Smashing pumpkins

Today we had two Halloween carved pumpkins stolen from the front of the house.  This is the second year in a row this has happened to us.

I got close to seeing the culprits and ran and shouted after them.  They dropped the heavier pumpkin just a bit further up the street.

Dave didn't want me to go after the group that were running off because there was one of me and about eight of them.

Hannah was upset.  She'd taken a lot of time working with me to carve the pumpkins and had been planning to take both of them to the Brownie pumpkin carving competition (which she'd won the prior year) on November 1st.

I was annoyed and fairly full of adrenalin after chasing the thieves and shouting at full volume, including, to try and bring on some guilt, "Do you realise you've made my daughter cry?" *

I called the police.  I didn't dial 999 and it took me a while to find the non-emergency number.  While explaining what had happened I did say "This sounds silly", "I realise it isn't the crime of the century" and "You're not going to ask me to describe the carving on the missing pumpkin are you?" but the woman I was talking to was taking it very seriously.

I guess what I wanted was for any patrols to keep an eye out and if they saw a group of about the right size in the area, to stop and talk to them.  I wanted them to get a ticking off.  I knew it was a long shot, but thought it was worth it.  Previously the Police have actively encouraged calls about what they termed "anti-social behaviour."

What happened next though surprised me.

I was then asked when I might be available for an officer to pop round for a chat and an appointment was arranged.

I can't help thinking this echoes a situation in which a group of teenagers were responsible for a broken window at the front of the house.  When I reported that an officer came round and I was contacted by phone and mail by Victim Support.

I didn't feel like a victim then and I don't feel like a victim now.  I am annoyed, but that's about it.  Involving the Police will teach my children a lesson about acceptable behaviour (which I would hope they would already know) but a home visit won't prevent this happening again, unless of course I'm persuaded to join the rest of the country with lights off hiding in the dark on Halloween.

Anyway I'm off to remove the spiders, bats, skeletons and rats from the front door.  Ding dong the witch is dead.

 

*Actually they didn't make Hannah cry.  As I keep telling the children, they are in control of their emotional reactions.  Hannah chose to be upset.  She could have chosen to be non-plussed.

Lucky

I ordered an iPhone 4S on the first day I could. I'd been clinging onto my deteriorating 3Gs for too long and reading all of the technology press rumours about the launch of the iPhone 5.
I also checked to see how much cash I could salvage from my old iPhone and Envirophone came up trumps offering £120.
When I started to look at the timing of the new phone and the deadline to return my old phone to Envirophone, there seemed to be a discrepancy.
The Envirophone date for return was October 21st and yet Apple's site was suggesting that would be the earliest my shiny new phone would be dispatched.
I checked Envirophone's site for a new quote and was dismayed to see that their offer had fallen to £60.
I contemplated £60 and whether that was worth being without a phone for up to a week. I concluded I wasn't the sort of person who could survive without her phone.
I gave up checking the Apple website and I decided I'd just have to take the financial hit on returning the old phone.
Today I need to work later than normal and I didn't get in until ten to three. There was a UPS card on the doormat.
I checked the Apple website and my phone had been dispatched.
I fought my way through the UPS voice menu to speak to someone to ask if the driver could possibly redeliver. They checked and called back to say the driver would try. I said "There's a banana and chocolate muffin in it for the driver if he makes it".
I waited. I checked with Envirophone that posting today would mean it would arrive tomorrow. I phoned the Post Office to check opening times and was dismayed to discover the Postman collected the post at five.
I also had to get the children to their swimming club by five o'clock.
At four twenty the UPS man and I exchanged a phone for a banana and choc chip muffin.
I'd already backed up, sync'd and prepared for the transition.
I extracted my SIM card, used Victoria's SIM card cutter (nervously) and plugged the phone into the MacBook.
I waited. I decided things were looking like they were working so I erased all content and data from the old phone and we dashed off to the Post Office entering just after the man from Royal Mail.
We ran to the counter and handed over the old phone in its padded bag and Special Delivery envelope.
We went home to find the sync'ing was still progressing. It finished. I unplugged. I made a phone call. It worked. With minutes to spare.
There are times when everything falls into place and I just feel lucky. This was one of those times.

Hindsight isn't always a wonderful thing

I mentioned this a while ago on Twitter and Facebook, and maybe Google+.

The weather was balmy as we had a late blast of summer warmth in September.  I'd just come home from a long day in London and needed to change quickly to be able to collect Ethan from Beavers.

I probably didn't need to change but I'd just been on a hot and sweaty tube and train so it seemed appropriate.  I chucked on an easy quick cover up; a summer dress that covers a multitude of sins.  It's long and fairly shapeless and probably isn't at all flattering.

