the adlards

like upwind smokers. It was beautiful and sunny today with a bit of a breeze to take the edge off the heat. We went to drop Heather off and had coffee at a very pleasant outdoor place. The space was arranged with a long rectangle of tables and the breeze was blowing down its length. There were individuals quietly reading in the sunshine, couples chatting, and of course the three of us with two tiny kiddies. In the whole group there were only two smokers, both of whom settled themselves strategically at the upwind end of the space, the better (perhaps) to avoid tasting each other’s brand, but in the process ensuring that all the rest of us had to breathe all of their second-hand smoke. I can’t easily express how much that winds me up … . Perhaps they sat there because most of the rest of us had our backs to the breeze, so they felt inconspicuous.

This is by no means an isolated incident or a chance outburst. I enjoy my walk to the station in the morning; the air is crisp and in summer I can look at things and my mind goes out for a wander. In winter it’s dark and I can’t look at things and my mind tends to stay inside. Regardless, I’m usually quite relaxed by the time I hit the platform. My familiar patch of platform is most often smoke-free as the prevailing wind here blows across the platform. Smoking’s also definitely becoming less popular among the commuter group – there are only a handful of public-platform-smokers among a couple of hundred people stood waiting for a train. Nonetheless, almost without fail, if there’s a Southerly breeze there’ll be some City trader with tar for brains and a whacking great City-trader-personality-filter standing at the South end of the platform satisfying his paranoid need to be first into the front-most door of the train while at the same time trying to control his stress with nicotine. Why, when he’s gone to all the trouble that very morning of hacking and choking and gasping his respiratory system into action for the day, doesn’t he think before he poisons mine too?

Before you send that hate mail: I DON’T hate all smokers. My in-laws were smokers until a few years back and now I love them dearly … and there are certainly some on the platform each morning who carefully lurk downwind and are probably really quite thoughtful people. They’d probably desperately like to give up.

For all the bad press they get mothers-in-law are pretty amazing creatures. For the past four weeks Heather has tirelessly entertained our little tots, inventing an unending stream of two-year-old games to be played, feeding them, bathing them, and caring for them. By way of compensation we have allowed her occasional snatches of sleep in the loft room. She has weathered it all and had the grace to call it “a magnificent granny holiday”. I think I would have called it a labour camp and never come back …

We can’t believe she’s off tomorrow. It’s going to be very different without her; Josie may well prove inconsolable. It feels a bit like real life starts again on Thursday.

Two new sets in the gallery.

I found myself today, while walking through Richmond Park with Mark, Anne and Daniel (and the Three), noticing a perfectly ordinary thistle by the side of the path and thinking, “Wouldn’t that make an interesting photograph?”. Aaaaarrrrgh!!! I’m turning into my father. Michelle has strict instructions to stop me if she ever sees me stoop with a camera over a flowering plant. One complete set of photographs of the World’s Flora is probably enough within one extended family.

It was good to catch up with Anne, Mark and Daniel. They’re all doing so well, and Daniel’s a wonderful little boy. Mark had very cleverly dressed to coordinate with Daniel’s stroller; cut a dash in the park 😀
Plenty of deer, ducks and dogs so Jo was in her element.

We’re at Nin and Phoe’s for the weekend with Heather. Michelle and I have just returned from the park where we took Thai for a quiet dinner.

New pics in the gallery.

One of the most valuable things I’ve ever learned is to recognise when I’m too tired to continue to be productive and to rest at that point. In my youth that took anything up to 52 hours, at the moment it seems to take approximately 17. Goodnight.

Summer’s decided to put in an appearance again. It’s very pleasant when it does. I spent the afternoon on the Microsoft campus in Reading and the evening reforecasting my IT budget in the garden in the sunshine with a cold beer and the help of a delightful two-year-old. What more could one ask for? Perhaps the time to reforecast during the working week …

My time in the Microsoft waiting room was punctuated by breaking news of the European Vitamins Directive. I found out later about the dawn raids, arrest, and seizure of explosives in Leeds and the controlled explosions at Luton. The bombers came right through St Albans on their way in last Thursday. How could that not have been all over the news, constantly? Surely vitamins could have waited …

No more tipping potties out seruptitiously under public benches – we have a potette! Potty training reached critical mass yesterday, as predicted, with Josie forgetting that on Friday and Saturday she’d got treats for using the potty. Brilliant … only we wanted to go out for the day (in the glorious sunshine) and Josie’s potty resembles nothing so much as a mid-sized pink throne. Not even dad was going to be seen carrying that around Willows Farm visiting the animals. Michelle went out to get a portable one while Jo had her nap. There were none to be found. Boots had no potties at all. Of any description. Fearing a national crisis we tuned in to the emergency frequencies but found them consumed by the evacuation of Birmingham. We packed the functional bits of the Throne into a large backpack and went to Willows.

