Blog 54 w...

 Blog 54 w...

With sincere apologies to you all, especially those of you who have become weekly readers, out of respect and love for my life-long friend I am not publishing a blog this week...it would just be inappropriate...

you see a very special person has sadly passed away this weekend and whilst I am struggling deeply to overcome the shock, my heart goes out to my friend whose son’s death has brought her and her family the worst possible grief.

Out of respect for them all it would be in bad taste to publish anything other than: I am sad for them and their loss…I have no idea how I can help my dear, dear friend cope with her loss.

May their very special, very loving, very talented, very funny and very much loved young son rest in peace.   xox

Copyright©GML2012

Blog 54 v...5 become 4...

Blog 54 v…5 become 4...

As I write this week’s blog I am filling up with tears…tears of joy and a little sadness as this is the day that the ‘Bridezilla’ is moving out; lock, stock and barrel as the saying goes and although I’ve known this day was looming I had put it to the back of my mind: head in the sand I suppose.

The ‘Bridezilla and her ‘young-man’ have worked round the clock : decorating, organising, replacing, carpeting, painting, clearing; you name it they’ve done it! All as well as working full time: and she’s even been doing over time as well as her secondary job of mobile beautician. Even the news that the ‘Bridezilla’ will be facing redundancy soon has not quelled her enthusiasm and where someone less determined to succeed would have crumpled at that news she instead set about updating her C.V. and going for interviews.

Nights out to parties have been replaced by nights in painting…take-aways have been replaced by cheaper micro wave suppers…new clothes and new shoes have been abandoned in favour of ‘old’ things found in the inner realms of the wardrobe.

They have saved, saved, saved and cut back on everything they could cut back on.

The last few months have flown by and right before my very eyes they have both turned their house into their home.

As well as working hard they have never asked for anything. They have received early Christmas presents in the shape of an S shaped wooden unit and matching nest of tables plus lamp and a few wee bits from the ‘Hubby’ and I… [purchased in an early morning sale…5.00am to be exact but what the heck I don’t sleep anyway and what an eye opener that was…everything half priced…too good to miss!! I was ‘gobsmacked’ at the amount of people there!!] Then her granddad took my lead and bought her 4 dining chairs to fit round the beautiful dining table that she had bartered for…yes my quiet little ‘Bridezilla’ actually stood in front of me and her future ‘Hubby’ and knocked the salesman down CONSIDERABLY! Ha! I would never have had the nerve but as cool as a cucumber she persisted and he caved in! Then the grandmother-in law to be provided a fabulous fridge freezer on hearing they were going to do without! They have shopped in outlets and sales to make their pennies go further. The final gift of kindness was from a wonderful aunt who has provided stunning bedroom furniture. It has all come together so beautifully.

Ahh! Who would have thought it?

Today the bed arrived and that sealed the move…there is no need to stay here anymore, boo hoo!!

So I wanted to give her some pearls of wisdom. What would her mother have said she needed to do? I have wracked my brain and quite frankly, no offence to the ‘big sister,’ but I cannot think of anything sensible that she would have wanted her daughter to know!

I have found it difficult enough… but I thought maybe saying something like:

‘Never let the sun go down on an argument’…mmm well I have, many, many times; and so far we’ve survived;

‘Always say goodnight with a kiss…’ mmm well sometimes it’s more than a kiss but I can’t advocate that to my ‘little girl’; perhaps I should say something like;

‘Always save for a rainy day…’ or for new shoes or a set of proper saucepans;

The ‘Hubby’s’ words of wisdom are;

‘Have your own televisions…because Sport and My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding programmes don’t mix…’

The ‘Intelligent-one’ decided to suggest;

‘Never run out of toilet paper…’

And of course from the ‘Cutie-pie’;

‘Always keep your cupboards stocked up…and don’t forget I like…’