Dress on I hopped in the car to drive to the church.    On Wednesdays Ethan goes straight from Beavers held in a church hall, to choir practice in a completely different church.

I arrived early and while I was waiting I chatted with some of the other parents who were waiting for their children.  When Ethan emerged I whizzed him off to a different church for choir practice and then I drove home for the hour before Ethan would need collecting again.

I was early to pick Ethan up and waited for a few minutes talking to the priest and other parents until Ethan had finished tidying up and was ready for home and bed.

It was when I got home that Dave said "What's that on the back of your dress?"  We both investigated and the thing that was on the back of my dress was actually something that wasn't there.  The dress was sporting a large hole.  The hole was situated a hip height at the back of the dress.  There wasn't much under the dress.  There was something, but not much.  I think we all know what I'm saying.

I'd been to two churches, one of them twice, wearing a dress with a large hole that exposed my backside.  A tad embarrassing, with hindsight.

Smelly marketing

I wandered into town this morning to run some errands and buy some things I didn't absolutely need but wanted.

One of the things on my list was a large silicone baking dish for toad in the hole.  My toad in the hole always sticks to the dish it's baked in.  I mentioned this to someone yesterday and she recommended getting a silicone baking dish, because she has one and she only uses it for toad in the hole.  Well she must have been talking to everyone in Brentwood because the whole of the town was out of silicone, apart from the silicone that is used in breast implants.  Since the TOWIE lot have been filiming in the town we're over-flowing with silicone.

Anyway, one of the shops I wandered into was Steamer Trading Company.  It's a beautiful shop full of pretty things and I could spend a fortune if I didn't have reasonable self control.  As I entered the shop the aroma of freshly baking cakes hit me.  I looked around for an oven and couldn't see one and wondered if they piped the small into the shop.  I went upstairs and looked in every nook and cranny (without looking like a freak) and couldn't find the oven.  As I came downstairs a member of staff was going upstairs with used mixing bowls and utensils coated in cake mix.  I figured the oven must just be well hidden and decided I'd return later in case there was some lovely cake to be had.

I reflected that doing baking in a shop that sells cookery and dining items is a brilliant idea.  Everyone loves the smell of cake cooking in the oven and it must entice people into the shop and put them in the mood for buying baking related items.

I returned later, after a trip to the bank, and as I went into the shop I was overwhelmed by the smell of burnt cake.  It was an acrid smell that was deinitely not enticing.  I had another quick look for the oven but found, instead, the charred remains of cake on a chopping board.  Black crumbs were all that remained.

It was then I thought that the idea of baking in a cookware shop only works if the people doing the cooking know what they're doing.

 

Moist scrummy chocolate muffins

I haven't given these muffins their correct title because it might put you off baking them.  The title should read cocoa courgette muffins.  Please don't let the courgette put you off.

Chocolate muffins can often be dry, sorry affairs that look so much better than they taste.  These muffins look as good as they taste and taste as good as they look.  There is no hint of courgette flavour but the courgette does bring a delicious moisture to the mix in the same way carrot can to a carrot cake.

OK, that's the sales pitch over, here's the recipe.

Makes at least 12 standard size muffins.

You will need a muffin tin or two, muffin cases, two large bowls and an oven pre-heated to 190˚C or 160˚C if you have a fan oven.

Ingredients

• 280g plain flour
• 2 tsp baking powder
• 1/2 tsp bicarbonate of soda
• pinch of salt
• 2 tsp cinnamon (weird I know but have faith)
• 3 tbsp cocoa powder
• 1 egg
• 140g soft brown sugar (I didn't have this so used 100g natural granulated and 40g light muscovado)
• 60ml milk
• 2 tsp vanilla essence (not quite so weird but still a little strange)
• 340g grated courgette (I used course grater although recipe said finely grated and I didn't peel the courgette although you can if you want to)
• 90ml corn oil
• 85g optional chocolate chips (the recipe said raisins which I thought sounded disgusting but you could always try it as an alternative)

Method

• Put muffin cases in muffin tins and if you haven't turned the oven on, do so now.
• In a large bowl stir flour, baking powder, bicarb of soda, salt, cinnamon, cocoa powder and choc chips (or raisins) if using.  If you're keen then you can sieve this.  I'm not convinced sieving makes any difference and I only ever stir with a fork.
• In another bowl beat egg with a fork.  Add sugar, milk, vanilla, courgette and oil and stir well.
• Pour the wet ingredients into the dry and stir.  Do not be tempted to use an electric mixer at all because you will ruin your muffins.  Have faith, use a spoon and stir.   If it's anything like the batch I made today you will think that there's not enough of the wet ingredients to mix in all of the dry ingredients.  Persevere because it is possible.  It will be a fairly stiff mixture because the courgette releases moisture when it's baking.  Just make sure that no dry flour is visible when you've finished stirring.
• Spoon this mixture into the muffin cases and bake for 20 minutes ish.  I usually turn them in the oven at 17 minutes to make sure they bake evenly.
• They are cooked when tops spring back when pressed

It is customary for the cook to make a cup of tea towards the end of the baking time which is to be enjoyed with one of the muffin batch.  It's very important to check the quality of one's own baking.

