Too busy to blog

We’ve been to Java, Bali and Lombok via the giant mall that is Singapore.
We played pass the babies at Luton airport so their parents could go to a wedding one weekend.
We visited friends who have moved to East Sussex and spotted a partridge, a green woodpecker and signs of badgers.
And now I’m on jury service (so far one not guilty – although we would have liked to be able to say not proven – and two changed pleas to guilty at last minute).
Why is it that people I know have never been called for jury service, while I’ve done it twice and husband has done it three times, despite being self employed and having to work in the evenings to catch up? Surely they can’t all have form or be too apolitical to put themselves on the electoral register?
And shouldn’t there be some rough and ready English language comprehension tests for jurors?
But this pic cheered me up.

Feel the Force

The wedding season appears to be in full swing. After reading about the Shrek nuptials I spotted pictures of a Star Wars wedding that took place between a Hans Solo and a Princess Leia on the Isle of Wight.

This time the teenage lad who was involved in the proceedings was the groom’s 18-year-old son and best man.
Keiran deserves special recognition in the Wedding Day Hall of Fame. He supported his Dad all the way - dressed up as Chewbacca.

And now, in other news:
The front of the house is being painted – so I am working on the dining room table instead of my study.
Baby Bea can now roll over.
Big Brother now speaks.
We enjoyed the film State of Play (which is surprising since we’re normally very critical of films featuring journalists).
My ankle still pains me five weeks after I fell on the stairs at the Hawley Arms (the Amy Winehouse effect).
We are making exciting holiday plans. I’m not telling what or where, except to say it won’t be Skiathos even if they are experiencing a boom in weddings there this year.
That’s the Mama Mia effect.

Happy Ogre After

I knew you could have Shrek wedding cakes (this one was made by Boogiebabys of Rochester, Kent) but it never occurred to me that anyone would take the theme to its ultimate expression and get married as Shrek and Princess Fiona.
Raise a glass, however, to Christine England and Keith Green, the 40-somethings from Barnstable who did just that last week.
The story made the nationals – and the line I liked best was the one about Christine’s 16-year-old son who refused to dress up as Donkey for the day.
That’s my wedding thought of the day. Now I shall waffle.
The house seems strangely quiet as the clan has returned to Scotland leaving behind: two car seats; one buggy; two travel cots and bedding; four muslins; a change mat; assorted vests and socks; two bibs; a sandpit; a slide; two boxes of toys, bricks and books; two half empty packs of disposable nappies (size 3 and 5); two tubes of Metanium; a pack of baby wipes; an Annabel Karmel concoction in the freezer plus two small portions of my home-made spag bol sauce; a clip on to the table toddler seat; a lie back and bounce baby chair; a travel steriliser; a baby alarm and a gap in my life.
They return next month for a wedding and we will be babysitting for 48 hours. Can’t wait.

Bride in waiting

The baby who arrived on Christmas Eve is growing almost visibly. She's three months already - I'm sure time is speeding up. This is the kind of picture someone (naming no names) is bound to produce when she celebrates her 18th birthday. Or gets married.



And, no, it isn't a potty. Even I didn't start sitting my children on a potty at the age of three months. It's a new fangled gizmo that sits them up. I think it may be called a Bumbo.

She doesn't always look so serious.

Wittering

My husband says all I do on this blog now is witter. (At least I don’t Twitter.)
Anyway, I do sometimes witter about weddings, and daughters who once were brides, and what it’s like being the mother of one, not to mention a wife.
Last Saturday the husband and I walked from Archway to Islington. That may not sound far to North Londoners who walk, but it certainly felt far enough for me. The walking is part of his plan to get me fit.
On the way we passed Islington town hall. A group of smartly dressed people were gathered outside.
Must be a wedding, observed the husband. I said nothing. I find it hard to walk (at his pace) and talk.
A few minutes later we saw, coming towards us, a man in a suit and a woman wearing a smart dress and a hat, hurrying along the uneven pavements. They were clearly wedding guests – and just as clearly running late.
A little further on we encountered another couple. Also hurrying. It seemed likely that they had arrived by tube and decided to walk from the Angel.
It doesn’t look far on the A-Z. And it’s certainly not as far as Archway to Islington.
But I wouldn’t like to try it at pace in four-inch heels.

Jade

The wedding in the news this week is Jade's. I don't think I can add anything to the piece Justine Picardie wrote in the Times. I think everyone should read it.
It's here: http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/uk/health/article5779740.ece>

Under the table

Despite my hard-drinking Fleet Street past I don't think I've ever actually ended up in this position. But the new grandchild seems to like it and she's out of harm's way there. (Big brother is now walking, but a bit unsteady on his pins when he's tired.)