The Big Bake

Have come over all domesticated. My gorgeous niece is here this weekend and together, she and Amy have played particularly well. My reward for this exceptional behaviour; to bake cookies. Smartie cookies to be precise. We had a great time stirring, cracking, whisking and eating. And because I was enjoying myself so much I decided to make the Farmer a chocolate cake, his favourite. I dare say most of it will be eaten by the girls. Being the grown up, I got the job of cleaning the kitchen afterwards while the chefs had a well deserved play in the garden. Here is the end result, we ran out of smarties so used chocolate bars instead!

Mobile Phones

The Farmer needs to change his mobile phone. If you saw his you would appreciate why. It's been dropped in water troughs, lost between bales of straw, abandoned in a field and almost went through the washing machine, saved by the bell. It's been scratched so much on the glass that you can hardly see what it reads and with his fingers being somewhat on the clumsy side, he finds it difficult to press buttons without hitting the wrong ones. I bought it for him a few years ago and regretted it right from the start but he insisted on keeping it.

However, he has now admitted that he could do with a different one. So, because he doesn't want a brand new one I have offered to give him mine, a fashionable, sleek and well-looked after Motorola, nice leather case to protect it and user friendly approach. I've enjoyed using it, for the past three years. So now I'm going to get a new one but I don't know what to get. Having trawled through the hundreds on the Internet I am totally confused. Almost narrowed my search down to Sony Ericsson but I've been very pleased with the Motorola. I've also had a Samsung (a big bulky) and a Nokia.

That's where you come in: What would you recommend? I'm not interested in MP3's or downloading music but I am interested in a good camera quality and being able to take decent photographs that I can transfer onto my computer. My network is Orange which I don't want to change and I do Pay As You Go which again, I'm happy with.

Any thoughts please......?

It's Not Amy's, It's Mine

When Amy was almost three years old I caught her sat in a corner of the kitchen with an empty chocolate advent calendar. And chocolate round her mouth. "Oh dear," she said as she realised I was in the room. Very much a childhood action I tried to explain in my then inexperienced-when-talking-to-an-autistic-child way, telling her how it now meant that she had no more chocolates when opening the advent calendar. The seriousness on my face just made her laugh, unable to understand facial expressions or the reason for my irritation. We both laughed in the end as I scooped her up and wiped round her mouth. That day has never been forgotten, by either of us. She always reminds me, every December the 1st and I always remind her of the consequences, can't wait means no chocolate. Each year has got better. Last year, she managed to get through each of the twenty-four days with a chocolate. She's obviously grown out of it, I thought.

But the other night I found her with the wrapper of a chocolate orange. The whole wrapper. Bought by her for me at Christmas. She was sat looking very innocent on the sofa. "Where's the chocolate orange gone?" I asked, dreading the answer. "In here," she laughed, pointing to her rounded belly. I didn't find it funny. She had eaten a full Terry's Chocolate Orange, without asking me first if she could have it, let alone offering me a piece. I didn't know which feeling overwhelmed me most; that of a greedy child or me having been deprived of my chocolate orange. So I bollocked her. Gave her a right good talking to. Told her it wasn't funny and that she would probably be sick for eating too much.

An hour later, she was hyper. The chocolate orange had taken effect and even though my bad mood had subsided I was then feeling cross because it was 8pm and I was going to need a step ladder to peel her off the ceiling. But it did take me back to that day in the kitchen just over six years ago. I let Amy off with so much I know, partly because I often find it difficult to work out if it's an autistic moment or a childhood activity. But when I've missed out on my chocolate orange, that's war.

Sparky's Morning Movement

Another post from Amy:
http://amysspecialstories.blogspot.com/ Also accessed via my side bar "Amy's Short Stories"

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If only the Farmer could open the dishwasher like he opens the paper. Life would be so much easier for my delayed reactions as I reach for the dogs instead of my husband. I imagine he secretly wishes I rose at 6am, adorned myself in pinny and set to work on his bacon and eggs. He waits on the tups, why shouldn’t his wife wait on him? I doubt I shall ever change his views about “a woman’s place” but I am trying to make him realise that I’m one of those “modern women”, the type who would prefer not to rise at the crack of dawn in order to fill her husband’s face with cholesterol and a potential coronary.

