10 years wed....

I'm torn between asking myself where have the last 10 years gone (which makes me feel old!) and reflecting with amazement on how much has happened during our first 10 years of marriage. Just looking at the number 2010 staggers me - it only seems a few short years ago that we were discussing how we would celebrate the eve of the new millenium and looking forward to our January 2000 wedding. 2010 looks like a number from a futuristic movie - we should be wearing silver suits, eating meals in tablet form (do diet shakes count?!) and travelling around in flying cars. We could have done with the latter last Friday when we were sat as good as stationery in a traffic jam on the M62 for the best part of an hour, with me desperately regretting having downed a large Costa coffee (I was even contemplating flagging down a nearby campervan and asking if I could use its facilities!).

We were on our way to York for a childfree weekend to celebrate our tin anniversary, looking forward to mooching around, sleeping a lot, sharing some candlelit meals and a few bottles of wine. York is an ideal city in which to do all of that and more. The shopping looked great - lots of variety with some lovely boutiques amongst from the standard high street bunch - and coffee shops, bars, ice cream parlours, ye olde tea shoppes on every corner and in between. We abstained from shopping - January is a rubbish time to have an anniversary as we're usually on a frugal stint - but we indulged in lots of liquid refreshment and sampled some of the international food on offer. We found a wonderful little bar serving beers from around the world and spent a couple of hours late Saturday afternoon cocooned in its cosy and unpretentious upstairs room, shut away from the outside world, immersed in our books, and drinking fruity Belgian beer. The sort of Saturday afternoon we took for granted pre children!

But we did miss the little horrors a lot. We spent far too much time planning where we would take them when we returned to York as a family (have already booked a hotel just outside York with a family room for half term!).

By Jane Burkinshaw. Share this post by clicking on one of the Share buttons on the right hand side. I'd love to hear your comments too!

Didn't she do well!!

Abigail hates it when we describe her as "arty", but ever since she's been able to wield a paintbrush she has shown a bit of an artistic bent. I've always loved her works of art, even when I didn't really know what they were, but then I am somewhat biased. I still have a cupboard stuffed full of stiff pieces of coloured paper with flaky poster paints, glitter and pasta (!) dropping off every time I move them. Over the years I have become increasingly hard hearted, relegating pictures to the bin when she isn't looking, but there are certain ones which make it onto the notice board next to my desk - her incredibly detailed cartoon strips, with tiny, intricate drawings and deadpan scripts and the card congratulating me for doing well at the dentist, amongst others.

It's one thing for us biased parents to think she's got a talent for art, but it's fantastic when she's recognised by less subjective judges! When Abigail's design for the Wincham village logo won I was beside myself, especially as I was privy to this information about 10 days before her, as it was revealed at a meeting I attended. She was presented with a certificate and prize in school and we look forward to seeing the logo in use. (Picture & article are from this week's Northwich Guardian).

By Jane Burkinshaw. Share this post by clicking on one of the Share buttons on the right hand side. I'd love to hear your comments too!

Another year younger

Sometimes life can feel like a bit of grind - especially at this time of year when Christmas lights are no longer twinkling, the family of santas, reindeer and snowmen that used to live on the back of the sofa have emigrated and the recent thaw has uncovered streets that look dirty and grey. Luckily our everyday lives are filled with little moments that make us laugh out loud or perhaps just chuckle to ourselves. My kids are at their funniest when they don't know they've said something hilarious. I was trying to persuade a sleepy and reluctant Abigail out of bed yesterday by getting her cuddly polar bear to give her eskimo kisses and telling her in my best polar bear voice that "Mr Polar Bear says it's time to get up." Abigail's deadpan reply "Mr Polar Bear can go fish!" had me rolling on the floor much to her bemusement. (She got it once I explained it to her!)

