The world's gone mad

I think summer fever has set in - there are some weird things going on.

One not so weird is me not blogging for a few weeks. I have an excellent excuse this time, and no, Tiggy didn't eat my keyboard. The whole ruddy computer crashed. Can you Adam and Eve it? I was trying to fix the stupid thing at the time because its been on the cards for a while what with the sinister blue screen appearing every time Pickle boots up a game of Littlest Pet Shop online. A sensible person would have forked out a hundred quid for a portable hard drive and backed up their data first. But not me. I bought some cheap quick-fix software instead that resulted in a quite emphatic 'Computer Says No.'

Thankfully we managed to locate a Hungarian Rent-a-Geek (actually we cheated and bribed the IT department at Nobby's work with a months supply of chocolate biscuits...) and they managed to get the thing back on its feet with all the files intact. It's now running with the aid of a Zimmer frame but hey, it could have been a lot worse. And then I went out and spent a hundred quid on a portable hard drive and backed up all my data.

Meanwhile strange things are afoot in Budapest. Some massive bloke rang my doorbell the other morning - when I was barely awake given that SCHOOL'S OUT FOR SUMMER!!!! and I had been enjoying the first of many lie-ins - and after my standard greeting of 'please stop what you're saying, I don't speak Hungarian' he managed to get across 'water...off'. We've been here almost a year now so I knew this was my cue to race through the shower, fill the kettle, switch off the washing machine and stick a large bucket of water by each loo because sure enough the water supply was off for the rest of the day. When we drove out later to visit some sweeter smelling friends than ourselves, we saw the source of the trauma, yet another burst watermain gushing torrents of water down the hill. I shan't tell you the extortionate rate we are paying for the water here but I'm not convinced we're getting our money's worth.

Anyway, we returned home this afternoon to find that the lovely electric gates into the drive refused to open. I so wish we'd had these things in France instead of dicing with death each day double parking while I ran round to close the things by hand but too late now. It turned out that today's challenge is that the power is out. There I was with 2 hungry children, a bag of potatoes and couple of courgettes and no way to cook it all. I could have used the gas barbecue I suppose... if the gas bottle delivery man hadn't mangled the connector the other day and had to take the whole thing away for repair, calling 'see you in a couple of weeks' over his shoulder.

Hmm. Well, Nobby's just walked in with a bottle of wine and two glasses so I am going to save the story of Rose and the newborn kitten, christened Claude (clawed!) and nickname Poo-fest, for another day.
Bye for now.

No time!

I do not have time to Blog at the moment. It is a terrible revelation, you'd think that I would be able to get creative and make some time in my day to report all my doings to my news-starved friends and rellies but the truth is I am mired in a confusing mix of business and laziness which means that I am either chasing my tail trying to get through my to-do list or flaking out on the sofa trying to recover from a frantic day. So I am sorry you are having to wait several weeks between episodes of Nobby and Me. It's not actually because we are more boring than watching bowls on TV or a weekend at a librarian's conference, its quite the opposite.

I have even been seen sporting my watch recently which I rebelliously shed several months ago after reaslising that life in a Budapest stylee was proving much easier to handle than the clamour of the French school runs. No longer was I hemmed in by ten minute drop-off and pick-up windows four times a day or the mania of trying to get two kids to two different locations at the same time. I am theoretically free as a bird between 8h30 and 15h now I am here. But then I started looking for stuff to do. Then stuff started finding me for doing. And everything is going a bit Pete Tong.

Rose bought me a fabulous present for my birthday, it's called a To-Don't List, a large pad with 4 sections where you can write things you want to sabotage, shelve, forget about and generally chuck over the fence. In other words the million jobs that are beating down your door that you know you need to do but would rather round up and put in a field with a healthy dollop of semtex - such as your third tax return of the year (don't ask, and don't move country either for that matter), the financial review you promised to get to the financial advisor by end of January, finding english speaking dentists in a foreign land so Nobby can finally get rid of his wisdom teeth or finding a place where you can get the Nintendo DS repaired before the 5-hour drive to Croatia in the summer. The fact that it says To Don't on the pad goes some small way to relieving the tension, but I still have to get it all done somehow!!