Sparky takes great pleasure in charging through the house, perhaps after an imaginary sheep, only to dive bomb onto Amy’s bed and lick her awake with the same tongue that only five minutes previously was exploring the eighth wonder of the world. Suffice to say that both Amy and I shoo the poor creature off the bed and order her back to the Farmer, who is by this time engrossed in the back pages of the local rag. With two excited collies now in the kitchen it takes away the library feeling and a toast-scented atmosphere, a method in my madness to prod the farmer into action and remind him that nine tups currently stand at the garden fence, eagerly waiting breakfast.

But it had to happen. Sparky couldn’t wait for the Farmer to rise from the table. She couldn’t wait five minutes for him to put on his coat and wellies, pull on the incredibly worn out gloves he insists on wearing to allow her to run full steam ahead towards the bush she frequents. Instead, our cute red and white, full of the joys of spring and ready to empty the joys of last night’s supper, made her way to the guest room and squatted. Walking past the door in rather an unfit state of undress, two little eyes picked me out; a little strain on an otherwise butter-wouldn’t-melt expression. The rest was somewhat of a blur when apart from having a corner of the eye moment as a flash of collie ran past me, I remember experiencing that familiar aroma of dog poo. Great big dollops of it on my beige carpet in the guest room, all nicely placed for me to carefully collect with the shovel my husband had so kindly offered me.

A method in Sparky’s madness perhaps? For the Farmer soon dressed himself in outdoor gear and managed to leave the house in a record two minutes, leaving me on my hands and knees on the newly soiled shag pile with a can of carpet cleaner. I remember washing my hands as the redolence of Sparky’s impact found me searching for the frying pan.

Surveying the Industry

My new job: Secretary to the Farmer and Fobber Offer. In his dreams. Every day this week and most days last, I have answered the phone to either a male or female voice asking to speak to Mr. Farmer with regards to doing a study or a survey in which Mr. Farmer struggles to assist. Each time I have told the voice that Mr. Farmer is not available and would I, Mrs. Farmer do. And each time the voice has annoyingly replied, "when would be the best time to speak to Mr. Farmer?" My answer of "never" has been very close to passing through my lips but I have restrained myself. My husband is a farmer. He is out and about on the farm all day and very rarely in the house. The times he is in the house are during morning and afternoon tea breaks and supper time. Do these callers think I am going to say, "oh just ring back at supper time, he won't mind being disturbed during his meal after he's been working all day." Instead I have told each and every one that I have no idea when a good time would be to ring back as Mr. Farmer is, surprise surprise, a farmer. Definition of farmer: Always Bloody Working.

The same female voice rang twice today. Within half an hour. Both times in no way was she prepared to talk to Mrs. Farmer because it was obviously Mr. Farmer listed on the great piece of A4 in front of her eyes. I was rather impolite on her first call and said my usual jargon of there never being a good time, but on the second call I mellowed. She sounded rather harassed and I wondered if her boss had hounded her to ring back. We all have a job to do and good on the voices for making a living and not sponging off the state but when ringing a number to speak to a farmer, perhaps they could do a little homework first and realise that farmers work constantly, unless of course they're asleep.

Last week one of the callers rang three times in two days. I refused to fob him off the third time and raced downstairs to the kitchen where I found the Farmer slumped by the Aga with the dogs. "For you," I said as I handed him the phone. "Who is it?" he asked, reluctantly rising to his feet. "Someone doing a survey, he's called 3 times now and we're on first name terms," I replied. "Tut," he tutted, taking the phone off me and suddenly becoming very nice. The call lasted 30 seconds. The caller didn't even know who he was calling. He wanted to speak to a farmer who farmed Organic of which we don't and had no idea which part of the country we were in. Good job it's their phone bill.

My Cleaner

I could hear the water running in the bathroom. Deep in conversation with my friend downstairs I was half thinking I should break off from listening and go see what the noise was all about. But the conversation became more intense and the water faded from my mind. Eventually, the friend went home. Completely oblivious to my earlier thoughts I made my way upstairs in order to persuade Amy into pajamas and hopefully bed soon after.