Wasting time and ruining lives

I have spent most of this evening crying.  With laughter.

I recommend you visit damnyouautocorrect.com and kill a few minutes the next time you have a few minutes to kill.

Here is a tame taster:

Most of the autocorrect screen grabs are much more offensive, so you have been warned.

Around and about

Sometimes someone does such a rubbish job that they really need to have it pointed out.

I mean if somebody did something that endangered life and limb, they should be told, am I right?

OK does anyone know the muppet who works at Essex County Council and has responsibility for roundabout design?

You see this roundabout here:

I know which side of this roundabout I should use if I'm travelling straight on.  The problem is that too many people in Brentwood seem to be confused by this roundabout and travel on the right of the roundabout when approaching it as shown in the photo.

I have been travelling in the opposite direction and I've come across cars heading straight for me.  I could interpret this as a vendetta against me were it not for the fact that the twonk at Essex County Council has so clearly screwed up with the planning of this roundabout.

The real holiday car

As promised, just a little later than promised.  Disclaimers here.

We had an S-MAX 2.2 Duratorq TDCi 6 speed Manual Titanium.  For those not initiated in the ways of the Ford product an S-MAX is a seven-seater that can also be a five-seater or a two-seater depending how many seats are up or down.

I could tell you what I think of the car's looks but you should really judge for yourself.

Of course that's a brochure shot.  I'm not sure the heights and angles of this next shot are quite as complimentary, but at least the wheels match the brochure shot.

It does however show that, despite a thick layer of French road filth, the car doesn't look desperately dirty.  I think that's down to the choice of the Mica Stone paint.  Our next car will be black and will show every last speck of dirt.

We travelled in five-seater mode with the last two seats folded flat and it was very capacious.  It fitted all of our holiday gear, including all of the unnecessary stuff that we took and never used or touched and we still had room to see out of the back window, although the height of the luggage was too high to allow us to use the tonneau cover.

The storage inside the car was reasonable and we found enough space in the glove box to hide the TomTom satnav and also the 35 DVDs we took.  Door bins, seat pockets, centre console and space under seats allowed for more storage and, because we only have two children, there was a spare seat providing a spot for in-car snacks and drinks.  This spare seat also served as a useful no man's land in between those same two children.  I remember that seat housing the largest coolbox ever when I was a child which served as a barrier separating me from my brother on long car journeys.

We have also taken this car camping which has meant it has been stuffed to the gunnels with "stuff" and it is just amazing how much "stuff" you can fit in the car.  The issue is that the car does not come with my husband fitted as standard and if there is one person who can pack a car to within an inch of its exhaust pipe, it's my husband.

The panoramic roof would, I've no doubt, have been delightful but we had to steal the fuse for that to feed the 12V cigar lighter at the front of the car which failed on our day of departure.  A fuse costs nothing (well the dealer I got the fuse from didn't charge me) and it's easy to change, but it's annoying in a car that's less than a year old to have anything fail.  I did wonder whether Ford ever discovers there might be a problem if everyone just fixes it themselves although that does mean diagnosing the problem too without help.

The seats are very comfortable.  For our return journey we spent about 12 hours in the car and it was more comfortable than an office chair or the sofa at home.  I thought I'd miss the lack of lumbar support on the driver's seat but the seat was supportive enough without it.

The entertainment in the car was provided by Dave's iPhone iTunes library streaming via Bluetooth through the car speakers.  We adjusted the sound so that we used front speakers thus minimising any audio interference with the DVDs being played on the Nextbase DVD players attached to the rear headrests and playing sound through infra red magic through to wireless headphones.  (Think that sentence should probably have had a comma or two.)  It was a set up that worked perfectly (12V power permitting) and if you don't have Bluetooth in your car, you need it.

The engine performed very well and provided all the power we needed even when fully loaded.  We could overtake on hills and pull away from lights without any problems.  We used the cruise control and in sixth gear the car was able to maintain the speed smoothly and without struggling at all.

