Chocolate is not the only fruit

In a vain attempt to look cool to my kids I chose to scooter to school with Brown Bear last week. It was all fine getting there and I even stopped for a cuppa with the other mums at the school cafe before scootering home for yoga class. However, as I slowed to a stop at the top of the very steep hill that we live on it all went into slow motion as I fell and managed to cause a pretty painful and bloody injury to my knee. As I hobbled back home carrying the scooter I shrugged off how bad it was and carried on with teaching. It was only afterwards that I checked and noticed how badly I had cut and scraped myself. Since then I've been recovering slowly - I think it's an age thing. This evening I fell asleep on the sofa and woke up in time for the final episode of The Good Wife with the cat asleep on top of me.


Enforced slowing down doesn't agree with me really. I prefer to be at full pelt the whole time so it's surprised me that doing so little can be this tiring. On the flip side I've also had time to stop and look around a bit more. Earlier in the week I spotted that a neighbour was having some trees cut down in their garden so I asked the guys doing the work if they could spare some of the logs they had cut. One of them kindly dropped off these for me and I'm looking forward to creating a fun play area in the garden for the boys. I have big plans for the garden which makes the current wet weather all the more frustrating.


My Fitbit doesn't know what is going on as a I'm struggling to reach my daily steps goal before bedtime and I usually hit the magic number by lunchtime. I was considering putting it on Neo this week, as he has four paws I thought I'd get more steps, but his level of activity is second only to a sloth at the moment. I'll be honest the main reason I exercise so much is because I don't want to be fat (that ship has sailed unfortunately), but the second reason is so that I can have treats and not feel too guilty. At the weekend we took Hubbie out for an afternoon tea for Father's Day. It was Brown Bear's first time and he absolutely loved the fresh scones. This bodes well for our holiday in Cornwall in a few weeks.


I'm off to Britmums Live this weekend and am looking forward to seeing blogging friends and enjoying wine, cakes and delicious food. I'm going to walk around a lot to try and get my steps up for the week. If you're going to be at Britmums please do come and say hello. I'm a greeter this year and can't wait. Before then I'll be recording a radio show with a lovely guy who's been on my show before a few times. It's a busy few days.

On Monday both boys were at home with me - I can't talk about it, it's still too raw in my mind. I will tell you when I can do it without either bursting into tears or gritting my teeth. Anyway, my point is that it's been a transition week with Baby Boy starting at pre-school and me getting some kid-free time.

Before that could happen though we had the midway point where I had Big Boy at home with me so we dropped Baby Boy off at pre-school then went to get a few things in town. I had intended to get the boys pyjamas in the sales then we spotted this gorgeous dressing gown for my delicious nephew. Ok I know a 3 month old doesn't strictly need one (even less so the adorable pockets) but look at those fluffy ears !!



Then this afternoon I got a lie down on the sofa while Baby Boy slept and Neo joined me. It reminded me of when I was pregnant and the cat used to lie on my big belly - until the baby started to kick him that is. It came as such a shock and he would look really perturbed. Now he just has to contend with me getting up to refresh my cup of tea.


Big picture, we both get the house back for a few hours a day.

I might get the hang of this yet.

I've never considered myself to be a maverick in any way whatsoever. I'm terribly conventional really. So it came as a bit of a surprise to realise that I have some quirks that do set me apart from a lot of 'normals.' For example:

• I cannot bear sand. I won't have it in my garden at home so the kids can't have a sandpit and when we go to the beach I spend all my time shaking sand off the beach towels and my feet. It's  not so bad when it's dry, but once my feet are wet I spend all the time trying to get the sand not to stick to me and - frankly - it's a miserable process. 

• Tea is my thing - I don't drink coffee. I used to, but I haven't for over ten years and now it's a distant memory. I did drink decaff for a while, but that seemed so entirely pointless I have given up on it altogether. People are often puzzled by this. 

• Although I have a daredevil streak in me I will never, ever do a bungee jump. It's as far from my idea of a good time as it's possible to get and I would throw myself out of a plane before I would do this. Bear in mind I am also not a big fan of flying so that's a big deal. 

• Nutella doesn't do anything for me. It has taken me most of my life to realise I just don't like that praline-y taste and that extends to all the pralines in any selection box of chocolates too. Now you know which ones to help yourself to if you share a box with me - or which ones to buy if you don't want me to eat any.