I got half way up. The sound of the toilet being flushed alerted me to someones presence in the bathroom. Then I heard the water again. The taps having been turned on in the bath. I reached the top of the staircase as Amy came out of the bathroom, sleeves rolled up, not that it mattered as she was already wet through. Her excitement at leading me into the bathroom was almost overwhelming. "Come and see what I've done for you," she said, swimming in pride.

I entered the bathroom, wondering if I dare look. But the sight that was to greet me was a pleasant surprise as she pointed out her labours of the past half hour. A gleaming sink, sparkling bath and an unusually clean toilet. The big smile on Amy's face was priceless. "Are you pleased?" she asked. "You've done a fantastic job," I replied, looking round for the Cillit Bang. "What did you use to clean?" "This," came the reply as she handed me an empty bottle of shower gel. She had done a wonderful job though.

Go with the Flock

Spent the most wonderful two hours in a field on Saturday. The farmer, Amy and myself went a few miles down the road to watch the local sheep dog trials. After getting caked in slutch, clarts or if you prefer, shit, we ventured through a field gate and onto an expanse of grass purposely left for competing collies. A good friend, who also happens to be the owner of Sparky's new boyfriend and the regular trial champion, was competing with two of his dogs. Talk about obedient. My mouth was permanently open in amazement at the way these dogs listen and follow commands. After seeing the discipline portrayed by these animals we have come to the conclusion that we don't stand a cat-in-hell's chance of ever entering Sparky in such a competition. Molly maybe, if she found enough energy to get out of the car, but Sparky would be impossible. We know she's a young dog at just under two years, and we also know that she hasn't been trained to undertake this kind of activity. She is quite good in rounding up the sheep her only problem is that she doesn't do as she's told. I sometimes think the farmer is on the verge of collapse when I hear him yelling to the other end of a 20 acre field in the hope that his calls will tempt Sparky home.

There were fifteen owners and their dogs competing in all. It wasn't exactly "one man and his dog" as five of the owners were women. Watching the skill and drive that these dogs have really is something else. They know exactly where to take the sheep, which gates to go through, how to round them up in to the pen, which way to take the flock. Their ability to gather a small group of Texels was quite astounding. These were classed as Nursery Trials, or junior dog trials; young dogs competing and establishing themselves in the world of sheep dogs. We watched one dog fly to the other side of the field towards the sheep only to have one of the sheep separate from its flock and makes its way, rather sharpish, back to the trailer from where it had come. Somewhat confused, the dog couldn't decide whether to continue rounding up the remaining flock or give the escaped convict a run for its money. He chose the escaped convict. Leaving the small flock of amazed woollies wondering if they had got away with being chased towards a waiting pen. It is quite inspiring to see the trials, realising the potential of a sheep dog. Our sheep dogs however, seem to need a bit more work before they reach trial capabilities. In Sparky's case, a lot more.

Start of a new friendship

I currently have three plasters on my fingers. I have the most awful bad habit of biting and picking at skin around my nails and over the past few days I have just about eaten and picked myself raw. Perhaps it's the weather making my skin dry but on the other hand it could be the fact that my nerves are on the verge of being shot in the lead up to having a new computer installed tonight. My friend and fellow blogger, Merlin's Wizzard is coming over to completely wipe my old pc clean and get me started on the new Acer model I recently bought from PC World. The reason why I am nervous is because I have never used Vista and being as thick as two short planks when it comes to computer technology might just pose a problem.

You may remember a while back I posted about a collection of change I had to count, left behind by my late father-in-law. There was so much that it has almost bought the new computer, that's a tower, monitor, keyboard and mouse. Jim bought the first computer too so it was a little ironic that he contributed rather generously to this one. The coins sat on the floor in money bags until I took them to the bank last week and bought the new pc. I am quite excited about my new toy but I only hope I can use it. If any one has experience with Vista I would love to hear about it. I hear it's much different than Windows XP and I also hear it's quite problematic. Which creates a hole in my Elastoplast box.

Unable to Resist. An Extract.

Camilla has arrived at Marcus' house, unsure about whether she is welcome. This scene follows a brief encounter between the two where Camilla made the decision to reveal her gift of mediumship. Please bear in mind that at this stage, the couple are platonic friends even though they have romantic feelings towards each other.


“You can come here anytime, you know that. Have you something you want to talk about or is it a social call?”

