for a weekend of general drunkeness without the kids...Mr Seren will be looking after them (and possibly begging his parents to help out by the end of it...they're on full alert) while I'm off partying, and it's the first time I'll be away from them all doing selfish grown-up things selfishly. Hurrah!

Next weekend I was invited down to Kircudbright (home of much of the original Wicker Man, as it was filmed then) by my mother-in-law, with the kids in tow. The in-laws have a caravan down there, and the caravan park is open from around Easter until October and they've been telling us we can go there for ages. Mr Seren isn't keen, having been there before (with traumatic consequences thanks to his stereotypically psycho-ex-girlfriend), but I'd like to go so my mother-in-law said she'd take me and the kids. I think she thinks familiarising the kids with the place will make it easier for her to take them there by herself as well, so that's all good. I get to see where the Wicker Man was filmed, revisit a few archaeological sites I went to on field trips (ten years ago now...almost depressing...) without boring Mr Seren to tears (the kids will just have to lump it...), and sightsee round a very picturesque part of the Scottish Borders with potential for letting my mother-in-law have free reign with the kids there in future. But seeing as it's my birthday I declined for next weekend so I can spend it with Mr Seren (and maybe dump the kids on the in-laws on the Saturday, so we can go out and celebrate and then have a glorious lie in before having to go and pick them up...), and it looks like we'll be going the next weekend after instead, which is a Bank Holiday.

The weekend after that I've offered to join my mother-in-law and youngest niece in the Race For Life, which is a 5km run, jog or walk in aid of Cancer Research. I'm guessing it will be more of a stroll considering our level of fitness and the fact that my mother-in-law is both tiny (and therefore has considerably shorter legs than I do) and has been recently diagnosed as being in the early stages of rheumatoid arthritis in her feet, but it's all for a good cause.

The weekend after that is free, for now, with dyni's party the weekend after, followed by the end of term for Tom and my mother coming to visit the weekend after that. Everything's fine with the alleged murder, by the way. She still doesn't know (or won't say, I'm not sure, to be honest) how the guy died, but no further action has been taken by her employers, she doesn't have to work nights anymore, and while the police are supposed to interview her about the events that took place, they haven't yet so it looks highly unlikely that they view it as being mum's responsibility as to cause of death. Obviously they're not all that interested. She's completed her course of counselling about it all and says she's feeling much better.

Earlier in the week Mr Seren got a roof rack for the car (I smugly pointed out that he's now officially Middle-Class Dad, although we debated whether or not we needed to get a Volvo, rather than a Ford Focus to truly qualify for Middle-Class Dad-dom), and today we took a trip to Glasgow to get a tent from Outdoor World! (yes, really) with a view to going on a few camping trips around the Highlands over the summer; given my suddenly busy schedule it looks like mid-June will be the earliest we can do this unless Kircudbright gets rescheduled, but it looks like Argyll will be the first port of call with the intention of visiting Kilmartin Glen and Dunadd at the least. I's excited...With the roof rack we'll be able to fit all the gear we'll need and have space for Mungo secured in the boot to come with us. We debated about taking Eddie too, but Mr Seren's conclusion was that now he's more advanced in years, he's like the embarrassing Granny you can't take anywhere. He's not that bad yet, really, but he can be a yappy sod and camping in close quarters with strangers probably won't make him too socially acceptable in that sense, so we'll be asking the in-laws to take him while we're away. I think spending whole days walking up and down hills or mountains may be a bit too much for his joints, anyway, and he laps up the fuss (and treats) he gets at the in-laws so he won't be too upset. He's got beyond the nervous crapping all over their house, at least...

So that's all the stuff we've got planned for the summer so far. I missed out on the local Highland Games last week (we'd been at a 40th birthday party the night before, and I was a little mummied out so despatched Mr Seren and the kids to descend on the in-laws for the afternoon so I could get on with the garden if the weather held) but I might be able to take trip over to Bute to see the games there if the timing is right. I'd like to go just once, at least. There's a garden centre at the local estate on Bute that specialises in traditional plants as well, which I'd like to take a look at during the summer, and there's plenty of other stuff to be doing while Tom's away from nursery. I've applied to get him into the morning sessions when he starts back in August so we have the afternoons to actually do things so we're not so stuck at home during term-time, but pretty much everyone else has applied to switch as well, so it's going to be potluck. For now, the prospect of summer is one of glorious freedom by comparison, and it's something I'm really looking forward to.