• When I was a kid I was terrified of car washes - those automated ones that you drive through - and when I was reminded of this by my mother as an adult it revived the fear. I now cannot drive through one of them without distraction or a sedative - I am being serious ! 

• I'm a big fan of fish, but I can't stand salmon. Smoked salmon is fine, but the other kind is just eugh ! This makes me sound really picky when I have to tell anyone my food preferences, but honestly I'm not. 

• I swim about 5-6 times a week, but I'm very frightened of large expanses of water. When the pool is empty it takes a few minutes before I stop being afraid that something (I don't know what) is going to happen to me in the water. I love swimming, so this one is a bit of an issue. 

• On a similar note, this becomes even more complicated by the fact that I get horribly seasick, but I will scuba dive. While I'm on the water I feel sick as anything, but when I'm in the water I am fine. Weird eh ? 

• Despite years of devoted service to cakes of all kinds I just don't like traditional doughnuts. Yes I can appreciate the smell of freshly made doughnuts, but the sugar coated variety are far from my idea of a treat. I was so scared of my mother as a child that I never told her that I didn't like them and when I confessed as an adult she was quite surprised. 

My love of cake is such that on a semi regular basis me and my lovely friend SJ take in in turns to choose a venue for a posh afternoon tea as a special treat. I arrange childcare (Hubbie takes the boys to watch football usually) and we meet up and spend hours enjoying nice tea and delicious sandwiches and - of course - scrumptious cakes. It is always nice when someone else makes the effort for you. It's enough effort for me to pop a teabag in a mug never mind make a pot of tea so there's a very slim chance that I'd take the time to cut the crusts off sandwiches at home. I do, however, sometimes treat my boys to an 'afternoon tea' at home. I get out the nice cake stands and clear some space on the dining table that is always covered in stuff so we can sit and eat. Hubbie chooses a nice herbal tea, I pick a posh black tea and then we get to the heart of the matter. The star of the show. The reason we are even doing this thing. The cakes !


I've been a fan of Mr Kiplings cakes since I was a child. Theirs was the first apple pie I ever tried and the first bakewell tart. On the rare occasions when my Mum let us have fondant fancies we all had our favourite flavours. When we visited my Mum on Friday I took a box of them with me to share with everyone. My Mum has always been a fan of tea and cake and whenever we go there however much we have eaten for lunch she will still put on the kettle and serve cake before we head home. On this occasion it was a lovely sunny afternoon so we sat outside to take tea in garden with my parents.  I don't let my boys eat cake that often so when I offered these to my older boy he was delighted and he went for a pink one, Hubbie took a chocolate one and I instinctively went for the lemon. My sister laughed and said, "I should have known you would have that one, you always did." It is true and the bane of my life was that you'd never get enough lemon ones in a box so I'd have to ration myself. Can you imagine my delight when I found that you can get a box of only Lemon Fancies ? Now I get to have as many as I want. Don't even get me started on the big fondant fancy cake - I finally tried it last year and it made me very happy indeed.


I've probably established that a love of cake pretty much defines my very existence, but I hope that this last demonstrates that it's not an entirely selfish escapade on my part. Every week I have a standing date for a 'tea and chat' with my lovely neighbour Jill. When we moved into this house our boy was one year old and the lovely retired couple next door were so kind to us. Jill and her late husband Phil noted with delight how he grew, began to walk, learned to talk and became cheekier with every passing week. We would sit in the garden in the summer drinking wine while our boy ran around and would find any excuse to meet up for tea and cake. Phil was such an interesting man and I was so sad when he told me he had been diagnosed with cancer. He went from vibrant, funny and energetic to weaker and reclusive then after a period of illness he passed away. I would still ask Jill if she needed any help with shopping or a lift anywhere (she hates driving) or anything really. She would say she was fine so I'd leave it. I would invite her for tea and cake and she would pop in to see the boy and to have a natter. One day she mentioned that Phil would have loved to see how much our boy has grown and when he was very ill and we didn't see him so often he said he could hear our boy chatting over the garden fence and it made him smile. We call Jill 'spare granny' and she loves it. Once a week I get some nice cakes in and we have a catch up over a cup (or two) of tea. I offer cake and Jill says, "Oh, not for me," but every now and then she will indulge. I can honestly say that even though we'd meet up anyway the cake does make it feel a bit special and I like to make the effort for someone who means so much to us.