At a loss of what to impart I have found myself wanting to say things like;

being together full time is hard, once the holiday period is over it’s a case of compromise…each person has foibles that drives the other one mad…you have to give and take…you have to put up with things…you have to get used to the toilet seat still being up at night and in the darkness you become wedged in the loo…you get used to seeing a dark shape in the corner and squint closely to see if it’s a mouse only to discover it’s the discarded socks …the best towels saved for guests are the first he pulls off the towel rail to stand on…never let him have cheese and biscuits in bed as cream cracker crumbs get in all the wrong places…don’t clean the cooker until he’s finished frying his egg and bacon…

but then there is also the flip of excitement in your stomach when you are driving home from work and he’ll be home first waiting…the excitement of the sound of his key in the front door after a night out with the lads…waking up next to him and running your fingers across his nose [wouldn’t advise doing that more than once though…!] the linger of his after shave in a morning…curling up on the sofa when the rain is pouring down and you are warm and snuggly…yes there is a lot I can tell the ‘Bridezilla’ about being with the man you love… but it’s been a lifetime of discovery and they have to discover it for themselves; so really I need to hush and instead of giving advice I need to become a listener first and adviser second.

Together they have made the decision to marry, to set up a new way of life and heaven knows she deserves the best.

So with a little heavy heart I have taught her how to use her washing machine, how to organise her fridge and supervised her making up the new bed with new bedding and enjoy her giggles when she said;

“Ooh it’ll be like sleeping in a hotel…!”

I have put on a brave face when we have discussed ‘When I move out…’ and I have smiled when she said that we will still have a day a week together to plan the wedding and go shopping.

I have tried to think positively about the fact that she filled the house with music and laughter, fashion and magazines and shoes and G-strings! She has often left a mountain of washing and needed the very item of clothing at the bottom of the laundry basket asap! She has given the boys advice on how to be a teenager without disrupting the parents’ lives too much…she has, in short, made us a family of 5…and now she needs to spread her wings and look to the future and one day her own family. I feel blessed that I have had her all to myself all these years and all the memories she has created with us are recorded in photographs and firmly imprinted in my mind.

You know it is exactly 25 years ago this summer that I moved out of my parent’s house and into my own little two up two down mews terraced house. Although I had been living away from home at different points in my life I had always had my childhood home as the permanent base and all my stuff and clutter was there: my bedroom had become a comfort zone. Then I decided that at the age of 27, following a promotion, it was time to have my own place and began house hunting. 12 months into saving and searching I found the perfect place within walking distance of my mum: brand new houses were being built on the grounds of the old Continuation hospital and the original hospital wall was retained; giving me an enclosed garden all of my own. The house I chose was built in the kitchen garden area of the hospital and came complete with some very old hydrangea and rhododendron bushes that survived the builders’ creations.

Not once did I stop to think about the effect it had on my mother that I was moving out for good not into marriage but as a single woman…not once did I consider her feelings whilst I chatted about carpets and curtains…she often went very quiet and I thought she was just pondering how exciting this was for me …not once did I stop and realise that my mother was having to say goodbye to her second daughter and begin a life without me coming home from work, sharing the day’s news, asking advice on the latest fashion or hair colour. My mother was facing the prospect of yet another one fleeing the nest, the nest she had tried so hard to create into a wonderful home that no child would want to leave.

All these feelings are now haunting me as I prepare to say goodbye to the ‘Bridezilla’…how the tables have turned…on the day I moved out all those years ago my ‘big sister’ and the baby ‘Bridezilla’ had been spending the day at the house whilst I drove back and forth with clothes and boxes and after I had unpacked what little bits and pieces I had for my new home and we had had our tea it was time for them to go home. They were walking, as my ‘big sister’ felt it would help the baby ‘Bridezilla’ to sleep…I stood on the doorstep to wave goodbye, excited to spend my first night in my new home…when they reached the corner  they turned and they waved and then the toddler that I had been so happy to be with at her birth, see her first steps, hear her first words; turned and shouted “bye bye” and then burst into tears and shouted;

“Coming home now…?”