We were all giddier than usual during tonight's evening meal, as it is Nic's birthday today and I had whipped the kids up into a frenzy of birthday excitement with present wrapping, cake decorating and plates full of calorific and E-number-laden goodies. Daisy was tormented with the chocolate fudge cake placed tantalising out of reach on the table alongside Count Ducula - a squeaky duck from the kids (in Daisy's world if a toy squeaks it's hers). Conversation at the table was unexpectedly challenging with the opener "can our hamsters have sex?" (from Sam who is 6 and who, as far as I am concerned, hasn't even been given the "mummies and daddies have a special cuddle" explanation yet). Apparently the book I bought them on keeping hamsters had 3 whole pages on breeding i.e. having sex. Didn't audit that one very well did I? Never assume that if a book has cartoons in it that it's suitable reading material for 6 year olds. I hardly dare check what pictures are on the afore mentioned 3 pages! Probably the hamster-sutra. This was swiftly followed by Abigail's rendition of "Let's talk about sex, baby", - we've always subsituted the word "sox" for "sex", so her sock puppetry was particularly amusing. So life is anything but boring and all this laughter must help to keep us young. I hope I'd still be decorating cakes with smarties and candles and buying squeaky bath toys if we didn't have kids, but knowing how much they enjoy it all does make it even more fun.

By Jane Burkinshaw. Share this post by clicking on one of the Share buttons on the right hand side. I'd love to hear your comments too!

Stick to the knitting

Crocheting - it can't be that hard can it? I can knit, so I think I'd like to learn to crochet. So I booked a place on a crochet workshop for beginners and with lots of enthusiasm turned up full of anticipation at a heavenly wool shop (Fibre & Clay) in Knutsford. I would spend the day chatting with like-minded ladies, drinking coffee and eating a nice lunch, whilst learning a new skill.

Hmmm! It didn't quite turn out as I expected. Firstly I have to confess to having a raging hangover having spent the previous evening (and early morning) at a charity evening, where wine flowed freely. As we don't get out very often we made the most of it and went on to a bar for cocktails (de rigeur in Knutsford anyway). Some bright spark (neither me nor Nic!) then voted to have a night cap at someone's house - logically this had to be whoever needed to send the babysitter home. 2 hours later we ejected some well oiled neighbours out of our house and a short 5 hours later my alarm clock went off! My lasting memory of the evening was sharing with the group that I didn't want to drink too much, otherwise I would be breathing alcoholic fumes over the ladies on the crochet workshop. Some smart Alec from the group quipped that "at least it would disguise the smell of wee" - see blog below for stereotypical views of people who knit (or crochet).

Sitting on Saturday morning, sipping coffee from designer mugs, surrounded by hand crafted bags and garments (still feeling dreadful), I couldn't wait to get my hands on a crochet hook and some nice wool. We all browsed through magazines and books, picking out items we would be rushing to make by the end of the day... We established that we were all more or less crochet virgins (some had dabbled a little long time ago) and so were all at the same stage. 4 hours later I was still at the same stage at the bottom of class, along with Nicola (it's always nice to have some company), whilst other members of the group were flying along with their chains, treble trebles, gaily changing colours and yarns and discussing how many fluted scarves they could make in time for Christmas! Nicola and I on the other hand would have been happy to finish a coaster for a shot glass by Christmas - the same one we started but came nowhere near completing in 5 hours! Nicola labelled us the "special needs crocheters" as we seemed to be so differently abled to the rest of the class! We couldn't even master wrapping the yarn around our fingers to get the right tension, never mind pull a tiny loop down through 3 or 4 equally tiny loops with a hook that seemed to be like a cricket bat!

By lunchtime I had completed 2 whole rows of my coaster - ignoring the fact that it was shaped like a banana and I had an epiphany when I realised that I could turn the crochet hook, rather than holding it rigidly at the same angle all the time. Imagine trying to use a knife or fork without flexing, turning your fingers or hands comfortably around it. Lunch seriously eased my hangover and I returned to the crochet cell with renewed vigour... until I realised that we were now embarking on a new adventure - crocheting in a circle to produce a so-called granny ring. I almost lost the plot completely until I decided to rebel slightly and continue with my coaster. By 4.00pm I was the proud owner of half a coaster (it's not actually level enough to risk placing a drink on it) and had mastered the double, half treble, double treble AND the treble treble. Rashly I bought some gorgeous pink soft yarn and a hook with the aim of crocheting a bag for Abigail. I set off home eager to put my new skill into practise.