We had a great time, Josie displaying impressive prowess at bladder control, particularly on a rather long and crowded boat ride (sans Throne, which could have been all sorts of fun). Later we barbequed with Tony, Bev and Pippa. Sophie languished while Josie discovered newts, frogs and barbequed tuna. Lots of weekend pics in the gallery.

Today, to our great relief, Michelle located a potette: a contraption that folds out and takes a (hopefully) watertight plastic bag at its business end. I can’t help thinking that anything that can fold out must be able to collapse … . Jo’s stopped wetting her nappy during the day and will take herself to the potty quite happily now.

I was playing my usual guess-the-age-by-the-hair-colour game when I went out for lunch today (I think I’ve seen three mature women in London with any grey hair at all, I think it must be the water), when I realised that one of the other things we just accept without questioning is the continual surveillance going on just above our usual line of sight.

I started counting cameras. To qualify in my game cameras have to be mounted on walls or poles, have to be in front of you and directed in such a way as to effortlessly get a clear view of your face. Cameras side-on on the corners of buildings don’t count. Of course, I also had to remember to look for them, which was problematic today …

Forty three. I find that staggering. Fourteen just crossing the road to Pret and back to get a sandwich and the rest on a ten minute walk to the station. How many hundreds of thousands of hours of data do we all pop up in sporadically each week? Imagine how many times last week’s bombers pop up. They haven’t got a chance. I hope.

To turn the world entirely on its head
Within the space of five chaotic weeks
Must surely gainsay all that’s e’er been said
Of strength of quill or weight of mighty feats.
For you can neither write nor speak nor fight,
But gaze, serene, or turn and lift a hand,
Or blink an eye, compelling all who might
To spin the universe about your stand.
O’erwhelming peacefullness all rancour bars;
The quickness of your breath, more delicate
Than velvet sky brim-full of silver stars,
Alone would banish ev’ry discomfort.
The rest as parasitic grubs may seem,
Sophie’s a faerie becoming a queen.

I have been informed by My Good Wife that the hash of Ogden Nash’s The Tale of Custard the Dragon which I published last night should never have been published. In the interests of marital harmony, and rather than dilute the vitriol, I have revised the post to private status (which means I can see it and be reminded of my state of mind, but unfortunately you can’t). Apologies to any who were offended, and also to those of you whom I feel I’m cheating by not letting you see my state of mind …

New pics in the gallery.

Heather visited Kew to see the glass sculptures during the week with Phoe and Nin. Just one pic in the gallery – there are many more on Kew’s website. Phenomenal stuff …

Everyone’s safely back home as of yesterday. The Three drove to Richmond to pick up Heather yesterday.

Potty training is proceeding apace – could be done by the end of the weekend! It’s a rainy “summer’s” day today – don’t know what this weather thinks it’s doing – I think we’re headed for a playpark, a set of massaging loungers, and a shirt-shop. In that order.

This inspires an interesting mix of relief, outrage and pity. It was strange to see broadcasters battling to keep the relief out of their voices this afternoon; it’s almost like an attack of this sort is a stamp of approval for a major city, a rite of passage – something we’ve been expecting and anxiously waiting for for years and are surprised to have survived in the event (those of us that did). The perverse result is that the impossibly small-minded wasters-of-space who do this in an attempt to inspire a reaction of fear in fact inspire relief and then rage against them and their cause. I don’t see much fear around. So why do they do it again?

I’m very grateful I didn’t get onto a train this morning. I would have wound up stuck right in the middle of it, and I don’t think there’ll be many hotel rooms available in London tonight. Heather and Phoe tried to travel from Richmond to St Albans this morning. They made it back safely after Silverlink stopped. Heather will be spending an extra night in Richmond.