I celebrated Bealltainn on Thursday, but I'm still digesting things so I might wait a little for a post about that, or maybe do it after this one. I'm a little conflicted about things, in some ways, even though it all went well. Or seemed to...But I'll get the cute wee otters and fish out of the way first.

Thursday was all about preparing for and then celebrating Bealltainn and Friday was very much a day for me and the kids. Seeing as the school was closed for May Day it meant we could take a trip into Glasgow on the train, for a nice lunch and a spot of shopping - mainly getting me some summery clothes and taking a dress back to exchange for something that suited me; mum bought it for me on her visit a few weeks back as an early birthday present, but evidently she thinks the latest fashion in sack cloth with added frill is what I really need. Passive aggressive criticism of my fashion sense (such as it is) from a woman who used to skip down the street in a duffel coat and bright yellow sou'wester. Marvelous.

But anyway, I got some short-sleeved shirts, a verrrry tasteful skirt, pair of jeans and a suitably sensible three-quarter length cardigan that was on sale, so that should be me all set for summer. If we have one.

Tom's been in an odd mood lately, and spent most of the day wanting daddy. I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that Mr Seren's been working so much in the past few weeks, and he's been going away for meetings a lot. Mr Seren was supposed to go back dahn sahf for a meeting on Wednesday but instead he's going this Tuesday and Tom seems to be waiting to 'lose' daddy again, so we decided that it was a good idea to have a big day out today and have some quality time together. Tom was very pleased with the idea and decided he wanted to go and see some fish, so the Loch Lomond Aquatic Centre it was, then.

( The sinister pike, the otters, and the wee gobshite... )

My father-in-law's out of hospital now after having whatever it was that was bleeding so much cauterized. He was kept in for most of the day today for observation to make sure there were no further nosebleeds, and (i suspect) after a lot of complaining about being thoroughly bored was allowed to come home.

I have a book review to do, but first some pictures from my walk yesterday. I took the kids and the dogs to the woods to see how the bluebells were coming along (and got politely told off for bringing the dogs to the nursery; apparently I'm not allowed. Oops):( Bluebells... )

And now for the book review (illustrated this time):
( Highland Smugglers, Second Sight and Superstitions by Francis Thompson )

And finally, I should say a big thank you to erynn999 for saying such lovely things about my website on her blog a few days ago; I very much appreciate your kind words, Erynn, and the support of those who commented as well. Thanks to all :)

No no, I'm not going mad (and I don't own a parrot); this was an actual subject on one of those Jerry Springer-type shows - a tamer, very British and pretending to be high brow version, but basically the same nonetheless. I'd done the kids some lunch yesterday, and was getting things ready to get Tom to nursery, so I walked into the front room and saw the title on the screen as I searched for Tom's shoes.

Oh it's awful Trisha, every time my 'usband comes into the room she attacks 'im!

Respectfully, dear, I would suggest your parrot's psychotic behaviour might have more to do with the fact that you're using it as a replacement for the children you never had, or have flown the nest, than anything to do with your parrot's sexuality. Step away from the parrot.

( A little CR side ramble, with added gardening... )

My father-in-law was admitted to hospital yesterday - he works at a hospital, so at least he was conveniently located at the time. He's been getting a lot of nosebleeds lately and started having one in front of a doctor who commented on the fact that he'd seen him having a lot lately, so ordered Mr Seren-in-law to a cubicle to get checked out. The bleeding wouldn't stop and he was found to have dangerously low blood pressure (due to blood loss, apparently) so he was admitted to a ward and referred to an ear, nose and throat specialist. More than that I don't know just yet, but we should find out later today. Your thoughts and prayers wouldn't go amiss in the meantime, though.