Life is definitely better with cake - whether it's indulgence or nostalgia or spending time with someone special.

I'm going to put on the kettle, I'm feeling a bit peckish :)

Fruit for breakfast

I think it's fair to say I'm not a morning person. I used to work in an office where - unknown to me - it was widely acknowledged that it was best not to talk to me before I'd had at least one cup of tea. Unlike other 'super' Mums who are up with the birds and making lunches and preparing for the day I am lying in bed pretending not to hear my son asking if he can come in and watch the TV.

It wasn't always like this. There was a time when I would get up and go swimming at first light and go into work refreshed and invigorated for the day ahead. Now I'm lucky if I'm able to function before the cat - and that's saying something for an animal that sleeps for 20 hours of every day !

Toast for my boy

One thing I've never skimped on though is breakfast. I was raised to eat breakfast every day and my mother was zero tolerance about this one issue. She would ensure we had porridge or boiled eggs or cereal and would supervise to make sure it was eaten and not hidden under a rug or the middle leaf of the expanding table (totally not looking at my sister there - *cough*) When I was a teenager I would gulp a black coffee and run out of the house and she'd call out to me holding a piece of buttered toast, but I'd just shrug it off insisting I wasn't hungry.

Now I'm a grown up I am the same with my boy and make sure he has something to eat before he leaves the house, but I'm not as good at making sure I'm fed too. I can go until 11am (or later) without having anything to eat and it's not the best really. I try to remember to carry healthy snacks with me to make sure I don't fade away, a banana or an apple usually, but sometimes I just forget.

Magic breakfast biscuits

I wasn't convinced by the idea of a 'breakfast biscuit' - I mean surely a biscuit is a snack food and one that I avoid at the best of times. However, the Belvita range of biscuits has been created to be eaten as part of a healthy breakfast to slow release energy all morning rather than an immediate spike in sugar with the comedown afterwards. I popped a pack of them into my bag as an emergency and on one of my inevitable busy days I found them to be invaluable and quite tasty too ! I picked up my free cuppa from Waitrose and chomped an apricot biccie (or 3) with my brew on the bus on the way into town for a job interview. Now I'm not saying they are magic or anything, but I did get offered the job so you draw your own conclusions :)

I have to say that making a good start to the day does make a big difference whether it's...

Daily toast dilemma

Waking up to find that Hubbie has not only changed the toilet roll, but proven to me that he can actually do it and isn't relying on the toilet roll fairy

or

Being able to get out of the house without a row about brushing teeth, putting on shoes, finding socks, or breakfast, "I said Marmite on toast not jam Mummy."

or

Power walking alongside my boy's scooter to school without him swerving into the path of a car or into that pile of horses**t that's been at the top of the hill for 2 weeks now !

or

Dropping my boy at school then going for a swim so I've managed a power walk (uphill) and a swim all before 9am :)

or

Drinking a cup of tea before it goes cold - this is my favourite by far. Add a pack of breakfast biscuits and we're talking an Olympic standard #morningwin

The new Belvita flavours - yummy !

This post is an entry for #MorningWin Linky Challenge sponsored by belVitaBreakfast. Learn more at http://bit.ly/belVitaUK

After our child-free weekend in Brighton over the August Bank Holiday I thought it would be nice to take the boy to the seaside and relive some of my childhood trips there. As it looked so sunny yesterday morning I decided that was the day and announced to Hubbie that I was packing a lunch for us to eat on the beach. We all piled into the car and got on the road for out fun day out which turned out to be a typical English family day out by the sea.

I've mentioned before how important it is to give blood: it's simple, it saves lives and you get tea and biscuits after you donate.

These three reasons alone should be enough to convince you surely ?

If not then how about these three:

• 2 million donations are needed every year in order to maintain stocks of blood
• That's 200,000 new donors every year
• 96% of people rely on the 4% of us who donate blood.

I first gave blood when I was at university. My friend Robin went with me as I was nervous and didn't like needles (I still don't). He sat and chatted to me while we waited to donate. After he'd donated he came and stood by my bed to keep me company while I did the same.

I will share the advice he gave that helped me. Tell them it's your first donation and that you are nervous / scared of needles / a big old baby. The staff who work for the blood donation service are amazing and very kind and reassuring.