I pondered that question for a moment. It was as though my face was telling a story to this man who seemed to read people like a book. He had spent most of his life listening to people’s problems, counselling them and consoling them in their hour of need. Had he seen that look in my eyes? Did he know that my visit was not just to see him but to tell him about the bizarre reading I gave Angus the previous day? I knew I was risking our friendship again should I have told him about the messages I received yet I had to tell him. I felt that our friendship could not move forward unless I was honest with him. So I risked it.

“Please don’t by angry with me but I need to tell you something.” I took a sip of the coffee he made for me.

“You aren’t going to reveal another secret are you?” his lips smiled while his eyes were unsure.

“I’m afraid I am.”

He sighed. “I’m listening.”

“I gave a reading to my friend’s brother yesterday. I was visited by two souls whom I suspect were his grandparents, and my own grandmother gave me a message too.”

“Why have you chosen to tell this to me?”

“I need to talk to someone who might understand. I thought you were my friend.” I began to worry that Marcus would ask me to leave. Instead, he came over to me and cupped my face in his hands.

“I've grown terribly fond of you, Camilla. You have to understand that I want to be a part of your life but you're making it so difficult for me.”

“I don’t want it to be difficult for you, Marcus. I just want you to listen." I placed my fore and middle fingers gently against his lips. "Don’t say anything, just listen.”

He nodded his head, still a little reluctant to hear my words.

I continued. “Angus is going to experience heartache. Someone close to him is going to pass over and I have no idea who it is. But then I got a message from who I suspect was his grandmother telling me that Lucia is sick. Her concern was meant for me too. It was as though the person who is going to pass is Lucia.”

“Aren’t you reading too much in to it?” his expression began to show disbelief.

“I could be.” I bit my bottom lip. “Will you speak to Lucia and find out just how sick she is?”

“Me?” He scratched his head, combing his fingers through his hair. “Why me?”

“She knows how much I admire you. You’re a priest and you know the right words to use.” My voice rose at the end of each sentence, he was softening to my pleas.

“I’ll speak to her, if it'll help but I still don’t agree with it.”

I hugged him, feeling the warmth of his skin pressed against my cheek. How much I needed his affection right there and then. I drew away, slowly, looking into his eyes, recognising the same look boring into mine. Our lips were just centimetres apart and I could not resist the temptation of drawing him closer. As his lips touched mine, my whole body shook, my stomach danced and my heart melted. Passion overwhelmed my thoughts. Marcus continued to kiss me, gripping me in lustful embrace. He moved his lips from mine, I threw my head back as he began to caress my neck with his mouth, his hands now moving gently up and down my back, around my shoulders, finally settling firmly around me. Withdrawing from me, he took hold of my hand and began to lead me to the stairs. I was unsure. I could not see past the feelings of forbidden love, feelings I was trying so desperately to ignore.

Giving in to temptation I allowed him to take me upstairs, into his bedroom, into his bed. I allowed him to undress me, each button on my blouse, silk falling loosely from my skin. His touch was incredible, releasing each of my senses; he kissed my body, every part of me, sending me into a frenzy of uncontrollable lust. I needed him so much, his voice in my ear, his touch against my aroused body. And I had him. Upon his moans of pleasure and his satisfied claims, he lifted from me, settling by my side.

He turned towards me, shining eyes and a comfortable smile. I was suddenly aware that I lay in his bed, naked and perspiring, trembling. For a reason in which I stumbled it began to feel wrong; my mind wandered to our different lives.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” I said almost reluctantly. I sat up, pulling the sheets over my body, a part of me wondering why I was trying to hide when I had just let Marcus explore every inch of my once hidden self.

“You were wonderful.” He sighed, joining me beneath the sheets. His arms once more wrapped around me as he pulled me into him. I rested my head upon his chest, running my fingers along the contours of his beautiful body.

“I think I need to go.” I did not want to leave him but I was afraid. Afraid that this moment of passion might end up threatening our friendship.

“I love you.”

Marcus’ heart was beating fast. I could feel the steady racing rhythm against my cheek. For a split second I thought I heard him say that he loved me. I sat up and pulled the sheets from me, intending to leave the bed. But he pulled me back, a firm grip on my shoulders as his eyes searched for an answer.