I dissolved.

 My ‘big sister’ swept her up and carried her off and I was left in tears on my doorstep, the full impact of what I was doing finally dawned on me.

So today it was my turn to walk away and wave, desperate to say “Coming home now…?” and although this is the right time, the right place for her and the right ‘young man’ to start a new life with… I cannot help but feel it’s all too soon for me…

Blog 54 w coming soon…next Wednesday…

Copyright©GML2012.

Blog54u...Summer?

Blog 54 u…Summer? 

 It is hard to believe that we are in the summer month of July when you look at all the unfortunate people who have been flooded for the second time in weeks. Where has all this rain come from? Where is it all going to go? I know, I know the rain cycle and the sea but honestly it is beginning to get beyond a joke now when we have so little sunshine to brighten up our days before the onslaught of the winter!

Looking at old photos of holidays it makes you just want to go out and book flights to somewhere hotter, less wet and relaxing. Talking about summer days when we were children and what we got up to in comparison to the children’s wet, wet summer breaks; just makes me long for the sunshine even more so that they can get out and enjoy some summer sunshine!

Whilst I am sitting here typing the rain is drip, drip, dripping down the windows, the lamps are on to try and cosy up the place and yet my door is open because it is hot…no, not just the menopausal hot flashes that keep me awake half the night…but real moggy heat that makes your shirts stick to your backs and your skirts flap on your thighs. How is it that it is pouring with rain and yet so hot? Are we heading towards a ‘Rainforest’ climate; good God think of all the insects and creatures that would start to appear in our trees…huge spiders…and…no stop! I cannot think of that. It’s too unreal!

But what I can think about is the small ray of sunshine I felt on my face just two days ago. For a very brief moment, an interlude in between the rain storms, there was a crack in the clouds and the sun broke free. I stood in my wellies in the middle of the puddle that we lovingly refer to as our garden and I turned my face towards the sun; eyes closed, hands on hips and standing very still I transported myself to a different time and place…Corfu 1983…

The sky was the brightest, bluest, cloudless sky I have ever seen. The sea was the deepest blue with the whitest waves. The sand was the cleanest, purest, golden sand I had ever set barefoot on. The warmth of the sun on my skin was magical…I can place myself standing in the shallow sea, hands on hips, face turned towards the sun, soaking in every minute. The sound of people laughing, children playing, Greek tunes on a radio in the distant bar, the smell of coconut sun oil and the freshness of the sea as the gentle waves circled my legs.  As I stood there I remember thinking if only time could stand still…if only I could stay here forever…I was determined to somehow imprint the sights, sounds, smells and the sun into my brain forever.

Ah yes, what a beautiful place and a holiday to remember: not least because it was only the second time I had ever been abroad and the last time I would holiday as a single, carefree girl! I was on a girl’s holiday with two very good friends and my ‘big sister.’ The four of us had jetted off to Corfu for a summer break of two weeks for sun, sea, sangria and…well actually even though the saying goes; “What happens in Corfu…stays in Corfu…” we actually didn’t find love on the beach, or the bars or the airport for that matter although we did come close to some form of sex when we emerged from a night club and some boys on motorbikes circled us and shouted:

“Hey, English…you wanta gang plank..!”

We fell about laughing and they nearly fell off their bikes at our response…funny how 'Clear off...!' can translate into all launguages…!

We may not have found Mr. Right but we did have a laugh and lots of sunshine and we made happy memories. [I have treasured photographs which I can share with the ‘Bridezilla’ showing how beautiful and happy her mum was as a young woman…]

We went sailing on a clipper ship and dived over board into the crystal blue waters; we ate sword fish and chips; we drank ouzo in the local bars at night and danced until the early hours in the little disco; we watched fancy dress competitions whereby the young men dressed in togas and the girls looked like Aphrodite; we visited a little hill top restaurant and ate the most gorgeous food whilst listening to the crickets and looking out over the town all lit up, lights reflecting in the sea.

