Second Place is Good Enough! 

Finally, the Paralympics will be starting tomorrow night! I’m not sure why there has been such a delay, I was starting to worry that Rio would have started dismantling their Olympic Village but hopefully not.  I’m not sure what happens to me during Olympic season but I do become a little bit sport obsessed. Ordinarily I would never watch competitive cycling or care less about diving but when it is an Olympic event I’m all over it!
My love of Olympics is mainly due to my parents love for Athletics and I have fond memories of them rooting for Daley Thompson and Fatima Whitbread who were flying the flag for GB in my childhood.  Nowadays, our GB stars are much bigger celebrities mainly due to London 2012 putting Great Britain on the map and reducing the size of Tom Daley’s swimming trunks over night!

My own children love the Olympics with my son having attended the London Paralympics with my parents when he was 8 and as my twins turned 9 this year they became drawn into the events playing out on the TV during the Rio coverage.  We were on holiday in Norfolk the week it was on and had to literally drag my youngest son away from the TV each morning as he settled down to watch a cocktail of Judo, Fencing, Hockey or Pole Vault.

Team GB did amazingly well this year but am I the only who thought that the coverage was a bit OTT and fairly harsh at times? Due to the time difference the live events were on during the night and if you did have the stamina to stay up until 2am to watch the likes of Usain Bolt and Mo Farah you were also treated to Dan Walker from BBC Breakfast trying to fill hours of awkward airtime on Copacabana Beach.  In fact, BBC Breakfast was renamed Olympic Breakfast during the events as presenters interviewed the likes of Jessica Ennis-Hill’s next door neighbour and Carol brought us the weather whilst trying out a kayak on the Thames.  

It is quite incredible that we made it into second place with our ‘gold rush’ of medals but it did seem that the media was never satisfied.  British commentators were complaining about athletes only achieving a silver or bronze and dedicating about an hour’s conversation on whether Jessica Ennis-Hill should retire now as she only managed second place.  That still makes her the second best heptathlete in the world! On the flipside, media from around the world became suspicious of our glory and why we were achieving gold medals, however, if they looked at our athletes faces when they did win a gold they were more shocked than anyone! 

I love how the Great British public become experts in random sports each year, especially me.  Having never learnt to dive myself, I was more than confident to berate Tom Daley on ‘too much splash’ when taking his dive as well as telling synchronised divers how ‘out of time’ they were.  And this year we even had the added bonus of the suspect green water debate and the bizarre use of the Jacuzzis tucked behind the boards, which often had some random bloke sitting in it reminding me of why I often swerve the Jacuzzi in public pools as there is always someone who spends too much time in there!

There were so many highlights for me this year.  The gymnastics were incredible with a Basildon boy sweeping the golds by, amongst other things, holding his own body in the air using just his wrist. But for me, the cycling was super addictive.  Possibly because we were so good at it but mainly because the rules are completely bonkers!  A sporting event that takes place in an arena that sounds like its straight from Blade Runner – The Velodrome – where cyclists are placed on enhanced skinny bikes and led into position.  They then run circles against each other like crazed gerbils as the viewing public try and work out what is happening.  My apologies to any cycling experts reading as I should just Google the rules, but what was with the kerb crawling race? One cyclist starts the race by pedalling slowly along all the while sneaking a look over their shoulder whilst the opponent cyclist creeps up on them, after a lap of two of this cat and mouse game they then race like lunatics to try and overtake each other.  Seemed completely mental to me but probably the only race I stayed up late to watch. 

I am really looking forward to the Paralympics as for me it is when the real super humans take part.  I watched coverage of an athlete training on the news today who had no legs but he is taking part in the triathlon! I am just sad that BBC didn’t feel it was high profile enough to put it on the main programme and instead C4 will be hosting the coverage.  I just hope Clare Balding has jumped ship to carry on the coverage as she seems to be the only commentator I was able to stomach.  

My 12 year old son came home from school today moaning about the Olympics which was weird as he loved the coverage.  When I asked him why, he said that his teachers were all using Mo Farah as an example in lessons and it was driving all the kids mad.  Apparently, whatever the problem the student was having and whatever the subject, Mo taking a stumble in his race and getting back up again and winning the gold was being overused as an incentive for children ‘to tackle their own obstacles’!  Personally, I thought it was a fairly genius teaching method.