Halfway through Strictly (about three hours later) I abandoned the crocheting, having cast on 30 chains and completed 1 and a half very bumpy rows. I picked up my knitting and quickly finished another hat and made significant headway on the next one by bed time. I came to the conclusion that trying to crochet on my own at home could be compared to leaving the hospital with your new born baby for the first time. At hospital with the midwives on hand to help all the time you think you think you've mastered it, but flying solo at home is a whole different ball game. And I don't think Sarah, our wonderful and extremely patient teacher would want to move in and nursemaid me until I could go it alone.

Don't get me wrong - crocheting and me are not finished - I'm still very enticed by the wealth of delicate items that can be crocheted (fluted scarf for one) and I will pick up the hook and go back into battle another day. I will not be beaten!!

By Jane Burkinshaw. Share this post by clicking on one of the Share buttons on the right hand side. I'd love to hear your comments too!

My guilty secret

I've got a guilty secret and only my family and closest friends know about it (and come to think of it my hairdresser and some complete strangers in Costa Coffee). It's something I used to only do behind closed doors but have recently taken up in public places too... Before you ring the police and /or a psychiatric help line, I'll enlighten you - I am a knitter! After a period of abstinence I am now completely addicted once more and am rarely seen during my "spare" time without wool, needles and flying elbows.

Like all embarrassing secrets I have to weigh up who I tell about my yarn yearnings. It's amazing how knitting polarises people into 2 distinct groups - firstly the "Oh god, you don't, do you?!" group, who burst out laughing and then mentally take you off their list of exciting people to invite round for dinner. Secondly there's the "Oh so do I - isn't it great" group who share your passion and completely understand it.

Perhaps it's my snobbism but I also think that you can break the group of knitting lovers down further as well (well my marketing background encourages me to segment the market!). There are those knitters who fit the stereotype to a "T" - cardiganed grannies knitting endless blankets, sweaters, hats, scarves and socks out of leftover balls of wool that are then presented to family members who are too tactful to ask them whether they are a) colour blind or b)stuck in a 70's time warp. For those of you that believe all knitters fall into this category, you've obviously missed the knitting revolution and I would challenge you to put your prejudices aside and look again. Knitting just got SEXY! Well, not just - It's been that way for some time now. Designs and yarns have caught up with the times and it's now cool to be handknitting. People all over the country are picking up their needles and creating fashionable garments, cushions, bags out of the most amazing colours and textures.

When I tell people my little secret now I usually make sure I've got something I've recently made about or on my person (or on one of the kids), so that when they give the usual "Oh god, you don't do you?!" reaction, I can quickly blow apart their preconceptions by showing them a natty little hat out of baby soft yarn in delicious colours. I usually find that they are astonished and quite often start to hint quite heavily that they would love said garment themselves.

By Jane Burkinshaw. Share this post by clicking on one of the Share buttons on the right hand side. I'd love to hear your comments too!

Bowling, bugs & bogeymen

It seems like ages since I did a family rather than business blog - life has been as hectic as ever. But looking back at the photos from October we've packed a lot in and had a great time. Halfway through the month we celebrated my nephew Ewan's 5th birthday ("baby Ewan" just can't be 5 already!). We went to his bowling party (made it this time after breaking down on route last year). Abi was first to get a strike - hence the jubilant pictures and Sam was relieved not to come last. After a pizza birthday tea we headed back to hotel chez Patrick but ran out of time for a dip in the hot tub.

Hallowe'en started mid October with the school Freaky Friday disco, when Wincham was besieged early evening by knee high gremlins, vampires, witches and the like. After the 7.30pm watershed the slightly scarier junior horrors hit the dance floor and the noise level hit new heights. I got through the event by sharing smuggled in wine with another mum. Hope no law abiding PTA members bother to read this. Half term followed quickly after with more spooky and revolting goings-on. We visited Bug World at the Albert Docks hence photos of giant slimy beasts and zebra bottoms (no - I don't understand that either!). As we couldn't fit in trick or treating this year I allowed myself to be pressganged into a Hallowe'en tea party on the 30th and ended up quite enjoying it (well, the wine anyway). The highlight of Hallowe'en for me was the sight of Sam as a keyboard-playing, headphone-wearing zombie, dancing away oblivious to the fact that we were watching!