And then I hold my hand up for a research project. What was I thinking? I reckoned I could fit it all in around the teaching and the language lessons and the visitors. Mercifully I didn't have to teach today as the poor little mites are in annual testing this week. I was invited to help adjudicate but I decided to get started on this thing instead and I wish I hadn't! There is a tonne of it and I am new at research and I can see this taking me a lot longer than the 20-30 hours I was told, possibly with a quick divorce tacked on at the end. Damn. At least I will be getting paid, though I fear it will be about a penny an hour judging by how long the introdution took me.

So whilst I have a lot to tell you about our recent round of guests from Paris, Pickle's new bike, the Boy Next Door's performance in Jack and the Beanstalk, Poppet's piano recital, Tiggy's relentless digging, and the mail-order sausages I just signed up for (?!) it will all have to wait for next time as I have groceries to buy and kids to collect before we all starve or are handed over to Social Services.

I'll be back.

Upstaged

You know, kids have the ability to make you feel a lot of things - angry, happy, sad, proud, guilty... or just totally stoopid. I am an intelligent woman, I did my time at school, as I endlessly remind the small people when they reckon they know it all. Then, just as you least expect it the little buggers totally upstage you, usually in front of strangers, often numbering ten or more, and prove that they do indeed know it all.

We spent this bank holiday weekend exploring the 'Danube Bend' out to the North of Budapest: lots of lovely countryside, castles, cathedrals and holey roads. No, that's not a typo, there was nothing religious about this tarmac, although I doubt it has been maintained since the Crusades. I love to complain about the roads up here in the Buda hills - we have one on the way back from town which looks like it is gradually wrinkling down the hill and rattles small pieces off the soviet buses as they bomb down it; we have to remind my Dad to clench his teeth so he won't lose his dentures. You'd think the main road in a major tourist spot would be pretty well looked after. But you'd be wrong. The main road up along the Danube is so full of potholes the only way to avoid them all would be to constantly swerve across the road as if you were following a large snake, who was very late home for dinner and didn't want to upset the missus. I was especially sensitive about it because Nobby's back started to play up as we left civilisation and the ol' Sharan tends to roll when she goes round bends and bounce when she encounters so much as pebble in the road. Poor Nobby.

Still, at least there was a fabulous hotel waiting for us with lovely warm spa pools which the kids dragged us into before we'd even unpacked. These are the same kids who moan and groan every Wednesday before their swimming lesson, but plop them in a jaunty shaped pool with water jets, fountains and a 'rapid river' and they are happy as Larry. In fact you won't be able to drag them out until even their noses have started to resemble prunes. Nobby and me had had it after an hour but Poppet and Pickle stayed in for another two, diving for bits of plastic, splashing old ladies and generally being a nuisance, so we hit the poolside bar. It was 5pm. See, that's what they mean by 'drive you to drink'.

Next day we explored some ruins and joined in some of the medieval activities that were laid on for the holiday weekend. Poppet made a corn dolly and Pickle had a go at archery. Then Poppet made a flower out of dried grasses and Pickle threw daggers at a tree stump. They both started making candle by hand, until they realised the dipping-and-waiting was going to take more than their customary attention span of 5 minutes so Mummy took over while they tried their hand at stonemasonry. Yes, this place had it all. One lady enjoyed trying out her English on us and was showing Pickle some ancient games like cup-and-ball and spinning tops. But right next door was a mock jousting machine-thingy where you strapped on a shield and attacked it with a sword - much more his cup of tea. Poor lady didn't stand much of a chance unless she fancied a duel.

At the top of the hill was an all-weather Bobsled run, boasting 750m of track. We just couldn't resist. We have a local one near to our house but this one had bigger and better sleds, with back rest and seatbelts because they go so fast. As long as you don't get stuck behind the Saga day-trippers of course. No offence but I should have realised when 'Doris' and 'Derek' ahead of us in the queue decided they would ride tandem that they were not going to be flying round the corners on two wheels like Poppet and me planned to. Oh no. Derek was gripping that brake so hard I could see the white knuckles from my own sled, creeping along behind him. Well, never mind. It looked like the most fun Doris had seen in a while so all power to them.