Three IS a Crowd

3 kids

I never expected to have a big family.  In fact, I didn’t expect to have children at all after medical experts had told me as much.  How wrong they were (thankfully) as I am now a proud Mum of three, my eldest son is 12 and I have boy/girl twins who are almost 9.  However, more than two children can be a struggle, so for those of you who are in the same boat with multiple children, or if you are considering opting for a third let me fill you in on what a challenge it can be!

One Set of Hands is Never Enough

With three children, one always has to hold an elbow at some point.  A double buggy is tricky on its own without an extra child hanging off the side and how can people use buggy boards without 8ft long arms?!

When I had the twins my eldest son was only 3 years old, past the age of reins but still needing to be kept in line from running amok and so needed a hand to hold.  It may sound silly, but two hands just are not enough when you have three children.  With a twin baby in each arm, I became quite adept at using other body parts to do simple tasks. My feet became more dextrous than a chimpanzee at picking up items from the floor, I had to rely on the strength of my teeth to grab stuff and balancing became an art form when trying to hold children whilst simultaneously opening a door with a phone cradled under my ear.  In fact, multi-tasking is now an essential way of life, whilst talking to a friend on the phone I can sort a washload, find a missing Barbie hairbrush, clear up a mountain of Lego and make a cup of tea, albeit whilst sounding like a person living with Tourette’s by shouting “Don’t lick that!” at the same time as catching up on gossip with my friend.

Not Built For a Family of Five

Cars, hotel rooms, rollercoasters, bus seats, the list goes on of places that are created for a family of four.   When I had my first scan and was given the very unexpected news that twins were on the way, hubby’s first words were ‘We need a bigger car’… Bigger car! I’ve got to grow two babies!! But he was right.  Our beloved four seater car just wouldn’t cut it for a toddler and two baby seats.  And now that we have a bigger car it is a constant battle to persuade one of the children to sit in the middle seat as they all fake car sickness to be by the window.

A day out to a funfair/theme park often creates a situation of ‘taking it in turns’ to sit next to each other on the rides whilst me or hubby fill the seat next to third child, which is normally hubby as I can’t deal with the motion sickness these days.  There has been many a situation where I have shoehorned the three of them into a two seater dodgem/rollercoaster car to save on arguments/queueing which also doubles up as an extra security measure as they can’t actually move their limbs!

Late For Everything

Three or more children can mean that one to one time with a child becomes near on impossible! Before the arrival of the twins, me and my son used to go everywhere together. I’d prepare a packed lunch for us, sling on a backpack and venture out somewhere for the day with him.  When three children are in the mix then a day out can look like you’re preparing for a school trip with packed lunches, coats, toys, etc.  Just finding three pairs of matching shoes is an impossible task. In fact, spending a night away as a family of five is equivalent of a week’s holiday in stuff to pack.

Parent Guilt x 3

I often spend a sleepless night worrying about how I should be playing with the children more.  How I need to be making the most of every minute because it goes so quick and that I really should be playing imagination games with the twins, making Lego creations with my youngest son, making art collages with my daughter or talking through feelings with my eldest.  Yet, each day is filled with cooking, cleaning, washing (endless washing), school runs, cooking, finding shoes/school books/special toys, cooking, cleaning, drop offs to brownies/football/tennis, washing, homework, cooking…. Where is there time for ‘special time’?!

Budgeting is Impossible

I feel flush for exactly four days after payday then the money disappears.  A ‘big ‘shop often costs the same as a European City Break.  A full cupboard never lasts and a packet of biscuits disappears within a day.  However, having to constantly put your hand in your pocket does mean you find ways to become thrifty.  I have often been left with the challenge of creating three lunchboxes on a school morning when I discover that there is no bread and I will have to fashion a lunchbox out of cold pasta, cut up cheese, raisins and unwanted flavoured crisps.

I Want to Be Alone!

Beds, bathrooms and kitchens are all places that I miss spending time in by myself.  I gave up having a solitary wee or a bed with less than three bodies in it a long time ago.  Date nights are few and far between and cost a fortune in babysitting.  Thankfully I have a very supportive family, but a night away with the hubby loses its appeal when you come home to find exhausted parents surrounded by chaotic children. I constantly moan about needing some ‘me time’ but when I went away for a girls weekend last December I felt a constant emptiness (between the mojitos!) and found myself looking at pictures of my little family before I went to sleep.