We visited the Old Corfu town where the Castle was lit up at night; there was a fabulous market, designer dress shops, shoes to die for, tavernas, ice-cream emporium…just a beautiful place. [We actually had to find a chemist first as I, at the time, suffered badly from Dyspepsia and needed copious amounts of Aludrox in order to keep any food down…the chemist only sold it in huge bottles the likes of which I had never seen before! He put it in a brown paper bag and I rushed out, down a side alley way and glugged from the bagged bottle…ah… relief and yes, there are photos of that too, somewhere in someone’s photo album!]

Although not all the memories are happy…there was an incident one afternoon that actually has scarred me for life…emotionally that is! The four of us were determined to get the best suntan ever! We were staying in a small block of holiday rooms within walking distance of the beach; we sat having breakfast in our bare feet and bikinis listening to the sea and at lunchtime we sat in the beach taverna under shades eating watermelon, slices of ham and crusty bread; then the rest of the day when we were not eating we sat on the beach reading novels, sleeping in the sunshine or swimming. We got to know other holiday makers quite well and often chatted. There was a group of young lads who would carry a table and four chairs into the sea and sit playing cards with their beers cooling by their feet.  One particular day we decided to get some lie-los so that we could lie in the sunshine getting a tan but also keep cool by dipping our hands or toes in the sea. Out of the four of us there was a ‘very sensible one’ who did not partake in the lie-lo culture and would sensibly return to the rooms for a siesta and chill. Whereas me, [totally senseless!] my ‘big sister’ [a little more sensible than me but not much!] and the other ‘less sensible one’[but more sensible than me and my ‘big sister’] laid out in the burning sun to catch the end of the days rays…on our lie-los.

This particular afternoon we stayed out a little longer and laid on our backs paddling our hands and feet over the edges of our lie-los, talking, laughing and completely unawares of the tide changes in our little cove. Then it began to get a little windy and my ‘big sister’ announced she was off for a quick swim before we need to go and get ready for our night out. She slid off her lie-lo quickly and disappeared, her lie-lo was free from her weight and shot off into the distance whipped up and out of reach by the wind.

“Don’t move,” she shouted as she re-emerged from the depths and grabbed my arm; “stay very still, don’t panic but we are in deep water…”

When someone says don’t panic; you do don’t you?…my stomach was flipping faster than the mirage of her disappearing lie-lo. OMG. What on earth? The tide had changed and had been carrying us out towards Albania in the distance!

The other ‘less-sensible one’ announced she would swim to shore to get help but on sitting up carefully and putting our legs over the sides of our lie-los we realised that we would be swimming against the tide, the wind was blowing the water into our eyes and stinging, how the hell could we swim that far?

My 'big sister' knew I hated deep water anyway and she knew I’d probably drown if left behind... she made the decision not to leave me…for which I'm thankful…and that we should try and attract attention by waving and shouting every so often. After trying to paddle the lie-los together towards the beach we were becoming exhausted and not getting too far…of course I was crying by now…and the other two probably would have been safe on dry land if they had left me behind! Surely someone would notice us?

Well actually they did! The four young men sitting in the sea around their table happened to see us and thinking that we were rather far out decided to swim towards us…thank God for young men!!

We were saved! They dragged us into less deep water where I could stand and then after giving us a good ticking off they laughed with us about ending up as white slaves somewhere…the relief was unbelievable. I have never been so afraid of drowning and I used to be a strong swimmer but that far out to sea…well…let’s put it this way never again once my feet don’t touch the bottom of the pool or the sand in the sea…I panic and need to swim back quickly to a safe place!

Thing is the next day exactly the same thing happened to another girl…we watched in horror as we saw how far she had suddenly gone…the lads stood up…

“Here we go again…” shouted one of them only this time they borrowed a pedalo and reached her before she woke up and panicked!

Needless to say the lie-los were relegated to the room!