On Sunday we visited the hugest cathedral I have ever seen, in Esztergom. Ostensibly the scene of Rose's first 'proper' kiss (read 'snog') . It's quite a setting. I really can't remember mine (she lied) but it was nowhere near as nice a location. We jumped on a Petit Train for a scenic tour, not really sure what to expect as the driver only gave us a picture postcard each as tickets and he somehow convinced himself that since I didn't speak Hungarian I must be fluent in German so he nattered on about 'drei-hundert forints die kinderer' while I quietly switched my face to screensaver.

But here's something we didn't expect - there is a bridge across the Danube in Esztergom which the little train trundled happily across after a brief jaunt past some pastel pink cottages and an almighty building site, and lo and behold, we were in Slovakia. Then he pulled up beside an ice cream shop and invited us all to get off and go get an ice cream. Of course the kids were already picking flavours while I hesitated and made a quick check in the guide book - Slovakia already switched to the Euro. We only had Hungarian forints. This was going to be one very quick conversation. Mercifully they were quite happy to take whatever money we had. I don't mean that nastily though, quite the opposite. How much would you pay for a double scoop of ice cream in a wafer cone in a popular tourist spot in the UK? £2? £2.50? They wanted the equivalent of 30p. And when I gave them 7p too much they made me wait for change. Incredible.

So I should point out that all weekend Her Royal Highness Queen Poppet was twittering on about 'holiday presents'. She picked hers out when we stopped for lunch on the way up on Friday. I advised her to shop around a bit, given that the item in her affections was a polished piece of rock on a leather shoe-lace and the one next to it had just fallen off in her hand. (Cue swift exit from tacky, tourist-trap.) And the fact that we hadn't even got there yet so there was no guarantee that she was going to be well behaved and actually earn a gift. That won me a very puzzled look. Earn a gift? Has Mummy gone mad? Surely we just go on and on and on about it and wear her down until she chucks the wallet at us and sighs 'take what you want' while Daddy slowly hits his head against a wall...?

So we left it until the very last minute, hoping the idea would miraculously evaporate from her head and silently seething for introducing the stupid practice in the first place. It didn't, of course, and naturally it was my stupid idea several holidays ago before I realised these brats have memories like elephants. And we ended up at a little souvenir market in the car park by the cathedral. Poppet picked out a necklace with an enormous sparkly butterfly on it. Then Pickle all of a sudden became very excited about a wooden trinket box on the neighbouring stall. There were loads of them, all different sizes, lacquered in different colours and questionably carved in abstract patterns. I picked one up and immediately put it down again as a bit of a waste of time and money. But he wouldn't give it up.

'My friend's got one of these! I've wanted one for ages! Can I have a box Mummy?' So I took the one he was shoving at me and tried to open it. Nothing. The lid wouldn't budge.
'I'm not sure,' says I, grabbing another one and trying the lid. That one wouldn't budge either. There was no keyhole and the stall holder was just leaning against the table wearing an enigmatic smile when I turned my confused face towards her.

Then little hands grabbed the box from me and a little voice piped up with,
'Oh, Mummy. Don't you know? It's a magic box.'
And the little know-all proceeded to move the sliding panels, find the secret key, uncover the hidden keyhole and open the darned box, while I stood there like a muppet with my mouth open. Totally upstaged.
I just handed my wallet to the lady and said 'take what you want.'

Love 'em

I wish you could have been at our house at about 8 o'clock this evening.

The kids were both outside having a game on the trampoline.

Poppet was pretending to be a princess in distress and screaming with each bounce.

Pickle was just naked.

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.

Boing!

Spring is here.

I know because my nose is streaming, my face is itching, I can barely get 5 minutes of regular breathing between sneezes and my eyeballs (yes, the actual white bits) have swollen up. Furthermore, I am losing the power of normal speech; Nobby and Me will be brought to you today in the total absence of the letters ‘m’ or ‘p’, presented by ‘Bubby’ who will be talking about Bobbet and Bickle.