It is hard/expensive/exhausting having a big family but every now and then, when we are walking in our group across the park or all squeezed together on the sofa laughing at a movie my insides go all squishy with love looking at my three gorgeous children, all unique in their own little way and I wouldn’t change it for the world.

3s

26 jan 16 037

I Heart Europe!

I can’t shake the shivers. A cold internal feeling creeping across my back as I consume the horrific news in Nice.  Yet another tragic terrorist attack but this one has hit me hard I think because the victims are mainly families, parents with their children watching a firework display. The type of event me and my husband would take our three children to, where you would be helpless stuck in a crowd with an impossible escape hurtling towards you. News reports have said parents were hurling their children to safety before meeting their fate. It is too much to bear the thought of being in that situation. I’ve visited many European cities but have never been to Nice but imagine it was (before yesterday evening) a vibrant family friendly place which has now been tarred with tradegy. I don’t want to feel unsafe in Europe but be proud of it. I don’t want to allow the hate of a few radicalised monsters to define the love that is needed to shower the survivors and families of the victims with. My hubby and I visited Rome earlier this year and I wrote the following blog about our trip which I’ve been meaning to share for a while. I feel it is right to do it today. I want to share my gratitude at a city steeped in history and the pride of its inhabitants and help stand firm against terrorists and not allow them to destroy our homes and communities and to drag us into their hate.

Ciao Roma!

Our Italian 4 day break was my 40th present from hubby and was completely unexpected. Rome is amongst many places on my very long bucket list of destinations I would like to visit and it was everything I dreamt of and more.

We set off on a Thursday afternoon from Stansted airport and strolled (a type of walking that can only be achieved without our three children in tow) around the departure lounge. As it would be just us two, we decided to actually plan stuff to do whilst on our mini break and had already pre-booked the Colosseum and The Vatican tour and had even figured out the public transport situation so we could commute from the airport by bus and use the metro once there.  ‘When in Rome’ as they say!

After a fairly stress free flight (thanks to Kalms, Heineken and a movie on hubby’s IPAD) we arrived on Italian soil.  It was freezing and dark and we felt miles away from the centre of Rome and headed to our bus stop to begin the first leg of our journey to the outskirts of the capital where we picked up our (super cheap – London take note!) underground connection.  We wedged onto the very bright and noisy tube which had a TV monitor hanging at equal sections throughout the carriages churning out Italian infomercials like a scene out of  Blade Runner.  Hubby had booked a hotel by The Vatican so when we reached our stop and ventured out onto the street the view that met us was breathtaking.  The streets were perfectly symmetrical with ornate apartment block buildings above shops of varying type either side of wide streets bustling with cars, trams and mopeds.  As we wheeled our mini cases down side streets, the buildings stayed the same in style but the streets became narrower and sleepier as we passed groups of well dressed Roman teenagers and adults walking their pampered pooches.

Rome is a city steeped in history and each corner you turn you feel like you could be in any era with its unspoilt appearances and ageless surroundings.  Our accommodation was a room set within an apartment block full of local Romans. Our apartment owner met us in the dimly lid street and led us through two enormous doors into a marble decked courtyard with windows overlooking the square below.  It was like a film set and I felt a million miles from home.

Rome is a beautiful place with an unbelievable amount of historical sites to visit that in a short break you have to be fairly ruthless with your itinerary. With so many monuments worth a look, there was also the added importance of ensuring we sampled plenty of Italian food and wine.  My personal highlights were:

The Colosseum 

What an incredible experience and not just because of hubby’s numerous Russell Crowe impressions.  This famous amphitheatre is enormous in size and has been so well protected and updated without losing its historical charm.  We opted for a headphone tour rather than an actual person which meant we spent our time walking around the monument using sign language or shouting loudly to communicate with each other.  To stand in the middle of the stadium and imagine the events that unfolded there was unbelievable.  It is believed to have housed a staggering 80,000 audience members to watch the barbaric games that were held in the arena, with the seats allocated by class and your ranking in Roman society, meaning the cheap seats at the back were for the peasants.  If you were a gravedigger, actor or a former gladiator you were bizarrely banned altogether!

