Words from a Bird

Apologies for the lateness of today's ramblings.  Yesterday did not really go as planned whatsoever... It started with good intentions.  I wanted to go and see the famous Hippie Market at Es Cana, and had forcibly dragged five reluctant family members along with me for the ride. I have never seen so many beards and tie dye t-shirts in my life, and coupled with the overwhelming smell of joss sticks and weed, it was altogether quite an interesting experience.  Naturally, nothing was bought by the other five, but I managed to buy a couple of bracelets which will probably last till I get on the plane, such is the level of workmanship. The other reason to go to Es Cana was so that some of the more energetic of us could do some watersports.  This did not include me, I have to say.  I stopped going further than my knees into the sea circa 1975 when a certain shark made its appearance.  My dad was very fond of saying that he wouldn't go into the sea because of 'that naught

As you all know by now, I am a very keen on Pilates, so when one of the hotel entertainment team came round yesterday telling us that there would be yoga (they pronounced it Joga, but I am assured that it is the same) I jumped at it, and told the girl that I would be there at 10.30 to do it.  Daughter number two offered to do it with me, so I was quite looking forward to a bit of mum/daughter bonding. However... On Monday night, the kids suggested that a night into Ibiza Town might be a good idea, so we had our dinner, danced like crazy things to a better than average funk band and headed off in a taxi to the fleshpots of Ibiza's capital. The town was beautiful, and fill of people wearing outfits which came with health warnings such as: This will chafe This will not cover any of your vital organs This will make you sweat This will catch fire if left in the sun too long Needless to say, I assumed that I would feel very old amongst the young and beautiful,

So yesterday's weather wasn't a patch on what you lot had at home over the Bank Holiday. Am I bitter?   Am I hacked off?  Am I thinking of whether Cala Llonga has a tanning salon? Well yes, all of the above, but it didn't stop us all having another great day together.  As I said to one of my lovely readers yesterday, your weather might be better but at least the drinks are free and I don't have to make the beds here.   So yesterday, there was a general knowledge quiz around the pool.  Because the sun had forgotten what it said on its job description, daughter number one and son number two joined me in demonstrating our extensive knowledge. The Spanish chap running the quiz was as camp as Christmas with a rather noticeable lisp, but it didn't stop him flirting mercilessly with daughter number one.  I said to her that she should keep encouraging him, and the prize of an exotic cocktail each would be in the bag. We started well, but there were a co

Last night I posted a facebook status of 'Pina Colada heaven'... I'd like to update that status to 'Pina Colada Hell' this morning. This is the problem with going away with your adult children.  There is an element of keeping up with the Joneses, and last night, I think that not only did I keep up, but I overtook the husband around 11.45pm, and it was a photo finish between me and daughter number one as we crossed the hotel threshold around midnight.  (This is a complete guess time wise, it could have been Thursday the state I was in). Anyway, this will teach me from straying from the relatively watered down straight and narrow of the hotel's all inclusive drinks menu. Going forward, I shall be staying within the comparative safety of the hotel bar, rather than walking down to dubious pirate-themed bars to drink cocktails with enough feathers in them to stuff a pillow. Hangover aside, we are having a fabulous time.  The four kids all went out on our

Having packed, removed various items and repacked my suitcase, I was finally ready to crawl into bed on Friday evening at 9.00, knowing full well that the alarm would be going off four hours later. The husband is notorious in his 'getting to the airport on time' procedure, and the estimated time of departure was 1.30am, allowing us one and a half hours to get to the airport (assuming at least one accident to hamper our journey).  This would mean arriving three and a half hours before our flight left.  See what I mean? Hauling my sorry carcass up the stairs, I went into the bedroom, sleepy eyed, and ready for a full four hours of snooze time. 'Oh no you don't', said the husband with a waggy finger.  'I haven't packed yet'. This was apparent as there were piles of clothes and shoes scattered across the bed (and not just on his side either) and coupled with a nosy schnauzer there wasn't much room for me. Reluctantly, I headed back downstair