“I love you.” There it was again. My head seemed to be exploding as I watched his lips move and the words escape.

“You don’t have to say that.” Should he have been expecting me to return his affection I could not. I did not know if I loved Marcus then. I could not lie to him nor could I build up his hopes that our relationship was about to explore a new level.

“I know I don’t have to say it but I am because I mean it. I want you in my life."

“What do you want me to say?”

He placed his fingers against my lips, as I had done to him earlier.

"Perhaps you should just listen. I loved you the first moment I set eyes on you at Rosehill. When we went for that walk through your fields I realised then that one day I would tell you what I'm telling you now.” He kissed me, as though relieved at having revealed his feelings.

“I really do have to go, Marcus.”

“Then go,” he released his grip. I moved away and sat on the end of the bed fumbling about for my underwear. “But you will come back. You will always come back.”

I did not know why he was saying such words, it was like he was someone else. He was almost reciting my future, telling me how I would feel; patronising me with his confident predictions. I got dressed, hurriedly, impatient to leave the house. Our passionate encounter had been spoilt, I was almost coming round to the idea of having a relationship with the village priest yet now he had made me wonder if it could ever be possible. He could not tell me he loved me and expect me to love him back. I hardly knew him. We had only met a handful of times. We shared little in common and our beliefs alone were enough to keep us apart.

My car journey home was a blur. I felt I needed to bathe as quickly as possible, remove all traces of Marcus’ hands and the softness of his caress. I could still feel his breath on my face and the sound of his whispering voice in my ear. His moans echoed around my head as I lay in the bath, thinking about his incredible and sensual touch. I could feel myself becoming aroused again. The feeling of inapt was fading from my mind and I found myself wanting to be with him, clenched in his arms, smothered by his love.

I got out of the bath, covering myself with the towel. Still wet I found clean clothes and got dressed. I could think of only one thing. Yet I kept telling myself that I did not love him. I did not need him in my life though knew I could not stop myself from wanting to be with him.

I was back in his bed within the hour.

My Lady

I think my Lady of the Stairs was entertaining last night. For a while I lay in bed listening to her tread the terracotta carpet, floorboards beneath emitting the sounds of footsteps. At one point I thought she might have been standing outside my bedroom door. For what reason I have no idea but a sighing sound was one picked up by my ever so sharp ears. If I feel there is a presence within my vicinity I become totally alert. It is hard to feel sleep is needed when I feel needed elsewhere.

Fascinated by my Lady's activity I decided to confront my thoughts. The landing was of course empty. Just a distant and gentle tap sounded from the bottom of the stairs as I stood looking towards the mirror with a thousand faces. My frame of mind beckoned me with bravery to reach out and ask for communication. I slowly began my descent of the staircase, nine steps away from the gilt framed mirror. Another gentle sigh followed by what sounded like fingers being tapped against hollow wood. And then it happened; the sound of rushing footsteps and a blast of cold air brushing past me as I balanced myself against the banister. My eyes had seen nothing yet my mind had known another soul as our energies met, creating another reason for me to love this house.

Free Phone

Amy had a friend stay over on Saturday night. They had a ball. Slept in the spare bed together and actually got a good night's sleep. Unlike when I was their age. The friend is patient, enjoys being with Amy so much that she puts up with anything and everything. Amy's repetitive conversation often made me wonder if this time, friend would have to walk away but a calm response of "you told me that earlier" seemed to go down a treat. Both girls had a great weekend and were sad to say their goodbyes on Sunday afternoon. They miss each other, attending different schools and having other friends made us mums wonder if our little darlings might drift apart. But we are relieved to say they haven't. In fact, their friendship is stronger than ever. I guess it has something to do with them only seeing each other every few weeks and always having lots to talk about, new games to play.


Most parents know when their child is telling lies, however big or small the fib becomes, we get to know the expressive language, be it body or facial. Amy is no exception. She can't keep a secret and has never been able to get away with a fib. During the last few weeks, she has learnt how to use the phone. This I feel is important should she need to make a call for any reason, mainly if I am unable to do it myself. Emergency or otherwise, I made the decision to allow her to use the phone should it be absolutely necessary.