The Vatican and St Peters

Our apartment building was a stones throw from the walled city known as The Vatican.  Let me just labour that point – The Vatican is a country within a country! There is a 2 mile wall (which we pretty much walked the length of) that surrounds the Pope’s home and at one end is the breathtaking site of St Peters Square and St Peters Basilica.  It is so momentous I cannot do it justice in words and although I do not consider myself to be that religious I felt a strange sentiment when I entered the cavernous walls of St Peters Basilica.  We opted for a proper tour guide for The Vatican as neither of us really understand the art and the history of the religion within and thank goodness we did as our tour guide was a hilarious Roman lady with impeccable English. Her knowledge was incredible and as a born and bred Roman her pride of this historical site was very engaging.  We spent four hours walking the vast corridors of the Pope’s palaces with its walls and ceilings covered in historic art as we weaved around centuries old statues and apart from my feet aching I was intrigued at every turn.  When we came to the Sistine Chapel, our tour guide warned us not to speak and to walk slowly through the exhibition. The Vaticans are so concerned over this work of art being damaged that the room is decked out with security guards glaring at you menancingly whilst making shushing noises and ushering you past the priceless paintings.

The Trevi Fountain

This famous site was very impressive, so much bigger than I expected and the noise of the water gushing was mesmerising. What I particularly loved about this fountain though was the area in which it was set with its narrow cobbled streets and perfect apartments with their trademark scooters parked outside amid quaint restaurants and bars. My favourite meal of the weekend was in an amazing restaurant in a courtyard just metres from the fountain. The Spanish Steps were also just around the corner but were unfortunately closed for maintenance denying me the opportunity to perform my planned Audrey Hepburn scene from Roman Holiday.

The weekend seemed to fly by and we really did cram in so many sites, walked many miles and more than ate my body weight in pasta and red wine! I would urge everyone to put Rome on their bucket list.  As the saying goes – Rome was not built in a day – and once you’ve walked its cobbled streets you can say how that is true.  It may have taken many years to create its beauty and thankfully the Romans have decided to keep it how it was meant to last.

 

40th card

Learning To Love The Big 4-0!

I entered my 40th year last month and I have to admit I am still trying to get my head around my new age.  When I’m asked how old I am, I find myself imitating Rainman and pronouncing the number as if I’ve never heard it before “Four-T, Forre-T, Forrre-T”.

Don’t get me wrong, I haven’t lied about my age since turning 40 and in fact I did some major celebrating for my birthday, which pretty much lasted 3 weeks and all kicked off with an amazing weekend in Palma with 9 of my closest girlfriends along with my 2 gay husbands. However, since the celebrations have ceased I am now left with the uneasy feeling of being stuck with this age!

I have been trying to rack my brain as to why I feel this way.  A lot of my friends are already into their 40s, they look fabulous on it, have embraced it and have said its their favourite decade yet.  We are told that ‘Life begins at 40’ but how can that be true when its the start of our middle age?!  So, not one to be negative and in a bid to learn how to suppress a sob whenever filling out an application form and realising I’m in the next age bracket tick box, I have decided to compile a For and Against list to see if that helps.

 

Good Things

  • I do feel more of a grown up now.  I don’t tend to sweat the small stuff as much as I did in my 30s and definitely not as much as I did in my 20s when everything was analysed over and stressed about.
  • I feel more inclined to be healthier and look after myself now.  Unfortunately, it is through necessity as I consume endless information on superfoods and healthy living blogs whilst trying not to obsess about my weight/skin/hair.  I am still holding on to my skinny jeans (which are probably best donated to a 20 year old) because you never know, those sandbags I developed on my hips from my twin pregnancy might disappear one day?
  • I achieved a great deal in my 20s and 30s. I climbed the career ladder in the profession I wanted to work in, went to fabulous places/parties/concerts, met an amazing man, married him and we had three gorgeous kids.  My goals can now be adjusted to what I want rather than what I need, although glossy thick hair as if I’m in a Pantene advert and a bank balance similar to Victoria Beckham’s might be slightly out of my reach.
  • I am happy with the simple things in life.  I’m no longer desperate to wear the latest fashion, be ahead of every trend or to always have plans for a Friday and Saturday night.  Instead I love a night in front of the TV with the hubster and a nice bottle of wine, a good book, a meal in a good restaurant or a night at the theatre/cinema.  I don’t need to be the last one standing in the club anymore (although me and the girls did stay out till 4am in Palma) and now happily opt for a bar with ‘somewhere nice to sit and chat’ instead.
  • My friends are my family and my family are my friends.  Gone are my fly by night friends of my 20s and those that are still with me from that decade are like extended members of my family.  We have been through it all together and will be in it for the long run now.  Any new friends I have made are keepers too as I can only surround myself with people I have a connection with.  My beloved parents I now regard as my friends as we holiday together, socialise together, appreciate (lots of) wine together.  They have always been my on-hand therapists but now I feel I am old enough to return the therapy when my advice is needed.