Of course I've tried to persuade Hubbie to give despite his pathalogical fear of needles and the sight of blood (I have no idea how he coped with the birth of our son, but I guess adrenaline helped). So far he has made it as far as sitting on the chairs while I filled out the forms. I'm working on getting him to stay in the room long enough to join me for tea and biscuits.

It's National Blood Week this week: http://www.blood.co.uk/campaigns/national-blood-week/

Firstly Happy New Year !! I hope you've had a super Christmas and that your New Year Celebrations were enjoyable. I've been a bit quiet for the last few days as I've been pondering some things that I've learned from this holiday season (to get all american about it). I have also started planning next Christmas and New Year. If you think this is a bit keen you have to understand that I am not really a long term planner, but I'm not leaving it too late for a good reason.

Last night I shared my bed with two chaps and there wasn't a lot of sleeping involved.  Before you jump to 'three in the bed romp' conclusions it was my snoring Hubbie and my poorly son - who it turns out has tonsillitis - who kept me from a graceful slumber. What it does mean is that today I'm fairly good for nothing other than mooching around the house mainlining cups of tea to keep me awake and being grateful that I don't have to go to work.

I am so pleased I had the foresight to do my baking earlier this week. If I'd left it until today I'd be in a lot of trouble. Instead I have managed to bake and box up the second batch of peanut butter fudge which is nothing like the first. I have concluded that I didn't boil the mixture for long enough or at a high enough heat the first time so it was gritty and a bit too soft, but it stands alone as a great sweet fix if not an accomplished fudge. This batch is darker, more solid and has the texture of indian mithai with the buttery taste and mouth feel that appeals so much. I also managed to score some fabulous kilner jars to put the fudge into (which I'm tempted to keep for myself actually) so that I don't have to resort to using those take away plastic boxes that always smell vaguely of chinese or indian food even after many washes.

The other less successful bit of baking I did was the long awaited gingerbread kit from Waitrose. The mix was pre-made which required kneading to make it soft enough to roll out, but it was still too dry and kept breaking up. We did manage to get enough stars out of the mixture for my son's nursery party and some to decorate the tree with so it was sort of worth the effort. Once baked though the icing part was the next trial. There were two pre-filled icing bags and a small bag of 'edible glitter,' but the icing was too thick to pipe and did not 'smooth over the top' as the pack claimed. I'm particularly disappointed as this was a pricey £3.30 (and that was on special offer) and rather than being a fun activity to do with my boy it was just a bit too fussy so I won't be getting it again.

The surprise of the week was how well the festive palmiers turned out that I had sort of come up with as a way to use up the remainder of mincemeat and some puff pastry I'd bought to experiment with. I popped some in a jar to give as a gift and I think they make a suitably light alternative to traditional mince pies. They're light and just the right size to have with a cup of tea - which for me is the sign of a good snack.

So that's almost all of my Christmas baking done. Once it's over I'm going to feel bereft so I was delighted to receive a call telling me that the boy and I have a place on the 'Baking Bears' course at our local children's centre. It's a course of classes teaching children some basic cooking skills and is always over-subscribed so it's taken us a while to get a place. As we're starting in January it gives us something fun and foodie to look forward to.



That and the boot camp I've signed up to do in January to counteract all the overindulgence !!

My show today was about international migrants' day which is tomorrow. It made me think about the reasons that people choose to leave their home country and live somewhere else. For my parents it was aspirational (well for my Mother it was to join her husband who had already settled over here). For others it is to escape a regime that they don't support or cannot live with for their own safety.

A childhood friend of mine moved to Australia last year after planning the move for around 5 years. I admire the bravery it takes to move your family and start a new life in a different country. I love the idea of living somewhere else, but the move from West London to South London was so traumatic for me at first that I think I'm a long way off from realistically emigrating anywhere. I love some countries that I've visited, but there are drawbacks to living there. Nothing as important as not being able to get Marmite (which you can in most places now) but the trivial things that I've learned are important to me :

You cannot get salad cream in Romania - on a visit to a colleague she asked for some and was presented with 8 bottles (one from each guest) which kept her going until she came home again.

Tea is awful in America - in fact Liptons is only sold outside the UK and it's not good. They do a nice line in hippie teas, but not a good old fashioned proper cuppa.