Fuel economy though was underwhelming.  The car told us we were achieving 35.9mpg which is less than I expected.  I should say we were travelling at French autoroute speeds combined with twisty turny hilly roads with air-conditioning on about 70% of the time, which isn't great for brilliant fuel economy but I expect better.  I know that a new car needs time to reduce the friction in the engine and improve its efficiency but this car had a thousand or two miles under its (fan) belt.

The technology that we used a lot was cruise control.  On long autoroutes with the Gendarmerie being ever watchful we used cruise control to keep ourselves legal.  I noticed that the car had a speed limiter too.  We tried that function too but, because the system can be overridden if you kick down for extra power, I struggled to understand how it was useful.

We also used the satnav, but in conjunction with the TomTom.  I don't like the Ford satnav.  Firstly It didn't show the road that led to our accommodation, but the user interface isn't intuitive for me at all; I would go as far as to say frustrating.  Most of the time it will get you to your destination and it will probably get you there using an efficient route and I'm sure it's possible to get used to the interface, I just prefer my TomTom.

As to the other tech in the car, we appreciated the Quickclear screen and the parking sensors.  The car had a rear view camera but I didn't like it.  I think it might be a spatial awareness thing and men might appreciate this feature more.  I preferred to see nothing and rely on the parking distance sensors; the camera view just confused me.

In summary: We like the car so much we're getting another one, but in black.

 

 

Annoyed

I will blog about the holiday car I promise, just not tonight.

This evening I had the chance to attend a local Tweetup but knew I couldn't.  Dave was away for a business trip so I couldn't leave the house.

Dave being away meant leaving London in time to collect the children from the after school club, sorting out an evening meal and then rushing Ethan off to choir.

While the children were eating it occurred to me that after dropping Ethie at choir Hannah and I would be kicking our heels for about an hour until Ethie needed to be collected again.  And then the penny dropped.  Hannah and I could go to the Tweetup together.

I hesitated.  It wasn't the type of event you'd normally take a child to but Hannah is nine years old, very sensible she knows what Twitter is.  Plus it wasn't as if I'd been to previous events and seen drunken, loutish behaviour.  People were drinking in moderation and were being terribly polite.

Ah, the venue, a pub.  Well actually it was a room set apart from the main bar, but still a pub.

I tweeted the event organiser and asked whether it would be OK to bring a nine year old.  He wasn't sure the pub allowed children.  So I phoned the pub and they were absolutely fine.

But would Hannah be comfortable in a room full of Brentwood Twitterati?  I asked her and she said she'd be fine.  I explained in detail what previous Tweetups had been like and I checked she was still OK about turning up.  She said she'd be fine.

So we went, Hannah felt very grown up, some people were lovely and spoke to both of us, and Hannah was a star performer for the magician who was doing some close up magic.

But amongst all of this I heard "She's brought her child."

Words account for 7% of communication, tone of voice 37% and body language 57%.  I couldn't see the body language but the tone of voice wasn't pleasant.

Imagine the Witches in the Roald Dahl book and imagine the sneer in the voice as they might say the word "child."  It's a sort of spitting sneer and that's what I heard.  And the tone of voice grated.  Fortunately it was almost time to leave and collect Ethan and get both children home for bedtime.

I know some people don't like children but this annoyed me.  That attitude annoyed me but there was something else that annoyed me more.  Hannah was between me and the voice and I just hope she didn't hear it.

I hope I misheard.  I hope I got it wrong.  Either way, sadly, that was the last Tweetup Hannah attends on my watch.

The holiday car

I did suggest I might blog about the holiday car.

Firstly you need to know I work for Ford so, whilst I believe this to be an honest appraisal, I have had years of brain-washing.  I mean seriously.  Next month sees my 20 year anniversary with the Company.  (If you want to send congratulatory cards the date is October 14th.)

Secondly, you should I know I was a passenger for most of the holiday, predominantly playing the part of SatMum or, as I think I should be called with the benefit of hindsight, MumNav.  I did some driving, mixing up a bit of smooth and slick autoroute with twisty, turny, lumpy, bumpy roads.

Thirdly you should know I used to be part of a Drive Team.  This is a bunch of (usually) educated engineering types with perhaps a random marketeer (I was the random marketeer) who appraise vehicles during the product development phase.  The tests are contrived but are intended to reflect the customer experience.  The Drive Team evaluate all manner of vehicle attributes (defined by the Vehicle Integration Team) such as "left foot comfort."  This was always a strange attribute to my thinking as my left foot was always comfortable, but then I was enlightened by colleagues who pointed me in the direction of the left foot rest which is a feature that I had never used and still consider to be completely redundant.