Funerals are a funny old business.  One minute you're blubbing like a fool in the church, wondering how you'll ever manage to cope without seeing a loved one again.  Several hours later, you're being bundled into the back of a car with little ceremony, while the husband, positioned somewhere between your right shoulder and left knee, tries to belt you in whilst muttering, 'You're going to regret this in the morning'... You see, the funeral was wonderful.  Almost three hundred people filled the church, and we prayed and sang, we laughed and applauded and naturally, we were all a little sad.  But what a send off for a truly noble man, who has gone through life doing the best he can for those he loves. It had been a slightly different funeral, in that we'd had a very private burial the day before. Thursday's ceremony was all about celebrating a life well led, and boy did we celebrate.  Faces from the past, just a little shabbier around the edges (a

Yesterday I was able to say that the day after tomorrow would be the day before my holiday started.  As you may gather, I am counting down the seconds now, and have started hoarding the travel plugs before the kids realise that they need them. Now that they are all adults, you would think that it is a reasonable assumption that they would buy their own suncream and aftersun, wouldn't you?  Well apparently not.  Being super organised, I bought a couple of aerosol sun creams last Friday, factor 30 to be on the safe side.  These have to be aerosol, as the husband won't come anywhere near me with normal suncream, and I can't risk rocking the lobster look.   By the weekend, the two boys had implied that they were expecting me to supply the suncream, as it was an all inclusive package we were going on.  Words failed me at this statement, so I ordered another two aerosols from Tesco when I did my internet shop.   On Sunday, when the shopping arrived, I was knee deep in

I may have hinted that I am going clubbing while I am away.  This is no normal clubbing. This is turning up at midnight and dancing till the sun comes up kind of clubbing.  The kind of clubbing which makes your ears ring and your bunions sob.  Son number one has arranged for us all to go to Amnesia to see Fat Boy Slim while we're away, and I can't wait. Mr W (the older of the male children I share an office with) is a well seasoned visitor of events such as these, and grilled me with various questions yesterday... 'What are you wearing when you go?' 'Well, I was thinking of wearing shorts and flip flops and a spangly top'. I lost him at spangly top, but he frowned at the mention of flip flops.  'Not flip flops', he advised. 'You need pumps because there will be a lot of stuff on the floor which you won't want to tread in'. So outwardly, I suggested Converse pumps, but inwardly, I was now thinking wellies. 'Have you

Since digging up the potatoes on Sunday, I have been doing a passable impression of Mrs Overall, and kissing my knees is no longer entirely off the agenda.  Not to worry, I'm at Pilates this evening and lovely Alex, with the aid of two spoons, a crowbar and some goose grease, will have me as straight as Larry Grayson in no time. So yesterday was a very busy one.  I'm having to prepare for my house sitters who are staying here while we are away.  This means sorting out two bedrooms for them.  Why two?  Well, I had decided to give them daughter number two's bedroom as she has her own bathroom which makes lots of sense.  Unfortunately, Percy and Reg also reside here, so if bed space becomes a little thin on the ground, I need to give the house sitters an alternative.  So I'm preparing daughter number one's old bedroom also. The girls have their own homes now, so this works quite well.  I shudder to think what would have happened if I'd had to offer the boy

Being a conscientious kind of gal, I decided yesterday that it was to be a case of jobs first, playtime second.  The weather forecast yesterday was sun till 5.00pm, so I was looking forward to a little sunbathing in the afternoon to avoid looking like a cotton bud on holiday next week.  The jobs on my Pink List were ironing (acceptable) and digging up two beds of potatoes (dubious job ownership as physical effort is required with a tool).  The ironing I had managed to complete before anyone else in the house woke up (actually, this was just the husband who is partial to  lay-in on a Sunday morning).  When he finally surfaced, there was a small discussion as to who was doing what on the job front.  The husband would mow the lawns (sniffling a little as he pushed the mower over the destroyed front lawn, I'm sure), while I would dig up the potatoes. Dressed in the obligatory shorts, wellies and t-shirt, and armed with a colander and a wheelbarrow,I headed over to the allotmen

So the pre-holiday countdown has started.  I have stopped saying that I 'wish it was this time next week' because this would mean fastforwarding some of my precious holiday, and who wants that?   Surprisingly, this is the first holiday where it has been the six of us for almost eleven years.  There have been skiing holidays where I have been missing, and larger family holidays where we've been altogether, but just us six?  Turkey 2006, that's when. The holiday in Turkey was a last minute panic buy. The husband, who likes to think of himself as a cross between Grizzly Adams and Bear Grylls, loves camping and back in the spring of 2006, we booked a two week camping trip to the Lake District.  We'd been before, and it was a success, so why should that be any different now that the children were slightly older?  As we got nearer to the day of departure, the kids got more and more miserable, and daughter number one started to get very antsy about going. Sitting