Kids are now back at school but no peace for the wicked. Lots of work on (good news) and all the Xmas pantos etc looming (has anyone got a wolf costume I can borrow?!)

By Jane Burkinshaw. Share this post by clicking on one of the Share buttons on the right hand side. I'd love to hear your comments too!

Goodbye little van

We’ve just made a decision which commits us to holidaying in the UK for the next year or so, or certainly makes it unlikely that we’ll be booking any foreign package holidays. Our little campervan has served us well for 2½ years but suffice to say we’ve just about outgrown it. On the rare occasions that we’ve been lucky enough to have dry sunny weather for days on end, it’s been a wonderful experience – posh camping really. All mod cons – running water, heating, electricity, fridge, a gas hob and not forgetting the all important porta potty. In good weather we’ve really only cooked and slept in the van, preferring to be outdoors to eat, read etc.
But it’s a whole different story when the weather is less than perfect – 2 adults, 2 kids and a large, slobbery and very boisterous boxer dog are not meant to co-exist in small spaces. Even with the awning giving us twice as much living space, tempers fray quickly and the supposedly idyllic outdoor holiday turns into a nightmare. Mornings after the kids wake up are particularly hellish (whatever the weather) as they are understandably desperate to get out of their roof top cocoon. The only place for them to go until we’ve packed away our bed is on top of us and given that it’s often unreasonably early (for a holiday anyway) and that we’re usually slightly hungover having overindulged the night before (well, we are on holiday after all!), it doesn’t make for a great start to the day. I often retire shivering into the awning with a cup of tea, to avoid getting anymore sharp digs in the kidneys from little knees and elbows.
Life in the campervan has certainly had its ups and downs – for instance you can’t beat parking up at the sea front, a sparkling blue sea providing the view from the front window and lighting the stove to brew a cup of tea. I usually feel quite smug at this point as I watch other less lucky mortals queuing at the kiosk for an overpriced weak brew in a polystyrene cup. But it’s hard to feel smug crouching on the porta potty in the early hours of the morning, with the wind and rain lashing the awning and the loo roll soggy from standing in a pool of rain water which has mysteriously formed on the ground sheet.
But, on balance, we’ve all loved holidaying in the van – I’ll miss sitting on the backseat with the back door open, sipping a glass of wine and admiring the view – particularly on our first visit to Arrochar, where our pitch was by the side of a loch circled by mountains. And that magical time when the kids are tucked up in the roof, fast asleep after a day of tearing around the campsite with new found friends, and we’re snuggled up down below, curtains drawn, the outside world tightly shut out, relishing the rare opportunity to get through several chapters of a book without interruption. It’s somehow more precious than evenings at home where other distractions – chores, phone calls, computers, trashy TV – usually stop us spending such quality time together.
We’ve previously been puzzled by caravaners with their satellite dishes, table lamps, curtain tie backs and mini vacuum cleaners – surely they can’t truly experience the great outdoors when they wrap themselves in so many home comforts...? But we’ll be joining their ranks soon having made the decision to buy a “previously loved” caravan, which we’ll take ownership at the end of August. It will feel like a ballroom compared to the van – with fixed bunks for the kids (cue lots of shrieks of delight and arguments about who will sleep up top) 2 seating areas, a “proper” loo (no more squatting on the potty), a shower and an oven. No doubt we’ll be vilified by Wogan and Clarkson – but definitely welcomed by fellow caravanners. And I can’t wait – I’m still trying to persuade myself that this current and final adventure in the campervan is giving us chance to enjoy it one last time and say our goodbyes, but as the rain confines us to the awning yet again (kids are inside watching Spy Kids with the volume on high), I find myself daydreaming about our new palace on wheels and counting down the days to the end of the month.