It’s almost that time again. Time to dust off the canvas, dig out the sleeping bags and what passes for creature comforts in the field and go…well, live in a field at the weekends.

My trading season this year kicks off at Wrest Park in Bedfordshire on the 26th and 27th of April and, although the days were lovely, warm and sunny last year, I’m rather hoping there isn’t a repeat of the -4C overnight temperatures, when the water froze in the kettle and it was too cold for the butane cylinder on the stove to work. (Yes, I will be packing a thermos flask this year!)

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Under duress? You bet!

We received notification of DD’s secondary school allocation on Monday to the sound of jaws slapping to the floor and gasps of dismay and disbelief. Not only had she not been allocated a place at her first choice school*, but as we looked into the alternative offered, the whole thing became a tale of absolute horror.

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My mind likes to play tricks on me.

Take today. I’m standing in the kitchen chopping vegetables for tonight’s soup, cooking some onions for onion bread and crisps and wild mushroom noodles for my lunch*. All of a sudden, a word pops into my head, totally unbidden and with nothing whatsoever to do with anything I am doing, have done or plan to do.

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As you may know, I don’t do New Year’s Resolutions. I can’t see the point in setting yourself up to fail by bundling all the things that you’ve neglected to do the previous year and hanging them off one date in the calendar, as if this will magically enable them to happen. Perhaps that is a little harsh, but if you want to do something, just get on with it at the appropriate time. For example, if you want to lose weight, choosing the coldest time of year, when you are most likely to need and want warming, comforting food, is really the worst timing. It’s probably best to make that resolution at the Spring Equinox and save yourself three months of misery.

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We’ve just got back from DD’s Christmas music concert. It was, as is increasingly the case, something of a giggle.  Not intentionally, I might add…it’s just that I can’t help myself and once I start giggling, it really is difficult to stop. Once, it was necessary to be armed with a sheaf of tissues because 4-year-olds herded into performing Christmas plays are so unbearably cute it makes you weep. Now I need them to dab the tears of laughter from my eyes. Don’t look at me like that, there were plenty of shoulders shaking in that hall, I’ll have you know.

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A couple of weeks ago, I spent the weekend in the company of some old school friends (not to mention various chickens, ferrets and cats) at one of our number’s rather gorgeous and very spacious Georgian/Victorian house. Well, with 3 acres, it’s more of an estate really and all of the vegetables we ate for dinner we’d picked fresh from the kitchen garden. If that weren’t enough to elicit envy admiration, her kitchen is bigger than my living room. I wanted to move in! (My DH kindly offered to parcel up and send the dog and Ebay the children).

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On the 6th of July our family grew by one member. He’s affectionate, playful, a bit smelly and surprisingly hairy. No, I haven’t had DS cloned, we’ve adopted a dawgie 🙂

He’s called Dexter*, he’s between 8-10 months old, so still a pup, a Pointer cross with probably some Doberman in him judging by the colouring and he’s completely and utterly lovely 🙂

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