It's pretty much impossible to buy tampons in India. I have tried over the years and can only surmise that it's a morality issue and the final frontier for sanitary product manufacturers.

Plumbing in Greece can't take toilet tissue (seriously after all these years still ?) I just can't imagine living somewhere where you keep used tissues in the bin next to the loo. Eugh !!

The cuisine in Cuba is inedible. Yes they have universal healthcare and education for all, but no food of note (the alcohol is good though). How did Hemingway cope ?


I'd love to live in Vancouver. It's been rated as one of the best places in the world to live and has clean air, a thriving Sikh community and fabulous skiing an hour away. The honest truth is if I don't see my family for a few weeks I miss them terribly. They drive me crazy after a few minutes of seeing them, but if I couldn't just make the decision to visit, if it took a flight and weeks of planning to see them I'd struggle.

So for now I won't worry about uprooting and moving away.

Oh and I'll call my mother.

 Hubbie finished at work today and has three weeks off work before he starts a new job. I'm delighted to have all of my boys at home for that three weeks, but it does leave me with a domestic dilemma of some concern. Nothing major really, but enough to make me wonder what I need to do on a basic level. What do I feed the boys for the next few weeks ?

This is how it goes at the moment:

Yummy Breakfast

Breakfast: Boy and Hubbie eat together, cat is fed and I eat when they're all done or if I remember.
Lunch: Hubbie takes a packed lunch, the Boy eats at nursery or at home depending what day it is. I eat late in the afternoon - usually leftovers from last night's dinner.
Dinner: the Boy eats early before we pick Daddy up at the station. Then the cat is fed then, once the boy is in bed, me and Hubbie eat together.



My dilemma stems from how much control I have over all their food needs. At the moment I decide what food we buy, plan all the meals and ensure they all have what they need (foodwise) and ration out treats, but have an open policy on fruit. "If it's in the fruit bowl you can help yourself" works pretty well. The cat has two meals a day and biscuits at random intervals yet he still miaows whenever I'm anywhere near the kitchen pleading that he is completely starved and will waste away if I don't relent and put food in his bowl.

Pizza every day = happy Hubbie

I have toyed with the idea of allowing them to choose for themselves, but I know that given too much choice this is what would happen:

Hubbie would live on pizzas, sausages, apples and sweets.
The Boy would happily survive on a student diet of toast, spaghetti bolognese, apples and sweets.
The cat would work out how to open those cat shaped boxes of biscuits (or train the others to do it for him) and eat nothing else and look like a white Jabba the Hutt in a matter of weeks.


With Hubbie at home my planning is all shot. I don't budget for him eating at home during the week so I'd end up stockpiling my lunchtime leftovers and cooking a new meal for two or giving them to him and being left with nothing to eat. Bread for sandwiches will sit in the bread bin and end up filling the freezer as I try to use it up before it goes green or I'll make the biggest bag of breadcrumbs known to humankind.

Cupcake chaos

The cat will have another pair of hands to feed him and will become even more insistent. I mostly negotiate with him and insist he's not actually hungry just bored and to do something diverting instead and come back at dinner time.

The boy will manipulate the situation and work out that with us both around he has double chance to trick us into giving him treats or to hide his half eaten apples under the sofa or in his car seat.



On the plus side we can all eat lunch together on days when he's not at nursery. Like I said at the beginning, it's not a major issue, but it's a niggle.

Oh and if I could just eat what I wanted without consequences (to my skin, on my thighs, for my wardrobe, etc.) I'd live on chips, strawberries, chocolate, hot buttered toast and tea.

This is why I am strict with everyone. I bake cakes for others that I won't eat and make meals that are big enough to feed again the next day. I always know what is in the fridge, when it needs to be eaten by and how I'm going to use it.

What we need now is a new plan.

It's going to be a challenge !

Two years ago someone who I loved very much passed away and on the same day someone came into my life who I love more than I know how to express.

A face only a Naniji would love

My beloved Naniji was the only grandparent I ever knew. She lived far away in India so I only saw her every few years, so my Mum used to send her photos of us all growing up. When I visited her aged 11 she had all my school photos and many others I'd never seen before that she kept lovingly in her special cupboard of valuables.

Even though I didn't see her often she was still the person I consulted on the big decisions in my life. It's from my Naniji that I get my love of tea - she never turned down a brew and teatime was a big deal in her house. Snacks, cakes, biscuits, savouries, etc. all laid out with endless cups of tea. This was all just a few hours before dinner !