However. My "butter wouldn't melt" child has the most amazing memory. She can recall a phone number without having to write it down, however long the number is. This includes those prime-time numbers that scam merchants give out in adverts during kids shows on TV. Some of the adverts tell the children to seek the bill payer's permission first, but Amy seems to ignore that bit. Sunday afternoon's conversation went a little like this:-


Amy: "I've got a secret."

Me: "Do you want to tell me?" (half listening)

Amy: "Okay." (didn't take much persuasion)

Amy cont. "Me and *Friend phoned that number and it wasn't a machine it was a real person."

Me: (fully alert) "What number?"

Amy: "It was 0800 something."



The 0800 bit kind of softened the blow, being a free phone number.


Amy: "The lady said "hello" and I said "I'm watching Scooby Doo, are you?" then I put the phone down. It was really funny, mum. We couldn't stop laughing cos I said it in a really posh voice." I didn't laugh.


I then gave Amy the lecture about not using the phone without asking me first. I also gave her the lecture about not making phone calls to strangers. Then I gave her the lecture about the fact that our phone number could be traced. I half wish she hadn't told me. I really need to make her understand what a secret is. I remember going through a phase when I was about 12 when a group of us kids kept making calls from a phone box and thought we were ever so grown up, the call recipient most probably being able to hear a bunch of giggling school girls in the background. I guess I don't want Amy to follow in these footsteps. I can just imagine her ringing the local police station and asking for Plod.


Then again, honesty is best in my book. I told her she was a good girl for being honest with me, before I gave her another lecture about never doing it again. It's very rewarding to have kids but it ain't 'arf 'ard. The problem is, Amy isn't like your average kid. She's easily led, easily influenced. Trying to make her understand the moral issues of life can be extremely difficult. Trying to make her understand the dangers of life can be, in Amy's eyes, extremely distressing.


And then I walk into the lounge to find her glued to the television screen playing Tom & Jerry on Sky games. Not sure how much that's costing me but I expect it will be more than a satsuma. There are ways and means on how to prevent your kids using such facilities, like parental control for one. I had hoped I'd get away with it but I could be wrong.

Clean Post

My house is slowly turning into a launderette. I have never washed so much in all my life. For some reason, the two linen boxes we have are permanently full, if not with clothes then with bedding and towels. But I don't remember not washing over the holidays. I currently have a pantry full of items to wash, some waiting to go in the dryer while Amy's box is overflowing. And I've just added to it with her duvet cover that Molly and Sparky have been jumping on all week. As a wonderful alarm clock, I let the dogs wake Amy up every morning but sometimes I forget that they have dirty paws.

The odd thing is that most of the washing seems to be mine and Amy's. Very little is contributed by the farmer unless he has made an effort to turn on the shower. I still don't know if he looks for the soap but at least the water washes over him. Not often enough I must add. I know I'll never change his hygiene habits but it does make me cringe slightly when he asks "what's the point in washing my work clothes when they'll get dirty again tomorrow?"

He does have several boiler suits, many warm jumpers, umpteen shirts, various pairs of jeans, most of them bought for about £3 in ASDA. Being clean has always been important to me. It can be quite hard keeping on top of it during the lambing however, when there isn't time to wash one's hands let alone stand in a shower for ten minutes. But the sheep don't seem to mind. And as we both spend most of our time with them I guess the farmer's question about washing his clothes does actually have a point. At least I wear gloves most of the time. I only wish he did.

Holiday

We are only into the second week of the new year and the holiday adverts have started. All these wonderfully shaped swimming pools with slide and fountains emerging from every angle. Amy is pestering me about going to Centre Parcs. If any one has been, I would love to hear how it was. I've heard it's pricey but that might depend on which one you go to. I went to town today and came home laden with brochures, none of which I really wanted. I would much rather holiday in this country, or Scotland. Our trip to France last year was too much hard work and even though I am planning a big trip to Germany in the Autumn, I am hoping, with all respect, that my mum will look after Amy.

