The hubby and I had a hot date for fish and chips at the beach during the weekend and as we were paddling along the edges of the bracing North Sea in the dusk, we came up with a brilliant idea for a faux holiday. It’s well known that we don’t get to go away as a family because of Little Nutter, but we can holiday at home as long as he’s in his bedroom every night.
There - spread along the shore - were a series of bright and cheery beach huts. Suddenly idyllic images of deck chairs, ice creams and knotted handkerchiefs (ok, so maybe not) wafted into view. It’s almost a real holiday. I grew up by the beach and I do miss it a huge amount, as we’re a bit landlocked where we are. And spending time at a beach is a holiday, even if we do go home every night. Sheer brilliance. I’m totally sold on the idea.
A phone call or three later and we’ve rented a hut for a week in late summer and we’re on the gargantuan waiting list for an annual lease of one of these gems. Yes, they may just be trumped up garden sheds, but right now, I can’t imagine anything better.
I’m in love.
I have Joseph Fiennes’ autograph on my desk and his picture is sitting looking moodily at me. And he signs himself ‘Joe’ - how thrilled am I?
If you can’t remember who he is, you might remember him best in this role…
Such a distraction from all these exam scripts, not that I’m complaining :D
It’s that time of year again. Exam scripts are dropping on my doorstep spelling out surefire doom for the next few weeks. I’ve got my mark scheme, a list of examiners in my team and my hotel is booked for the meeting next week. I’m all set to go, and I know it’s all going to happen, but I can’t say I’m looking forward to the lack of ‘me’ time that it brings. Still, the cheque is nice at the end of the summer and it means we can put a deposit down on a new car.
So, here I am, enjoying my last weekend of freedom before the silly work hours begin. We’re off into York later this afternoon to pick up the piggy banks (one pirate skull for Tiny Flirt and one cutey Lion for Little Madam - yes, my children are that stereotypical!) that they painted at the ceramics cafe last weekend, then I’ve got a bit of shopping to do if Little Nutter will play ball. I loathe shopping with him - on a good day we can just about make it inside a shop door before he starts screaming, but the chances of looking at or (perish the thought) actually buying something are slim to none. I’ve got my fingers crossed, because I really do need a couple of notebooks for work and there’s a Bookmooch parcel to go.
Speaking of Bookmooch - I’m thrilled. I manage to snaffle a new copy of Meyer’s The Host this morning. Generally speaking, I’ve probably got the worst luck out of anyone I know. I don’t know what it is, but you can guarantee that if there are 99 prizes in a 100 ticket raffle, I’ll be the one left at the end. So to snatch the book before over 200 other people got to it has me squeaking with glee. Hopefully it’ll be here in time for my trip to the States. Stephenie usually spins a good yarn, so it might be just the thing for the flight.
All is well, albeit busy, here. Tiny Flirt gave us a bit of a scare with a chest infection yesterday. I had to gallop up to school during the day, only to find he’d been taken over to the infirmary at the college to see the doctor there. Scary as it was, it’s a relief to see that they’ve got such a good care system in place for the students and he was incredibly well looked after. Needless to say, he charmed the socks off the doctor and both matrons. Then we went to the local pharmacy. By the time his prescription was dispensed, not only were the staff smiling and calling “Bye!” to him, but all the customers were as well.
The boy is incorrigible.