One of the benefits of being "on" the Drive Team was a training session with Jackie Stewart.  The only thing I really recall from the session was his advice on testing the build quality of the vehicle.  Apparently, using the bottom of one's fist one should bash a vehicle body panel 15 times, because (and I quote) "Ten is not enough and 20 is too many."  The wisdom of the three time World Champion was legendary.  He didn't mention those World Championships at all by the way.  Not ten times, not 20 times...

The other benefit was driving around proving grounds.  I am pleased to say that Michigan Proving Ground has a corner named after me.  I got a little over-enthusiastic taking a corner in a VW Transporter.  I know, the glamour - a bloody van.  But anyway I gave the Armco a friendly nudge and now, and forever more, that corner is Cardus corner.

Actually, I'll leave it there.  I've given you an insight into my skills, abilities, age and admiration for the legend that is three time World Champion Jackie Stewart.  I'll leave talking about the car to another day. :)

Day 15, in which we consider an investment

There's a ruin of a chateau not far from where we're staying.

We'd seen it from the road and thought (as my Dad would have said) it had "potential".  We drove along a few lanes and trudged along an overgrown path to take a closer look.  It's perfect.  Granted it would probably have cost at least a million and probably three times that to restore and return to holiday home condition avec le piscine.  This, not insignificant, financial hurdle hasn't prevented us from consistently and constantly referring to it as our future holiday home.  We've toyed with renaming it from Chateau Longas to Chateau Cardus (there's a wine called Chateau Cardus from a vineyard west of Bordeaux) or Dave's favourite: Chateau David.

The trouble with all of this is that we've already invested in a raft of holiday homes by investing in Holiday Property Bond.  I don't want you thinking that this whole series of holiday blogs has led up to a sales pitch because that wasn't my intention.  I wanted to blog about our accommodation, not because I want to brag, but because the type of accommodation we have is a little different from the norm and requires an explanation.  Tomorrow's blog may well be an honest appraisal of our holiday transport.  I haven't decided yet.

I've spoken to some people about Holiday Property Bond (HPB) and the first thing I say is "It isn't timeshare" because it isn't.

Firstly I must explain that I'm not a financial advisor, nor am I on commission, but I am a "customer", "owner", "investor".

The way I think about HPB is like a syndicate or co-operative who have pooled resources to invest in holiday properties in the UK and rest of Europe.  This means that everyone who has invested in the Bond owns a little bit of the whole property portfolio.  It is an investment and I can choose to cash it in, at which time it may have lost or gained in value.  Equally I can ensure my children, and grandchildren inherit my investment, if I choose to keep it.  I invested a sum that had been left to me by my Auntie Margery because she loved travelling and it seemed to be an appropriate use of the money.

My investment entitles me to points and points can be spent to book properties that are a part of the portfolio.  So, for example, a £10,000 investment might be the equivalent of 10,000 points which will book two weeks in a two bed cottage in Constant in the Dordogne.  The properties require maintenance and there is a maintenance charge for the period of the booking.

Normally when one books accommodation the cost is seasonal and rises dramatically during the school holidays.  Because the HPB maintenance charge is just that, for maintenance, it remains constant throughout the year and is significantly lower than a high season charge for similar accommodation.  The thing that is used to even out demand and supply is the number of points required to make the booking.

HPB sites usually have at least one pool and sometimes the larger properties will have their own pool.  There is usually a games room, DVD library, a clubhouse with games library, children's play area, tennis courts, a reception office and often an onsite shop and/or restaurant.  We've also found giant chess/chequers, mini golf, boules, bowls, WiFi, onsite PC, bar, croquet, gym, sauna, steam room.  It's all very middle class.

The self-catering properties are generally of a good standard and you know what you are getting before you arrive.  When travelling with young children we arrived to find our property didn't have a stairgate.  We asked if it was possible to install one and it happened, within hours of our request.

We have now stayed in properties in Spain, Portugal, La Gomera, Anglesey, Brittany, Dordogne, near Paris, Madeira and Turkey.  Sometimes the HPB development is wholly built and designed for HPB whereas at other times HPB has bought part of a bigger development.  In our experience the bespoke developments are better.

There is a downside to the arrangement and that is that if you want to get the pick of the properties in peak season you can't book at the last minute.  You do need to plan ahead.  But this downside also has an upside.  There is a points free booking system, 28 days before departure for UK properties and 56 days before an overseas departure  This means that if you aren't tied to school holidays you can often pick up a holiday at short notice without dipping into precious points.