I have a spider bite on my shin already which is rapidly expanding to look as though someone squished a strawberry on my leg. I just pulled 3 ticks off the dog and Pickle hit the hard drugs this morning as he’s starting to look hay feverish.

But, you know, it all looks so pretty outside with the blossom on the trees and the daffodils and tulips. I dried 3 loads of laundry in the sunshine in 2 hours flat and everyone is happy and jolly now that they’ve been able to finally stow away the snow-boots and ski-jackets for another year. The birds and the bees are doing what birds and bees do, and Poppet has had three proposals of marriage this week.

Spring has definitely sprung. Ah-choo!!

Have you heard the one about the brunette who goes to the Dr complaining that she hurts all over her body? The doctor tells her to show him, so she touches her knee with her right index finger and yells 'Ow!' Then she touches her head and yells 'Ow!' Then she touches her tummy and yells 'Ow!' So the doctor says, 'I'm guessing that firstly, you're not a natural brunette and secondly... you have a broken finger.'

Well today's typing is something like that as I just gouged a hole in my index finger trying to fix the front gate. I make no secret of my blondeness but I really shouldn't push my luck and reach for the tool box. I didn't even feel it until the blood started to drip down the screwdriver, yuk. The gate has been a right pain for some time. Not so long ago it wouldn't stay shut, so the landlord and his Handy Andy Man had a go at it, and now we can't open it without a battering ram and a small army. I was particularly keen to get it open just now because my friend had turned up and invited my kids to go swimming in her pool. Never one to pass up a couple more hours of peace and quiet I agreed and conducted a swift search for a crowbar to enable me to get them off the premises.

My kids continue to live in a social whirl, I don't know how they do it. I keep taking them places then coming back empty handed as another parent gets suckered into an impromptu play-date. I do actually do my share - I had 5 kids here for tea on Friday night. But I am pleased to report that the Dog Show did not happen. We were out all day Sunday anyway at yet another birthday party at the bowling alley, so if any pampered pooches did turn up they would have found Tiggy guarding the gate all on her own without so much as a rosette in sight, let alone a year's supply of Pedigree Chum .

On Saturday we benefited from the newly discovered and highly delightful 'Double Sleepover' where we get free babysitting (although I did drop in a bottle of wine and some chocolates to take the edge off,) a pass to stay out as late as we want, and no kids waking us up in the morning! I can really recommend it. I'm not sure I'd recommend the bar we went into in Budapest - my friend and I were feeling our age a bit watching all the bright young things dolled up in trendy gear pile into the place (apparently shorts worn with tights and knee-length boots are the current fashion over here... er, no thanks) when the DJ in his wisdom decided to put on Rick Astley 'Never Gonna Give You Up'. Well. We bolted. Despite the fact we might have impressed the crowd with our intimate knowledge of the lyrics, we would know it was from the first time round and no-one wants to be reminded of that.

So we managed to blag our way into a post-fashion-show private party further down the road. Nobby and his mate were very enthusiastic at the prospect of rubbing shoulders with a few models for the evening. And so were about a hundred other blokes - the place was packed full of men! Only one model showed up but Nobby was most disappointed that he didn't fancy her. Oh well.

At least I showed him a good evening out last Wednesday when I was given tickets to the Hungary v Malta World Cup Qualifier football match at the stadium in Budapest. We took both the children because the tickets came via the school and Hungary won 3:0! Plus the kids were able to participate in their first Mexican Wave in between goals and I witnessed first hand the Hungarian obsession with eating sunflower seeds at football matches. Nobby had told me about it before but I didn't really appreciate it fully until the chap next to me stood up at half time, leaving a small mountain of seed husks on the floor as though I'd been sitting next to the world's largest budgie.

Anyway, my finger is really throbbing now so that's all for today, I have every excuse to leave all the housework alone and enjoy the peace and quiet (and sunny 23 degrees, tee hee) till the rabble get home. TTFN.