I don't like caravans, have difficulty using the loo. I don't like tents, too many creepy crawlies. Log Cabins just about pass my test whereas five star hotels with top quality leisure facilities are more my thing. Not sure where we shall end up but I like to go somewhere, if only to break up the summer holidays. I was quite surprised though; after asking the assistant in the travel agents if she had any good deals or special offers on UK holidays, and we're talking a well known operator here, her answer was "well, none really but we could try for something for you if you want to book now." I wondered if I had "idiot" written on my forehead. In the current climate I thought special offers and good deals were everywhere. Obviously not in a well known high street travel agents. And with more people booking holidays on the Internet these days, I would have thought they'd have jumped at the chance of offering me a good deal. Or do good deals only take effect if you book a holiday abroad? Oh well, back to the Internet.

Anyone booked their holidays yet? Tell me, do you think it's cheaper to holiday abroad or in the UK?

Time Flies

I held her in my arms, oblivious to those around me. Nothing would stand in our way. No one would ever come between us. No mountain would be too high, no fire too intense. She was my baby. I did not want to share her with anyone. Her blue eyes overwhelmed my heart as I felt her pull on strings I never knew existed. I had not planned that moment in my life. I had not believed or understood when a mother had described the deep and powerful emotion that is felt, the adamant desire to protect and nurture and the immediate ability to love unconditionally.

Never did I imagine I could find such love. My heart never ached for a child's attention; there was never any need to portray my maternal instinct for I never considered myself to have one. But when life had been created and appeared in my arms I realised I had my own tale to tell. I then understood what it was all about, just a few seconds to change a heart, for ever. Two hours later I watched my dad cry as he held her in his arms and looked at her the way I had done previously. He understood. He believed. He loved unconditionally.

Amy turned 9 on Saturday. It does not seem nine years ago since that Monday evening when my baby began her life. She is a big girl now, bigger than an average 9 year old yet inside our hearts she still remains my baby. Time has been eventful since Amy's birth, bringing us a mixture of highs and lows and many in-betweens. When I look at Amy I see beauty. I see a smile that will melt a frozen ocean; eyes that sparkle like a million stars; a heart that will never break.

When I look at Amy I sometimes see my dad. Their faces are unalike yet the love they both possess is the same in every way. Perhaps it was he who moved the books on the shelves as I sat quietly, reflecting upon my few moments of oblivion. Twice I was alerted to another world, to another place in time where our thoughts can be read absolute. He would have been so proud of his granddaughter, to have seen her flourish the way she has, to have made friends and developed confidence. I wonder often if someone read his thoughts as he held my baby girl for the first time nine years ago.

Matt or Gloss

It came as a shock to me last night when the new Doctor was finally revealed. I can't remember seeing him in anything although I do know he has starred in a few drama's, one with Billie Piper, who played a previous companion to the Doctor. But I sat on the bed, excitement rushing through me, wishing David Tennant would say "only kidding, I'm not going anywhere" when the young fresh face of Matt Smith appeared on my TV screen, looking like he needed someone to recommend him a good hairdresser.

Mr Tennant will appear in four specials this year before he passes the role onto Mr Smith, in I expect, spectacular fashion. Perhaps I should speak for myself when I say David Tennant has been the most popular Doctor of all time and in these times of antibiotics and sick notes I would imagine him to be a very busy man, should his role warrant such undertakings. It was all very secretive and very unfairly decided (in my opinion of course) as I feel the choice of our next Doctor should have been partly decided by the millions of extremely frustrated fans who keep the ratings of this show to an all time high.

But, we shall have to wait and see what happens I guess. Maybe Matt Smith will prove me wrong. Maybe he will become the most popular Doctor that hit our screens since Richard Chamberlain himself. I prefer my men much older and with hair that does not drape over part of the face. I dare say I shall not be applying for the role of the Doctor's companion. I will make do with my cardboard cut out and pin up calendar. They can't take David Tennant away from me that easily.

Go

One wonders what delights a new year will bring, be they happy or sad, frustrations, heartbreak or tragedy. The path of life is always one step ahead. Our roads may twist with no warning signs ahead but when we look back we often realise that our chosen path could not have been avoided. We have so much to look forward to. This new year may bring us new beginnings. It does not have to bring us pain yet it may bring us sorrow. It does not need to be hard yet we may feel the mountains have become steeper.

I wish each and every one of you a happy 2009. To those who have grieved may you once more discover the intensity of love; to you that face financial hardship may you find a better way to manage your purse strings; and may light shine on us all and allow us to see the true gift of life. Ourselves.

With love,

Crystal Jigsaw xx