If you decide you don't need points for a year you can elect, in advance, to take a return on your investment instead, about 2.5% I think.  And your investment can be used to book a holiday for anyone.

I think I've covered the main points but if you have questions I can try and answer them, or you can look for information yourself, if you're interested (HPB do tenancy propoerties too but that's too much to digest).  It's worked for us and could work for you too.

Day 14, in which the end is nigh

Tomorrow is our last full day here.  This is so far past holiday hump day that we're at the bottom of the slippery slope.  This is the sort of time that I start thinking about the return to home.  It's when the holiday stops being pure holiday.

I've already been online to sort the shopping out for the evening that we arrive home.

I'm mentally going through the things we need to have sorted before school and work start again.  It's not a very long list but I wish I'd sorted more out before now.

I had intended to keep an eye on work e-mails and I was for the first couple of days.  Luckily I did some pre-holiday preparation to ensure my e-mail inbox could cope with the vacation onslaught.  I picked up the 2,000 plus e-mails in the inbox and filed them all into an offline folder called "Pre holiday e-mails".  Some of you are wondering how my e-mail could be so out of control.

Well it all started when I returned from a week away earlier in the year.  I'd cleared down my inbox to make space for incoming e-mail missiles that would appear in my absence, but when I returned from the week away I couldn't send e-mails, or receive them.  I was completely work-handicapped.  I couldn't do anything and I didn't know which e-mails I hadn't been able to receive.   I called the IT Helpdesk and once I'd got through the queue and spelled my surname using the phonetic alphabet and confirmed my desk location I explained I needed a bigger inbox capacity.  It wasn't the first time I'd had this conversation so I knew they could fix this problem.

My argument went something like "I can't work under these conditions" and yes I think I probably used those exact words.  I know that right now you're thinking that my working conditions are pretty cushty and you'd be right, they are, but everything is relative.  I have the slowest laptop in the world, which nobody believes until they actually watch my machine change screen pixel by pixel, and to be hamstrung by a daft megabyte limit is just adding insult to injury.  Anyway the rather bemused gentleman in Manila who was at the other end of the phone explained that I already had a substantial e-mail capacity.  My retort probably used words like "multi-media", "large", "files", "part-time", "can't", "work", "under", "these" and "conditions".  If he hadn't acquiesced to my request then I would probably have resorted to tears, not as some pathetic female manipulation but just because I would have been exhausted with the frustration of the whole situation.  Waterworks were unnecessary though and I got what I wanted.

So my inbox doesn't need clearing to zero every week and regular deleting and filing of the stuff I get time to look at is normally enough.  Every month I have a clearout of the oldest stuff and that gets me through.  Holidays though are an additional strain, hence the extra preparation and hence the intent to manage things through the holiday.

It didn't last more than a couple of days so the stress of e-mail hell is starting to seep into my consciousness.

Obviously I'm doing my best to push work away so that I can continue to be in holiday mode but I know the end is nigh.

Day 13, in which we count wild things

I haven't gone looking for wildlife this holiday, but I've stumbled across quite a bit.

Everyone expects little lizards to climb walls in Europe and I've seen plenty of them, but I've also seen things I didn't expect.

While driving along the local lanes we've seen red squirrels.

While paddling in the Dordogne at Beynac to cool down a viperine snake swam past.  I wasn't sure I'd ever been in water when a snake had been in the same vicinity.  Now granted it was small and, having done my research, I now know it wasn't venomous but I didn't know that at the time.  I just stayed where I was and called to Dave, Hannah and Ethan to come and have a look.

While waiting for the boys stood next to a pond yesterday we saw two European water voles and whilst they are sometimes called water rates they are much cuter than rats.  They are chubbier and have smaller ears and tails.

And today there were hundreds of swifts flying balletically next to out holiday house.  They were swooping and diving and catching insects on the wing and they were incredibly beautiful.

The highlight though might have been the sight when I was watching the swifts.  I heard a rush of air and then I saw it; a peregrine falcon at the end of a steep dive aiming for one of the super fast swifts.  It failed and stumbled out of its dive to gradually regain height and disappear from view but it all happened within 20 metres of me.  Stunning.

 

 

Day 12, in which we were utter tourists

This morning sort of dissolved in the way that soluble aspirin does; one minute it's there and the next it's gone.

After lunch we went to one of the most popular tourist destinations in the area: La Roque Saint-Christophe.  It's basically a big rock.  It's not the first time I've visited a big rock.  I mean there are the mountains on which I've skied (badly), there's Ayer's rock (or Uluru), there's Snowdon, Dartmoor, Mount St Helens, Yosemite, Badlands National Park, Hawaiian volcanoes... you get my drift.