As a way of treating ourselves to get over the ‘almost’ disaster we visited an evening bbq and circus festival; whereby trapeze artists flew above our heads whilst we ate and there was a little market place where we bought silver jewellery and my ‘big sister’ mixed  her own perfume…a haunting odour all of her own design! This night was the cause of our second holiday mishap…it rained and we sat in wet clothes for hours.

During the night I became ill. Thinking it was just me and my usual upset stomach I dealt with it and crawled back into bed. I was up and down what seemed like all night, my temperature was high and the sickness didn’t stop. Then I became cold and shivery and put on some clothes before crawling exhausted back into bed. The night seemed never ending and my head ached, my throat was sore and I was desperately in need of a drink. I longed for the morning and lapsed in and out of the most fitful sleep. Eventually I tried to wake the ‘less sensible one’ to discover she too had been ill during the night. We sat feeling really poorly and wondered should we nip next door to where my ‘big sister’ and the ‘sensible one’ were sleeping. It was dark outside and the lights were lit all along the pathway.

“Get the English Embassy…call the travel rep…help I’m ill…OMG I’m so sick…the toilet’s blocked…the shower’s blocked…” I can laugh now but this is what we could hear from behind their door!

On all getting together we discovered we had all been ill with the same fever…worse still when we dressed and walked up the little road to the local taverna for some food we were greeted with:

“Ah you English girlies…where ave you bin?” shouted George the landlord of the taverna.

To our horror we discovered that we had actually been ill in bed for two full
days ; he explained that they were all worried as they had not seen us at the usual time and they knew we were not due to go home for a few more days and they were deciding who should go looking for us when we appeared!

He insisted on feeding us hot soup, crusty bread, no alcohol and gave us a bottle of white spirit to rub on our backs and chests to help with the coughing!

No more late nights in the rain after that! But long, glorious days in the sun…and a wonderful trip to a monastery on the hill tops in a little place I think was called Paleokastritsa where the buildings were white and the sea the most beautiful of blues…yes it’s exactly as it is in the films!

All too soon the holiday was over and we had to face the flight home…from the smallest of airports with the shortest of runways…that ended sharply on the tip of the ocean…each time a plane took off the crowd on the balcony stood watching and shouting;

“Is he going to make it…yes yes..ooohhh that was close…”

When I opened my eyes I was standing in my wellies in the middle of the puddle that we lovingly refer to as our garden…hands on hips, face turned towards the sun…ahh the warmth…ahh the memories…ahh the summer time of my youth…

And I wonder…what kind of memories will my boys grow up with of their summer times?

Wellies…umbrellas…floods…hailstorms…?

Perhaps one day they will stand with the sun on their faces and say…    “ee...remember that summer when…?”

Blog 54 v coming soon…next Wednesday…

Copyright©GML2012.

P.S. apologies to those of you who have been having problems posting a comment: I've 'flicked a switch' so to say and should have now enabled anyone to post a comment...good or otherwise!

Blog 54 t...The Smoothie Maker...

Blog 54 t...The Smoothie Maker...

Well, the ‘Cutie-pie’ managed to create his own piece of literary genius for that piece of homework without any help from any of us; allowing us only to proof read his spellings! But the flood gates of memories were open for me and as I said last week the Smoothie-maker was a whole different tale to tell…so I think you’ve already guessed by the title what this week’s blog is all about…

About 9 years ago we had been invited to a family wedding across the water in Ireland. As is per the norm for my Irish family gatherings it’s not just a wedding day but a few days of parties and celebrations which entail food, drink, laughter, tears, stories, reminiscing, shopping trips, beach trips…you name it we squeeze it all in and it becomes the most wonderful wedding experience of a lifetime.

