My true north

Some people think the magnetic north is located somewhere near the north pole; it's not true. Well, not for me anyway.

My true north lies at 5 High.

A month ago we scattered my Grandfather's ashes off the end of the pier, he took two sisters with him (in ash form obviously!), so he will not be short of 'head leaders'.

A few weeks ago my Aunt rang and asked if there was anything from the house I wanted as Grandma is not going to live there any more, so these are the things I would like:

I would like the outside shower full of sand after we have all come back from the beach;

the sound of feet swinging on the black box outside the loo while we all queue to spend a penny before going out;

telling stories of Maggie the witch who lives through the hatch in the loo;

Grandma and Grandad's bed scaled with the help of a chair as we all pile in;

the fairies that danced in the fire while we toasted crumpets;

the twin beds that Katy and I slept in - my blankets remaining beautifully tucked in after I slept like a 'princess' and watching Katy struggle to remake hers the next morning.

Wardrobes full of cousins as we play sardines at Christmas.

The poster grandma would put on my bedroom door at Christmas when I was little;

the claw foot bath ...

I could go on about the summers I worked with Grandparents; my Grandma meeting me off the bus for a weekend with them..

but actually as I have typed this I have realised that many of my 5 high memories are also memories of my cousins, and all the summers we spent together, and I guess we still all have each other and the Hut.

Hipstamatic - my weekend seventies stylie

Loving the Hipstamatic app for the iPhone!

And loving the seaside if course...
















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Baring all

No this isn't me baring my soul; it isn't an 'oh I'm depressed, anxious and unloved'; I don't have the back of my hand pressed to my forehead in a dramatic 'woe is me' kind of a way.

Nope, this about taking off all ones clothes and running around naked! Bare bummed, in the nod, whatever you choose to call it. But, I promise that my getting naked in public is so last year, literally last year.

Isobel has taken to running around sans clothes. Yesterday, she spent much of the day running in and out of the garden; jumping on the trampoline and generally being bare bummed.

And I must say, I really don't have an issue with this. Don't all children do it? Isn't it natural for a child to run round unfettered in this way?

PD does seem to have an issue, even down to questioning that a perve maybe standing staring in the front window of our quiet residential street. (I have new frosting on there now, so this can't be the issue now.)

Other parents seem to have an issue as they struggle at a BBQ in my back garden to stop their children doing the same.

Isobel wore a bikini to a recent BBQ where I knew there was going to be a paddling pool. This wasn't out of any prudishness on my part but was simply her choice of outfit. I'm now glad she did because it means I can post the video of the fun she had without fear of miss use.

But, again isn't it sad that I even have to think that way?

I'm sure I ran around naked at the age of two? What's wrong with it?

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In which I know it's been a good day

When I take a photo of my daughter with her Great Grandma



And this is the view in my mirror on the way back to my mummy's house.




Then I spend a lovely evening outside at Apple Tree Cafe with my best friend Miss B, and the brushing on my foot is my napkin, not a mouse.

And I seriously start wondering about moving home.

In which we were not alone

As there were four generations at The Hut on Saturday you can imagine while not exactly peaceful, it was fun.

Trouble is, as if often the case at these events I often feel woefully inadequate. I had simply stuffed swim nappies and Isobel's swimming costume in our bag and off we went. (Yes, only one costume not two, can't put a wet costume back on a babe - it's impossible, so impossible I didn't even try!)

Foolishly I hadn't bothered with her towelling poncho; thriftily I hadn't bought a sun suit for the very few odd days we make it to the sea; AND I had decided to just buy lunch from the fab cafe next door.

And I certainly didn't pack a costume for me.

Everyone else was well prepared and stocked for their week at The Hut. That is my only defence: I knew we were only going for a few hours one afternoon.

Here's some more pics:





One thing I did do right is I didn't bother to pack a book or get a deckchair out.

In which we head to the seaside

On Saturday we went to the seaside.

Yes, we were back on the Island for a family catch up and that means heading to The Beach Hut. I capitalise it because to my family there is only one hut and any sign of sun means it's A Hut Day.

So there I am standing at the waters edge, camera poised ready to take photos of my little girl's first toe dip in the sea. Strictly speaking she dipped a toe or ten last year but this was to be her first self propelled foray into the sea.



I imagined us splashing around where the water just lapped the sand, walking hand in hand in the shallowest of shallows...

Instead, I hurriedly tuck my dress in my knickers to hold her hand; and then in order to prevent my daughter washing herself out to sea I find myself hastily tucking my camera in my bra - good look. So good in fact I had to do it on the second trip to the sea too - when will I learn.

(But would squeezing the extra 7lbs of me into a swimming costume have been a better look? Actually I think maybe it would have, rather than being the towny in a dress and beads to boot!)

I won't leave you with that image; try these instead:






To say Isobel took to the sea like a duck to water would indeed be an understatement. She followed the waves out up to her little chest on a quest for 'Bub-bals'. Leaving me to clutch the straps of her costume as she waded... and waded.

The sea splashed her hat and she barely stopped.

One week on and she's not a baby anymore

Isobel is now a fully fledged toddler, I'm threading the needle to sew on her walking badge as we speak.

In so many ways it's been a a very busy week. We have been to the Isle of Wight and come back with the following pieces of information:

Isobel can walk and walk and walk. She can even turn 360 degrees without falling down.

Bruises are easily come by but also relatively easy to go if you plaster them with Arnica and have very young skin. Scratches from playing peekaboo with a fence might be slightly more persistent.

Poor little girl suffers from car sickness, something we have discovered the hard way; I have washed the car seat twice in two days.

Isobel's feet have grown from a 3F to a 31/2G, and I had to order her shoes from Internet.

We have five new words: Bubbles - bubboos, again - gain, grandma - gamma, banana - nana, and my aunt is convinced she said Angela. (Yes, I have had a few more mummies too)

We have a book called 'Is this my nose' and I found Isobel sitting on the floor reading it and pointing to all the correct face parts - well if she were a Picasso painting.

Ice cream cones and key lime pie ice cream have been mastered. Yes, we had a 'hut day' at the seaside.

And most importantly of all, Isobel has spent time with her family, including her godmother.

Needless to say we had a lot to tell PD when we got back.

I cannot believe what a difference a week makes, I'm glad I didn't miss a minute of it.

A day at the English Seaside or Hut Day One explained

Okay, so all my posts are a little higgldy-piggldy. That's what happens when you try and back-post and test your mobile for real-time posting at the same time.

On Sunday I read that only a small percentage of British children had actually been to the seaside in the UK. As someone who grew up on an Island, in a beach hut renting /owning family, that just seems completely unbelievable.

Anyway, as you've seen, on Monday, Isobel and I went to The Hut. Normally the family do only go to the Hut on 'hut days', days when the sun is at least attempting to shine. But it was Paul's last day before returning to LA LA land, so we went to the hut to eat crab sandwiches and ice-cream, not at the same time of course.

Well, if you saw the weather forecast on Monday you will not be surprised to hear that at one point we were in the Hut sheltering from the rain. Luckily it was a somewhat heavy but only brief, shower.

Yes, we did look like sad grockles* determined to make the most of their holiday. Unfortunately, as it is forecast to rain for the rest of the week, I'm not sure we'll get any actual 'Hut Days'.

I'm really not sure what the point of this post is - it doesn't sound like I'm selling the paradise that is the Isle of Wight. Am I just boasting that my child WILL have to suffer the indignity of going to the English Seaside on an English Summers day, but she won't have to worry about getting sand in her sandwiches because we have a hut?

*Isle of Wight for holiday-maker.