Sometimes, on days like yesterday, I meet myself coming back from wherever I've been.  I do wonder how I manage to fit so much in but I suppose getting up at 5.30 am every weekday does give me a head start. So yesterday I managed to do a full morning at Binland, clinching three deals and finishing off with a glorious conversation with a Chinese lady.  I will never again say the words 'loo roll' without remembering her fondly.  It was then back home for a swift change (taking time to admire the work of my wonderful Lady H who has a knack for restoring sanity in my house), then I piled the dogs in the car, drove to the woods and had a lovely walk with them, and then we all drove off to the Mother's with the plan of a cup of tea with her and Miss R. And there I was, minding my own business, singing away to a Barry Manilow song (alright, admit it, you like him too) when all of a sudden I was faced with several people in the road trying to round up a black labrador

It's been a very tough few days.  A much loved uncle died very unexpectedly on Friday, and as the arrangements for the funeral swirl around us all, it's sometimes hard to find time to think, let alone time to write something to make you smile.  But life has to go on, and I had a much needed afternoon with three very good friends yesterday, who shall henceforth be known as George, Zippy and Bungle. Ladies, you can work out between you which one you are, but needless to say, I am Jeffery! After a lot of date haggling, I had finally managed to pin these three down for afternoon tea at a local cafe.  It promised 'Afternoon Tea with Tea or Prosecco', and seemed the perfect venue for four old birds looking to put the world to rights.  I had booked over the phone, and we all turned up at the allotted time, the yearning for cake too strong for us to be late. 'Did you book?' asked the small boy who seemed to be in charge. 'Why yes', I said.  'Fou

The dogs went off to the hairdresser again yesterday for their regular cut and blow.  Reg had obviously been up to his usual Austin Powers 'Yeah Baby' tricks when the trimming of the naughty bits were done, as his rear end resembled something which an eggy Apache might have done in a fit of pique.  I've renamed him Chief Sitting Gingerly and I would imagine that the next few days are going to be rather chilly around his nether regions, followed by itchiness as the hair starts growing back.  Poor little devil. Driving back from the groomer, I decided to drop into the dogs' favourite field for a run (them, not me - there are many things which run in my house, such as noses and tights, but never my feet). Percy minced around the field, avoiding anything which might detract from his gorgeous baby powder smell, while Reg dropped and rolled every ten paces or so to rid himself of what he considers to be an affront to his manhood.   I'd love to know what goes on w

After all the celebrating of Miss R's birthday over the weekend, I must confess to being quite relieved for Monday to rear its ugly head.  You see, because Miss R had been away for her birthday (pedalling around the Isle of Wight in a tutu) she had decided to have a Sunday evening barbecue so that she could celebrate with her many lovely friends and her loopy family (I include myself in the latter group).  'Bring a sausage', she said, 'I'll supply the rest. Well we did a bit better than that and brought sausages, burgers and some homemade crackling.  The crackling is the husband's speciality and it is rolled out on all special occasions. Every now and again, he books himself in for an afternoon of butchery.  Now I full appreciate how odd this sounds, but who am I to complain when he walks through the door with bags of roasting joints, sausages and foot square slabs of crackling.   So a whole twenty minutes was spent massaging oil into it (I am still tal

By yesterday morning, despite slathering my face with Aloe Vera every ten minutes, I still resembled a Swan Vesta much to the husband's amusement.  There's only one saving grace, and that was that I hadn't worn my sunglasses when asleep.  Unlike the husband who looked like he'd just returned from a week's skiing.  Not to worry though.  In a few weeks, we'll both be pink/red/mahogany/peeling, depending on which day you see us. Those of you who have been with me for a while will know that this year's allotment adventures have all been about doom, gloom and thrice planted runner beans, so it was with trepidation that I headed over there yesterday morning to see what had happened after all that rain and two days' of sunshine.   I had put my shorts and a t-shirt on, as I was under the impression that the husband was walking the dogs yesterday morning.   Now why would I think that?  Well possibly because when I was finishing the week's ironing at