So the invitation sent me into a frenzy of dieting, organising, more dieting and clothes shopping. I had learnt my lesson from the Disney trip and relegated the Judy Garland luggage to the attic and invested in two wonderful large suitcases on wheels…fabulous invention…and a suit carrier. So it was that the ‘Hubby’, myself, the boys and the grandfather set off to fly to Belfast via Liverpool. It was important that we arrived early in order to book in and get seats together…on-line booking was not invented at this point…or if it was we didn’t know about it! We were the first to arrive at the booking in desk and stood excited; three adults, two children [aged 8 years and nearly 4 years] three suitcases, one suit carrier, a rather large hat-box and the gift of the season: a smoothie maker. The queue began to breed in large numbers as we stood there eagerly awaiting the ‘come hither’ wave of the hostess. We approached the desk, displayed our passports, answered the questions about packing and explained what we were carrying as hand luggage.

Due to him not needing as much luggage as us, we had entrusted the grandfather with the smoothie-maker. When asked what it was that he was carrying, he replied:

“An ice-cream maker.”

“No it’s not, it’s a yoghurt maker,” said the ‘Hubby’.

“No it isn’t,” I intervened, “it’s a smoothie maker.”

“Well whatever it is, it has to go through security and you must hand it to the air hostess on boarding the plane,” replied the pretty young thing from behind her desk, all red lipstick and slicked back hair…oh to have the time to do that so early in the morning!

Then she proceeded to weigh our luggage and much to my shock and horror after having carefully packed the freshly ironed clothes for the five of us [no easy task preparing the wardrobe of four males for four days] one of the cases was a kilo overweight…a kilo? 

What’s that in clothes? 

I was informed that it could not go through if it was over the limit, there are health and safety regulations you know for the luggage handlers and they will not lift anything over the pre-scripted weight.

“What do I do now?”

Gutted I looked at the ‘Hubby’ who looked behind him as if there was someone else I was talking to, [I was waiting for him to point a finger at his chest and say ‘Who? Me?’ ]

“You’ll need to transfer something from the heavier case to the lighter case,” suggested the pretty one from the safety of her desk.

“What? Oh for goodness sake…”

This was followed by several minutes of trying to find the suitcase keys in my new, large, travel-appropriate handbag; delving down deep in between wet wipes [never travel without them these days…] make up bag [why bother? There’s never anytime to use it…] tissues, perfume, sweets for the boys, crayons and mosaic pads to help occupy them, ‘Hubby’s’ aftershave that he’d left on the breakfast bar, a beanie Winnie the Pooh, [how the hell did that get there?] the car keys and finally the suitcase padlock keys!

I grabbed the case, threw it on the floor, wrenched open the damn thing and massacred my packing; I grabbed my freshly ironed designer blouse, summer dress, a handful of t-shirts, tissue papered wedding shoes, silky camisoles and angrily piled them together on to the floor…leaving that case open on the floor I grabbed the lighter case, sprawled it open on the floor and like a mad woman I thrust all those clothes into it, slammed it shut and hauled it back on to the awaiting scales; red faced I knelt down to see my knickers, girdles, panty-hose and ‘Sexy Miss’ pyjamas were on display to everyone in the queue and as she, the perfect one behind the desk, announced that was fine, I began shoving the remaining clothes in so I could close this, now the lighter case: mumbling about weight and what difference is a bloody kilo?

As I placed this case on the scales I heard the grandfather announce to the impatient passengers behind…

“It’s because she’s on a diet…not had chocolate for a month…she can’t cope…look what it’s done to her…and I don’t think she looks any thinner…”

Furious, I walked away, face burning red, my new jeans filthy from crawling on the floor, exasperated to think that my clothes will be shrivelled and I’ll need to stay sober that night and press them all over again whilst everyone else is partying!

With all the males from the family walking several steps behind for fear of having their heads bitten off, I turned to see who would like a breakfast; the grandfather announced I needed to sit down and he would get me a pot of tea. Tea! I needed a double brandy after that charade…and a cake…a big slice…to hell with it: I needed a fry up.

Believe it or not they all abandoned me to sit quietly on my own and sip black tea and devour a shortbread.