This rock was quite cool.

The Dordogne has carved the rock around it and this has resulted in huge rock overhangs which previous generations have used for shelter including constructing houses using the natural shelter provided by the rock.  But at this big rock had a ledge that was about 80 metres up from the ground and this one has been used as shelter too.

55,000 years ago the first Neanderthals used the space and the dwellings morphed over time.

The displays we saw showed how the space might have been used by Neanderthals and also by more recent occupants from medieval times.

The displays were interesting but the views were very pretty.

We drove though Les Eyzies, stopping for a touristy ice cream and then we took the scenic SatMum route home for some pool and sunshine time.

Isn't that the kind of thing holidays should be about?

Day 11, in which we revert to SatMum

The plan was to drive to Sarlat.  Now there's a quick way to do that (SatNav) or there's a slow way to do that (old school following maps).  Now when I visited the Dordogne with my parents we always had SatMum sat in the passenger seat with a Michelin map on her lap. We tried to recreate that today.

We had seen some beautiful towns on the banks of the Dordogne that were begging to be explored and we thought we could get to Sarlat via some of these picturesque tourist magnets.  In addition to these towns we wanted to travel along some specific roads which we knew to be scenic, because we'd bought ourselves a Michelin map.

I could have attempted to programme the SatNav with Sarlat as the final destination with numerous waypoints but it seemed easier to use the map.  So that's what we did.  We made the scenic drives and we made it to Beynac.  Beynac was sunny and steep and Hannah and Ethan were a bit hot and bothered so we cut the road trip short and headed straight for Sarlat and ice cream.

Walking around Sarlat had only one thing going for it as far as the children were concerned: ice cream.  After the ice cream we had trouble keeping their attention so we whizzed around the rest of the beautful, historic Sarlat and then programmed the SatNav for home sweet home, or holiday accommodation sweet holiday accommodation.

So, for part of the day at least, we recreated SatMum.

Day 10, in which we like what we don't have

Is it just me that likes looking around French hypermarkets?

I know what I'll find if I wander around a UK supermarket which is why I try to avoid the experience.  It's dull, boring and predictable.

French hypermarkets on the other hand are a wonderland of the new and interesting.

The food is an obvious difference, although for the life of me I couldn't find sour cream when I was looking.  But for me it's all the other stuff.

We're looking for a fuse (mini 20A) for the car, see Day 1 and a French hypermarket is just the kind of place that would have something like that.  Granted in the ones we've been in so far, that part of the display has been out of stock but we live in hope.

Today I saw a baguette cutting breadboard.  It was a slotted breadboard with a hinged, permanently attached bread knife.  Completely ridiculous, but amazing.

There were lovely china "things" which were the shape of a six inch high tumbler and which were intended for hot drinks I think even though they didn't have handles.  I thought they would be perfect for ice cream sundaes.

There was bag I could easily have bought, a jug that I could have slipped into the trolley, some table linen that I could have taken home and a bowl that would have been great to take camping.

There were many aisles I didn't get to explore because as soon as I suggest I want to wander and browse, Dave's eyes roll and I know he doesn't approve.  It's just not his thing so I just get away with a brief glimpse in the time it takes for Dave to get through the checkout.  It simply isn't long enough.

Day 9, in which the British really shouldn't

Today we took charge, as promised, and we took les enfants canoeing along the Dordogne.  We'd found a place that bussed us 14 km up river and gave us until 7pm to find our way back to the car.  We figured the 11:30 departure should give us plenty of time.

We hadn't figured on two children that can't manage a canoe paddle to save their respective lives.  Gah!  Two canoes may not have been the smartest choice and next time Dave and I are sharing a canoe and the kids can make their own way.

I jest, sort of, although it did take us until 5pm and we were the last of our group to make it.  I guess that means there might have been people who didn't make it, but who am I kidding?

Canoeing is a fabulous, relaxing way to see the country, and the views from the river were outstanding, not to mention the non-stop sunshine.

The only fly in the canoeing ointment, apart from the delightful damselflies that accompanied us, was an international incident.

There is a lot of macho bravado on the river.  There are men who "own" the paddle and who are "in charge" of the canoe ensuring their ladies are safe and reach their destination unharmed, there is the horseplay of young men tipping canoes over and generally larking around, and there is the football hooligan who is seemingly lost.

We came across a few canoes exchanging insults.  Effectively there were canoes containing British hooligans who were goading a group of French young men.  There were insults flying in French and English and the English guys were timing their insults such that they thought they could paddle their way out of danger if necessary.  I know this because I heard them discussing their escape strategy.