Bad Things

  • I have a lot more ailments at 40 then I did at 20.  I am basically a pin cushion for my doctor now with regular thyroid tests, we discuss pre-menopause and I am also now eligible for breast screening.  No longer are my visits to the doctor for an occasional water infection from burning the candle at both ends but instead are due to irritable bowel syndrome with my metabolism giving up the ghost.  If you have period problems in your 20s the doctors are on hand to discuss options – period problems in your 40s I am told its my age and it is to be expected and perhaps I could whip it all out if I’m fed up with it!
  • Dealing with the ageing process.  Gone is the tinted moisturiser for youthful skin and now instead I need foundation that drag queens endorse to cover those rosescia and age spots freckles and blushes.  Plus the constant control of my grey hair natural highlights without looking like Paul McCartney (a la aubergine) and what is with the chin hair?
  • I can’t do hangovers anymore.  I do love a tipple or two but literally more than two or three drinks and I’m contending with insomnia most of the night, a day spent feeling like my organs have been removed and the type of alcohol blues that make me want to start writing morose poetry.

It seems that the good things do outweigh the bad things.  I think the best way to sum it up is in the words of Lucille Ball:

“The secret of staying young is to live honestly, eat slowly and lie about your age.”

So if anyone asks – I’m 39! Which means I can celebrate my 40th again this year!!

 

 

 

beach 2016

Hello 2016

Considering it is only the 3rd of January, 2015 already feels like a distant memory.  It has been a big year in my family with me turning the big 4-0, my Mum celebrating her 70th and my Mum-in-law turning 80.  My eldest son is well settled into his sulky tweenager role having recently hit the grand old age of 12 and our twins celebrated their 8th birthdays in the summer. Time is most definitely flying by and we are doing our best to make the most of our days.  However, before we completely turn our back on 2015 and make promises of 2016 being the best year yet, I would like to walk back through some of the headlines of 2015, just as I did for 2014 (https://anounceofme.com/2014/12/31/so-long-farewell-auf-wiedersehen-2014/)

FEAR LIVES ON

Terrorism unfortunately made itself known in Europe with Isis seeming to gather momentum and slaughter the innocent on Tunisian beaches and Paris sidewalks.  We all felt the vulnerability of evil on our shores and watched helplessly as thousands of Syrians risked their lives fleeing warzones and into Europe seeking salvation.

POLITICS

David Cameron cancelled his removal vans after the SNP pretty much wiped out Labour in Scotland and the Tories returned to power without their Lib Dem sidekick this time.  Mr Cameron was smug jovial about his victory as PM until that ‘pig story’ hit the papers and it was difficult to watch him speak without feeling a little bit queasy.  Ed stepped down as Labour leader and we watched as the outsider Jeremy Corbyn, who was likened to a very unexciting Geography teacher, took the leadership role. Still, at least he’s a vegetarian so unlikely to have taken part in a pigs head initiation ceremony in his past.  Across the pond in the US, Donald Trump joined Hillary Clinton in the race for the Whitehouse.  Trump likes to offend everyone it seems from Mexicans to Muslims, women and gay people right down to hairdressers and tanning salons with the oompa loompa tan and comb over he likes to sport!  Apparently he says to prospective voters on his campaign trial “to touch my hair, its real”! Er no thanks!

R.I.P. CECIL

An American dentist became a hate figure after taking part in a trophy hunt in Africa and killed a beloved lion named Cecil from a national park. I was extremely saddened by this as I cannot see the pleasure in killing a beautiful defenceless animal, especially those at risk from poachers already! It seems that he received his just desserts as the news of him luring the elderly big cat to its death hit social media and he had to go into hiding while his dental practice was decorated in cuddly toy lions as a protest.