We needed to go through the security checks as early as possible as it was a small airport at the time and prone to delays due to the hundreds of passengers walking through the zig-zags of security red tape…literally!

So we set off down the stairs and approached the first of the three security checks…this was passport check: easy enough you would think wouldn’t you, except that the grandfather couldn’t remember where his passport was and he insisted he had given it to me at the desk…a few panicky moments later he found it in his back pocket and proceeded to then pass the smoothie maker box over the desk to the passport controller.

“What’s this?”

“It’s an ice-cream maker,” proudly announced the grandfather…

“No it’s not, it’s a yoghurt maker …” patiently said the ‘Hubby’

“No it isn’t,” I intervened once again, “it’s a smoothie maker…”

“Well whatever it is I don’t want it on my desk…it goes on board as hand luggage,” remarked the ‘Grumpy Controller .’

We approached the next security check point and after removing jackets and money from pockets we dutifully filed through the scanner…the ‘Hubby’ first followed by the ‘Intelligent-one’ and hot on his heels was the ‘Cutie-pie’…the alarm bells rang and he froze…what was wrong?

I was waved forward with my hat box and the pair of us were taken to one side…permission granted, the security guard began to search the ‘Cutie-pie’ who thought that this was fantastic to set that noise off…the guard reached the side pockets of his dungarees which I suddenly noticed were bulging…

“Please empty your pockets…”

The ‘Cutie-pie’ proudly presented three metal fire engines, two metal black mini cabs, a metal tractor, a farmer figure and a handful of batteries…with the suggestion that the mother should put all those in her handbag, we were allowed to start to walk towards the ‘Hubby’ and the ‘Intelligent-one’ who had found this amusing…and in the background I heard the grandfather saying “It’s an ice cream maker…”

“No it’s not, it’s a yoghurt maker…”shouted the ‘Hubby’

“No it isn’t,” I intervened, “it’s a smoothie maker.”

“Well I’m supposed to give it to you…” the grandfather stated as he held the box high and tried to pass it onto the security guard as he walked towards the scanner…

“No, granddad you have to give it to the air hostess,” shouted the ‘Intelligent- one’.

We progressed to the final security check point where I was not surprised to see the grandfather try to give the lady in uniform the box announcing that he was carrying the ice-cream maker because I had the hat box…the puzzled look on her face broke into a smile when she heard…

“No it’s not, it’s a yoghurt maker…”

“No it isn’t it’s a smoothie maker…”

“No, granddad you’re supposed to give it to the air stewardess…”

Finally we sat down near the boarding gate and I thought I’d snatch a few minutes of looking around the perfume shop…seeing as the ‘Cutie-pie’ had enough toys for them both to play with, the ‘Hubby’ was reading his book and the grandfather was off to buy a paper.

This was lovely, I wanted to spend ages just browsing and dreaming of going to a hot destination and buying all these lovely swimsuits and flip flops…my peace was shattered by the ‘Hubby’ calling that the grandfather had lost the damn yoghurt maker and the flight had been called… “It’s a…”oh what the hell it doesn’t matter what it was it’s lost now I thought as I ran out of the shop; looking more like a shop lifter than a mummy going away for a weekend break…

Luckily the smoothie maker was found next to the newspaper stand and so off we trotted with it and my hat box and all the toys. We filed along the airport apron to our awaiting plane, the ‘Hubby’ leading, the excited boys behind him, the grandfather next and me at the end so that I could make sure we didn’t leave anyone or anything behind.

As the grandfather disappeared through the plane door I heard;

“What’s this?”

“It’s an ice-cream maker…”

“No it’s not it’s a yoghurt maker…” I heard the 'Hubby' shout from the depths of the plane and before I could intervene a line of voices from the impatient passengers behind me on the steps shouted…

“It’s a smoothie maker…

…granddad's supposed to give it to you…”

Blog 54 u coming soon…next Wednesday…

Copyright©GML2012.