It escalated to the point when one English lad shouted up river to the French group "Come and 'av a go if you think you're 'ard enough!"

The French decided the English boys, with their all too obvious insecurities, weren't worth the trip.

I was embarrassed for our nation.

Day 8, in which we got it very wrong

Today we let the children run the show.

Hannah came with me to the bakery van and she asked for the pain au chocolat, pain au raisin, croissant and baguette.  It went a bit pear-shaped when there wasn't enough pain au raisin but we coped.

We encouraged the children to browse a leaflet promoting the various activities in the area designed to attract tourists.  We asked them which attractions they wanted to visit.

One of the places they chose was Les Jardins De L'Imaginaire, which seemed like a good choice.  The main image was of an area full of fountains emerging from the ground and the description was of six hectares of beautiful gardens and fountains.  Show me a child that doesn't like running around a garden and playing in fountains.

It was only open for a few hours in the morning and a few in the afternoon with a long siesta in between.  I guessed it was about an hour away so we planned to leave at one o'clock to arrive at two.

We loaded just one of the SatNavs with the postcode and I picked one of the random streets attached to that postcode as I couldn't find the exact one mentioned in the literature.

45 minutes later we arrived at the destination, except it wasn't.  We'd reached the autoroute which was the random road I'd selected earlier.  We pulled over and considered our position.  We used the internet and maps on our phones to find we were actually a further 45 minutes from our intended destination.

When we arrived we discovered we could only enter the gardens by joining a guided tour, in French.  We paid up and were presented with a English printout of the tour.  The children were unimpressed.

It was dull.  The gardens were OK but I couldn't help feeling that if the Royal Horticultural Society got their hands on it then it would be much much better.  We eventually, after much "I'm bored", "I'm thirsty" and "I'm hungry" noises (from Hannah but mainly Ethan), arrived at the fountain in the picture.  It wasn't a fountain for play.  It was just one stopping point on the guided tour.

Ethan and Hannah tried to enjoy the fountain but I knew we were simply annoying people who wanted to take arty photos with their large-lensed cameras.

We left as soon as was decently appropriate.  Tomorrow the adults are in charge.

Day 7, in which we learn about the hittopotamus

At dinner Ethan launched into his routine of "Did you know..." and today it was the little known fact that "...hedgehogs can have up to five million spines?"

No I hadn't known that.

Earlier in the day I'd received a text in which someone told me they'd sorted out Tom's birthday party and could I hold the date.  I have no idea who texted me and I had no idea which Tom was having the party.  I consulted the children to see f they could shed light on the situation.

Ethan named the two Tommy's in his class with their exact birthdays.  How did he remember that?

I told Ethan he must have a huge memory, a huge hippocampus and there then followed a discussion about the difference between a hippopotamus, a hippocampus and a hittopotamus (what Ethan used to call a hippopotamus and, if I'm honest, still does).

We talked about London cabbies and their extraordinary memories because they need to learn the Knowledge and experiments have shown this results in enlarged hippocampi (plural of hippocampus?)

Dave piped up about the Dichotomous which is a large, two-headed, plant-eating mammal that lives in water, and to round things off I told him about the Monotonous which is a large, boring, plant-eating mammal that lives in water.

Day 6, in which Ethan is funny

This was the day that Dave and I relived a part of our childhoods.

We'd both holidayed in the Dordogne as children and both remember visiting caves in the area, none more impressive than Le Gouffre de Padirac near Rocamadour.

It was ideal cave visiting weather: wet and cold-ish.  We set off on a two hour journey with children plugged into Wallace and Gromit and The Curse of the Were Rabbit via the DVD players.

The SatNavs (always used in pairs) made for an interesting journey.  Even when we were passing signs clearly indicating Le Gouffre de Padirac we followed the SatNav and whilst the roads we took weren't exactly farm tracks, they proved to be an excellent route to test suspension ride quality.

The caves were perhaps more impressive than I remember, but being there triggered a few things I'd forgotten. Like my Dad's vertigo which he struggled to overcome as we climbed the steps towards the top of the steepest and highest cliff face within the cave.  I didn't remember the boat ride being as long as it was and I'm pretty sure the souvenir photo didn't feature when I was last there.

When we emerged into the daylight the rain was still there.  We ate lunch and headed home, children watching Wallace and Gromit on the return journey too.

Hunger was on our minds when we returned and I knew that we'd booked an archery session which would delay the evening meal so I opened a family-sized bag of bolognese flavoured crisps.  Not the nicest flavour I've ever tasted but Ethan was a fan.

He said they were better than ready salted, better than salt 'n' vinegar and better than porn and cocktails.