WHOOPS A DAISY

One of my personal lows this year was when it was announced that Dave Grohl had fallen off stage and the Foo Fighters would have to cancel their summer concerts at Wembley Stadium. This would have been my fourth Foos concert and I instead spent the whole day being a sulky teenager and trying to recreate the gig in my back garden by drinking beer from plastic tumblers and encouraging my twins to stage dive from the patio. However, it seemed to be catching when Madonna took a tumble after a ‘wardrobe malfunction’ caused her backing dancer to accidentally drag her backwards off a set of stairs at The Brit Awards.  As it was a live televised event Madge had nowhere to hide and had to scramble up onto her feet looking like Patsy from Ab Fab after a skinfull and carry on trying to sing her song.

BIRTHS, DEATHS AND MARRIAGES

The world’s media camped outside a posh London hospital awaiting the birth of Princess Charlotte.  Kate and Wills emerged onto the steps holding the new royal baby which was apparently an hour after childbirth with new Mum Kate looking as if she was about to attend a formal event rather than having just been through a traumatic event.  Her hair and make-up was perfect, baby weight well hidden in a designer dress leaving the public wondering how much of an entourage did she have waiting in the wings?!

‘Our Cilla’ took her last curtain call along with Jackie Collins, Lemmy, Warren Mitchell and Leonard Nimoy to name but a few.  The news of Cilla Black’s departure became the most Googled news item of the year showing what a mark she made on the UK, I remember fondly playing Blind Date with my cousins as we sat with our backs turned to the TV and listened to Graham and his quick reminders!

Mark TOWIE Wright married Michelle Keegan in a wedding only people with Rylan’s megawatt style teeth were allowed to attend.  Peter Andre and Jennifer Aniston went in for their second time lucky weddings (although not to each other) and Stephen Fry married his 30 years younger toyboy (go Stephen).

FINAL NOTE

Paper 2016

How I will spend most of January writing the date.

I have been trawling through the web trying to find an inspirational quote to sum up 2015.  The year of politics, of terror, of great change ahead.  I could turn to a great prophet but instead I will quote Justin Bieber, not because I am in any way shape or form a ‘Belieber’ and my eldest son will not allow his little sister to play Justin’s music EVER, but just to sum up how not to get too tied down with religion/politics I will leave you with this:

‘Like I said, you don’t need to go to church to be a Christian. If you go to Taco Bell, that doesn’t make you a taco,’ Justin Bieber 

 

The Children earning their keep!

Carry On Glamping

My hubby is buying camping gear again.  He is studying the screen of his iPad as if his life depended on it, scanning the various deals on Ebay and bidding against other Dad campers looking for the best price in portable gas cookers or enamel mugs.  It has become an addiction of his ever since I begrudgingly agreed to ‘give camping a go’. Apparently, sleeping in a home decked out in waterproof material in the Great Outdoors is fun! It will reconnect us with nature, he says, make me appreciate the peace and quiet around me and help us embrace back to basics living.  I, however, envisage a weekend of living like a survivor from The Walking Dead, looking grubby all weekend, not bothering to change out of my pyjama’s during the day and trying to make a family meal out of a can of beans and a pack of sausages.

When the whole camping holiday idea was put on the table last year it was laughed out of the room by me and my 7-year-old daughter.  Sleep in a tent? Wee in the woods? My daughter won’t even use a public toilet without moaning about the state of the facilities.  However, with two sons aged 7 and 11 with a reason to behave like Bear Grylls on holiday, not having to wash much and being allowed to wee in the woods, us girls were outnumbered and the camping gear started arriving in the post.

Not one to shy away from a challenge, for hubby’s birthday in April, I booked us 5 and our golden Labrador Chester on a ‘Glamping’ holiday.  It would be 3 days in a “luxurious home from home canvas retreat”, basically a posh tent with wooden floors, proper beds, working toilet, a shower and a kitchen.  This is how camping is meant to be done, as if I am a member of royalty on safari in Africa.  If I could hack this and actually enjoy myself then I would definitely slum it on a normal camping holiday after.

Out of Africa and into a Chicken Farm in Suffolk!

Out of Africa and into a Chicken Farm in Suffolk!

There were 5 tents situated in a large farmers field on a working chicken farm.  Thankfully, a free range egg farm, with about 3,000 chickens happily scratching about in a neighbouring field.  The tent was love at first sight with oak wood floors, thick canvas on the outer walls with huge tapestries hanging from the inner walls. The tent was decked out in shabby chic furniture and the beds were beautifully made with plenty of hanging space for our clothes.  It was, however, definitely back to basics as my eldest discovered whilst trying to plug in his iPhone.  There was no electric hook-up and our only source of heat was the Aga in our lounge area, but we did have running water which was a bonus.  I was already picturing myself in a scene from Poldark, making pies for the Aga, trying my hand at needlework in front of the fire and taking a turn round the room with hubby in the evening.

