Acquired a new challenge today, when my toddler looked up at me with deep blue eyes and asked if he could have a pyjama (pygmy)goat. I must admit, I was a little stumped for words (excuse the pun). At first I said no, then once I had listed the reasons why, and he then understood, I started questioning why I could not have one. When I say I, its only because I will be left to feed it, water it, train it (can they be trained?), and probably drag it to the vet. By the time we got half way round the zoo, I had called hubby and had him on the case of investigating viability of getting a pygmy goat.
Having spoken to one of the goat keepers, they are remarkably simple. Feed them and thats it. They are affectionate and very good with kids. Now, anyone that knows me knows the last thing I need on my plate is another fur, feather or finned variety of attention seeking creature. Especially one which is not going to repay me with goats cheese.
For now the jury is out, I will think long and hard. I have to keep reminding myself of the goat encounter at Budapest Zoo in July.
Monday, 29 September 2008
Saturday, 27 September 2008
Made it through layer 1 of Venezuela
Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets. Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.Am sick of sweets.
Question is
are sainsbury's psychic? Or do they have a spy in my fridge? They have sent me some vouchers for Martini. Do they know I am running low? Last time I checked there was deffo enough in there to survive 3 REALLY bad days with the kids.
Road Kill
For a woman that now wants to live in the country, I am awfully sqeamish. I have only just realisted this, due to a fairly nasty experience yesterday, and I wasnt even the victim.
To set the scene, I am driving along, doing less than the speed limit, one kid asleep in the back, the other keenly admiring the view. I see a pheasant by the side of the road. It starts walking out into the road. I brake, but realise if I brake any harder then the car behind me is going to be reading my dashboard. Poor pheasant is history. Parts of it fly over the bonnet, some parts are lobbed over into the oncoming traffic.
"Uh Oh Mummy" says the boy from the back. Tell him no problem, my voice must have been a little shaky as he tells me "me happy". I cannot respond, feel physically sick. He falls asleep soon after. I am driving, but am crawling along in the slow lane. Start to get back to my senses and realise that the bonnet has a few feathers left on it. Ring up hubby, agree to meet at duck pond close to our house, so he can check out the front of the car and clean it off. Love him, he arrives soon after with cleaning supplies and starts to check out the front of the car. Luckily no bits of bird remain. He can see the impact point, and dusts it off.
Kids both asleep in the car at this stage, so we chat for a bit then I decide as I am less shaky, time to buy the fruit and veg for the weekend. Fruit and veg shop is the other side of the duck pond. Park up in front, leaving kids in the car. Fill up the basket and head to the checkout, am gobsmacked to find a leaflet placed at the counter advertising wild game, delivered to your door. Pay quickly, dont even stop to put the bags in the back, head home as fast as possible.
Sorry pheasant. You are my first ever roadkill and I hope its the last. Very sorry indeed. As penance, I will take you off my Christmas shopping list.
To set the scene, I am driving along, doing less than the speed limit, one kid asleep in the back, the other keenly admiring the view. I see a pheasant by the side of the road. It starts walking out into the road. I brake, but realise if I brake any harder then the car behind me is going to be reading my dashboard. Poor pheasant is history. Parts of it fly over the bonnet, some parts are lobbed over into the oncoming traffic.
"Uh Oh Mummy" says the boy from the back. Tell him no problem, my voice must have been a little shaky as he tells me "me happy". I cannot respond, feel physically sick. He falls asleep soon after. I am driving, but am crawling along in the slow lane. Start to get back to my senses and realise that the bonnet has a few feathers left on it. Ring up hubby, agree to meet at duck pond close to our house, so he can check out the front of the car and clean it off. Love him, he arrives soon after with cleaning supplies and starts to check out the front of the car. Luckily no bits of bird remain. He can see the impact point, and dusts it off.
Kids both asleep in the car at this stage, so we chat for a bit then I decide as I am less shaky, time to buy the fruit and veg for the weekend. Fruit and veg shop is the other side of the duck pond. Park up in front, leaving kids in the car. Fill up the basket and head to the checkout, am gobsmacked to find a leaflet placed at the counter advertising wild game, delivered to your door. Pay quickly, dont even stop to put the bags in the back, head home as fast as possible.
Sorry pheasant. You are my first ever roadkill and I hope its the last. Very sorry indeed. As penance, I will take you off my Christmas shopping list.
From the woman that brought you
how to get a potato to successfully take root in your car door, I bring you new tidings. Hubby is away this weekend, somewhere deepest darkest middle Englandshire, having a pissup in an Elizabethan mansion to celebrate a friends 40th. I have had the day from hell with the kids.
I would quite happily have swapped today for a root canal extraction, combined with having my fingernails removed without painkillers or sedation. I got through it with gritted teeth, at one stage telling the boy that I was not going to tell him off again, as that would have been the 20th time that hour. Instead, I have been paitiently awaiting 7pm, when they are both in bed, to raid the snack cupboard. Imagine my surprise when I find nothing but a half soggy packet of rich tea biscuits, which are tinged with a fine veneer of musty cupboard taste. Decide that the biscuits will probably last me until I find something more substantial. I screamed silently when I realise that there are not many options available to me, and, as I am on my own with the kids I cannot pop out for chocolate. Toy with the idea of popping next door and asking them to get me some chocolate, but dont want to appear too desperate. Which, ofcourse, I am.
My only option is the attached picture. Desperate times call for (decidedly) desperate and dodgy measures. This is the contents of a pack of sweets which I remember purchasing with Eva in the big Apple in 2007. Feb 2007 to be precise. As you can see, they have had better days, definately judging by the sweating. They are also all stuck together. Whilst peeling back the packet, (which by the way struggled to the last not to be prized open, how rude!) I felt that I made a wrong career choice and should have been a forensic scientist.
I am going a little arty on this one, I call it South America, in part reason because it resembles the continent, partly because I find that this is a new low, not even in the same ball park as the evening which was witness to "the cooking chocolate fest".
I dont quite know how long it will take me to try and munch my way through this hazardous continent. I can only imagine that I will have an adventure and will need false teeth afterward. Bring on the mouth ulcers.
May even resort to soaking them overnight in a cup of water, so, should I can just have an alternative type of juice tomorrow am before another giddy day.
Wednesday, 17 September 2008
Starve a fever
Hmm, MLP had a very high fever, 40 degrees, rushed home to be with her. I do remember the old addage "starve a fever, feed a cold". I am hoping she had a cold as she ate me out of house and home today. She has eaten more than 2 adults. Particularly memorable was the hissyfit she had when we cleared (what we thought) were the leftovers, from the table and she howled like a hyena. Apparently, after almost an hour of eating, she still had a little room left. I am thinking it may be a mediteranean cold whereby she eats for hours, has a siesta and then (please God, No!) parties til dawn.
A total lookalikey
Had a training course for the past two days. Had the absolute joy of having a total dead ringer for Peter Andre on the course. As he was an external fee paying client, therefore, I could, ofcourse, not say anything. Every time we had to do group activities all I heard Insania and Mysterious Girl floating round my head. Genuinely nice guy and when on day two of the training he mentioned about the likeness I breathed an enourmous sigh of relief, then proceeded to tap Peters greatest hits out.
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