Back from ze 'olidays

Sorry for the long absence, I felt the need for a wee sojourn in gay Pareee with me mate Rose over Easter and I have been trying to catch up with myself ever since. Plus, I have been working. Yes, me. Not getting paid mind you which doesn't sit well with Nobby the former accountant, but still, it gets me out of the house and away from Ikea. And guess what I've been doing? Teaching, no less. They trusted me with a class full of nine year olds and I can honestly say it wasn't so bad. No lasting injuries, either mental or physical, were sustained and I have been invited back this coming week and they may even help me get certified if I want to. (I thought I would need to be certified in another way as they all piled in saying 'what are you doing here' last Monday but I managed to escape with my wits intact.) This could be the start of a whole new career for me, I am quite excited. Tiggy is most dejected as she doesn't get to come on the school run any more poor thing, but Nobby is happy that I have given up the idea of getting a second dog if I'm not going to be home as much. I decided we need a cleaner instead... ha!

So anyway, France. How weird was that to go back to my old road and hang out in Rose's kitchen for a mooty lesbian tea with a taffee chaser? (that's 'herbal tea with milk washed down with espresso' to the uninitiated.) The first thing the kids and I did when we rocked up on Sunday afternoon was to go out and find Jesus. It was quite a search I can tell you. We looked all over the garden but we eventually found him under a bush and were much relieved. I should probably mention that Jesus is the name of one of Rose's tortoises... along with his parents, Mary and Joseph, they are a cute little band of walking rocks which the children had a great time moving around and watching them grow legs and scurry back into the undergrowth. Jesus has wanderlust though and kept escaping across the lawn prompting frantic searching before someone stepped on him.

We enjoyed a week full of play dates with all our old friends as if we'd never been gone for the last nine months. Except that all the little people have grown a startling amount and the ickle baby I was cuddling all last summer now has a mouth full of teeth and is crawling around at alarming speeds. The children all just picked up where they left off and made themselves right at home. Poppet and Peony's middle daughter decided the best place for lunch was under the cot and proceeded to make a nest under there. I forgot to go and clear it up before we left as it was the usual mad dash trying to round up the brats into the car at home time. Gathering kids is somewhat like herding cats, non? I only hope the chicken bones and crisp crumbs didn't stay under there too long. I enjoyed re-visiting the local Shopi and stocking up on some of the pre-packaged crap the kids have been missing - pre-rolled chocolate crepes and long-life croissants. I also bought a bag of grapes which I neglected to wash and got myself a violent case of food poisoning that night. Nice. Luckily I managed to keep the noise down and didn't wake anyone up, although it would have been nice to have a companion to hold my hair back for me.

Meanwhile Nobby was all alone in Hungary pining for his family... yeah, right: he kept phoning from the golf course! And when he collected us from the airport we could barely get the cases in round all the golf equipment, gourmet Tesco shopping and bedding plants he'd had stashed in the car all day long. Still, he appreciated the little Eiffel Tower Poppet and Pickle insisted I paid huge great wadges of cash for at the airport and the Cream Egg from me.

So it's been back to the grind ever since, I may get round to unpacking the suitcase sometime next week. Meanwhile the children have turned into total teenagers this week, I don't know what's going on. But that's a whole other post. I can only recall one cute comment lately. Pickle was watching Charlie's Angels with his sister earlier and one of the bad guys (a woman) said 'Never send a man to do a woman's job.' (I think one of her henchmen just got his arse kicked by Cameron Diaz in high-heels and tight trousers.) Pickle pipes up with 'Yes, and never let a man do the cooking, that's Mummy's job.' Hmm.