In the tent next to us, we thankfully had neighbours consisting of a family of five like us with children of similar ages to ours and even a dog for Chester to harass.  Kids being kids struck up a friendship with each other after about 7 minutes whilst us grown ups just waved and made a bit of small talk about the weather.  Despite my fears of the children moaning constantly about being bored, they instead become feral quite quickly and proceeded to build dens and climb trees and introduce themselves to the farmer all within the first few hours of arrival.  All was hunky dory as we settled down for our pasta evening meal that I had prepared on our two gas ring stove (planning on cooking my Poldark pies on the Aga tomorrow, might even bake some bread).  Hubby had got the Aga fire burning to its maximum capability and we hoped that soon the tent would warm up nicely for our first nights sleep.

After an hour or two, we realised that the heat output generated by the Aga was not really going to warm up any part of the tent and that it was mainly for show.  As the kids started to shiver and put their coats back on in the tent, I realised then that all was not well, that in fact there was quite a strong breeze coming through the gaps in the lovingly sanded wooden floors and that the sheer size of the tent meant that any heat generated was never going to be distributed.  As it was only 7.30pm we couldn’t really go to bed to warm up, so brought ALL of the quilts into the lounge to play Scrabble.  As a westerly breeze blew through the lounge, we wrapped the kids up with hats and gloves and starting to unpack our clothes so we could wear all of them.  Chester, who normally will happily sleep at our feet, climbed on top of our quilts and moaned.  The dog was even cold, this was not boding well!

We sent the kids to bed in as many layers as possible and wished them goodnight whilst trying to laugh off the fact that they could actually see the breath leave our mouths from the cold environment around us.  I was now refusing any offers of wine as I was too cold to visit the loo and against medical advice, was dehydrating myself in a bid not to have to undress at any point.  Me and hubby took our turn around the room, however, we had to do it with the throws from the couch wrapped around us and it was more of a shuffle and a shiver then a pleasant stroll.  Luckily, hubby had brought hot water bottles which was the only reason I didn’t cry when inserting myself into the freezing cold bedding.  We prayed for a sunny morning and hoped we would make it through the night without frostbite.

The Children earning their keep!

The Children earning their keep!

The following morning, we were all up bright and early.  Our neighbours had literally moved into their car so they could put their heater on.  Thankfully, the sun came out and we were able to defrost a bit. We headed off to the local supermarket and as well as our planned shopping list, stocked up on firelighters and even managed to find some long johns in the sale section. We spent all day out and about visiting the Suffolk coast and basking in the sunshine, trying not to think about another cold night in the tent.  When we returned ‘home’, Chester point blanked refused to enter the tent as if the tent had transformed into the vets.  Our host, the farmer, walked over to see us and in true British fashion we told her how settled we felt and how well we had slept, with no intention to complain, stiff upper lip and all that.  She told us of a dog friendly/child friendly pub in walking distance that we could visit that evening and with the promise of a real open fire we decided it was the best bet.

After trying to persuade the local publican to let us sleep in the pub and despite being joined by my daughter who was too cold to sleep alone and Chester who looked like he was silently weeping, we made it through our last night. As we packed up on the final day, my last glimmer of hope was that this might have put hubby off the whole camping lark.  We weren’t campers, we couldn’t even glamp! Unfortunately, it had made him more ambitious to see it through with the reasoning that normal camping is warmer!  So, in 3 weeks time, we will be taking our Ebay purchased tent and accessories and sleeping in a different field and apparently doing that whole embracing nature thing again.  Oh well, at least I have my long johns now!

Let’s Get Physical

Keep Fit.  Ever noticed how the phrase ‘Keep Fit’ sounds like a command? How Nike tells us to “Just Do It” and Adidas insists that “Impossible is Nothing”.   I’m sure most people find these slogans inspiring but I tend to find them a bit bossy!  Don’t get me wrong, I am by no means a couch potato.  As most of you know I own a demented golden Labrador called Chester who I have to chase daily over the park to retrieve him from bothering other dogs/members of the public and his most recent pastime of disrupting outdoor Boot Camp classes (they pull tyres along a park, what do they expect? It’s catnip for dogs!).

However, aside from my dog walking exercise regime I am also a member of a gym.  When we moved recently, we decided it would be a nice ‘family’ endeavour to become members of our local leisure centre, we could take the kids swimming once a week and hubby and I could take it in turns to hit the treadmills and join in on the many exercise classes on offer.  This little plan of ours started last September and we were very committed for about erm…. 2 weeks, but things have slipped a little over the last 5 months or so!

In my late teens, me and my mates donned our leg warmers to eagerly jump along to my Mum’s Jane Fonda Workout VHS.  Anyone else remember Leslie singing her “Do It” song where Jane instructed us to ‘sing along to if we knew our breathing well enough’? Which was easier said then done when you are trying to follow her jumping jacks whilst whooping and high fiving each other!

Nowadays, I try to move out of the living room and into the gym itself.  When we joined our new gym I avoided the induction on offer as I tend to have a weird goldfish memory when it comes to being shown gym equipment. By the time they have talked me through how to ‘work on my abs’ or ‘boost my biceps’ with what looks like Medieval torture equipment, I have completely forgotten where I should put my peg on the weights or how to adjust the seat.  Then there is the intimidation of the masses, the other gym people who seem to look like they instinctively know what they’re doing whilst I’m desperately trying not to slide off the treadmill while jabbing at buttons to incline or speed up my pace.  With every session I tried to be bold and brave the weights or Stairmaster but normally end up in my comfort zone of using an exercise bike whilst watching This Morning.

Intimidating sight!

Intimidating sight!

But it’s OK, I don’t need to go to the gym, I can do exercise classes instead, this will maximise my monthly direct debit membership that I really can’t afford.  I started off gradually with a few Yoga and Pilates classes, stretching and meditating my way through the week.  Then decided I ought to be increasing my workout beyond working on my wellbeing and actually shift some calories.  Spinning looks too hard, particularly as you have to wheel the static bikes in and out of the classroom before and after the lesson!  Body Pump involves aerobics and weights, I have dabbled in this class before in my 20s and remember the John Wayne walk I adopted from ripping my muscles and I’m just not that committed to gaining with pain just yet.

I drag hubby along to a Body Combat class one morning which is good but too exhausting for 9am on a Monday morning, jab jab, run round the room, kick, jab, run on the spot…. Phew!  So I decide to drag my friend along to try out Zumba.  What’s not to love, twerking and shimmying for an hour without judgement!  It is fun, exhausting, challenging yes, but enjoyable.  Me and my friend hide at the back, pretty much keeping up with the quite tricky dance moves, throwing in a bit of freestyling when I lose my place but generally feeling quite good.  When Beyonce’s Crazy In Love starts pumping, I’m fairly certain I am now resembling one of her backing dances, until that is I catch a glimpse of myself in the surrounding mirrors and decide not to make any career changes just yet!

I love Yoga.  It’s the one exercise class literally anyone can do.  The best Yoga class I ever attended was with my Mum where I used to live.  As it was during the working day at an Adult Education Centre it mainly consisted of retired folk with the odd youngish Mum like me attending.  On my first lesson, it did seem to resemble a scene from Cocoon, lots of silver-haired folk who seemed strangely so much more agile and energetic than me.  I had no idea how old anyone was as they looked so youthful and were so capable of every exercise that I was still trying to get to grips with.  I have been to numerous Yoga classes over the years but none quite like this one, not only did we start with 30 minutes meditation but ended with at least 30 minutes of meditation.  Two hours of Yoga and meditation, pure bliss and well worth clearing my work schedule each week for.  I have found Yoga at my new gym but as soon as I settle down for my expected long stint of meditation, after 5 minutes the lights are back on and the next class is piling in.

My Downward (Chester) Dog!

My Downward (Chester) Dog!

 

However, today I discovered Hot Yoga.  This is not a kind of cocktail or a spa treatment, but an actual exercise class.  It is basically Yoga with the central heating on full, which I’m sure has some sort of scientific reasoning behind it, but just made me want to adopt the foetal position and sleep.

So, whether you’re a gym bunny who actually knows what to do with a medicine ball, a Zumba devotee who can get your Salsa on at any given moment, or you are closing your living room curtains so you can jump about to a Celeb fitness video, I have come to the conclusion that you must do what makes you happy as long as it makes a difference in the end.  As Jane would say “Feel the Burn!”