I trusted her and found her wise, sassy and hilarious. Once during a family visit to a Rajastani palace we turned round to ask her a question and she'd raced on ahead of us to make sure she didn't miss the tour. She was in her late seventies and faster than all of us.

When Hubbie and I were struggling to have a baby she talked to me honestly, openly and without judgement. Despite her speaking no English and Hubbie speaking no Punjabi they watched cricket together enraptured and in complete agreement. She wandered off again when we'd gone out shopping one day only to be found over an hour later in a coffee shop watching the big screen with local lads who were fussing over 'Ma-ji' and arguing with her assertion that India would win until she was proven right yet again.

She was fearless and held her own with anyone. As a young woman she went away to study with the support of her husband who took care of the children while she trained to become a teacher. This was unheard of at that time and in that culture. In her subsequent career she taught in a small village school bringing education to children who would not have gone to school otherwise and retired as a headteacher and widow.

I've awarded myself the coveted title of worst mother ever today - again.  As a multiple winner of the title I have run out of new things to say in my acceptance speech - usually my voice has gone from shouting so much anyway.

Having promised myself that I will be a better Mummy today (which I do every day) it often goes very wrong for no discernible reason. I do wish I was more patient, more zen, more loving and kind and better able to deal with:

- just after waving bye to Daddy a pot of yoghurt hitting the floor and a water cup hitting me in quick succession


- my boy dribbling all his drinking water over his clothes for no reason other than he finds it amusing - four outfit changes later we can leave the house

- assuring him that yes he can go in the "buggy, buggy, buggy" to go to the post box, only for him to screech like a banshee when I try to actually put him in it

- watching him tear around playgroup like he's had sugar coated crack cocaine for breakfast while I wander round holding a mug of tea observing the Mummy cliques and trying to decide if there is seat that isn't 'reserved' for anyone where I can still see him before he runs over any small children with a Tiny Tikes car

Of course I love my son. I already feel bereft when I think about him growing up and leaving home to have his own life. I am not wishing away these golden years when he is forming his personality and testing boundaries. I just hope that I can learn to be a better parent so his memories of this time aren't relived in therapy and mine aren't of hiding in the garage listening to Radio 4.

As the month comes to a close we have had repeated weather reports announcing it's been the wettest April on record and incredulous news reports about how the UK is still officially in a drought. I don't mind either way as I rarely use a hosepipe and we have a water butt to collect rainwater in. I do, however, find it bizarre that a bit of rain causes everyone so much distress as though they've never seen it before.

It's like we've all forgotten what a normal Autumn is like with the almost constant drizzle and permanent feeling of dampness and that smell of wet coat that followed you around in your schooldays. What amuses me most is the small talk we make about it. A friend once told me about an American who commented that she never understood why the British are so obsessed with weather until she moved here. Then she realised that weather is the main topic of conversation (other than tea) because we have so much of it. In a single day it can go from torrential downpour to blazing sunshine and back again by bedtime.

To make this demoralising experience bearable we have adopted a few choice phrases that are bandied about when we have this climate. Some of my favourite lines are:

"Nice weather for ducks"

"Well the garden needs it"

"It's the kind of rain that wets you right through" (as opposed to that really dry rain you mean ?)

In our house we also have the twin joy of having a toddler who has discovered the joy of jumping in puddles (I blame Peppa Pig for that !) and a cat who when he comes in cannot disguise that he has been in the rain as a) he miaows loudly to be dried off with his special towel and b) he smells of wet fur and that smell travels !!

Of course following a weekend of dismal weather it was gorgeous and sunny today and with Bank Holidays coming up we can look forward to a few more rained off barbecues before the Summer does finally dawn on us.

Oh do you see what I did there ? I managed to blog what would usually be a bus stop conversation. Thanks for listening :o)

For those of my readers who are not in a relationship this post will either be of little interest or make you glad you're not. It's about the trials and tribulations that living with another person can cause.

At the weekend two horses died as a result of taking part in the Grand National - a race generally seen as very hard on both riders and horses. Once again people have raised issues of safety and animal welfare in a sport where horses have a 'shelf life' just as the dogs in greyhound racing do. For me this raises the ugly question of whether we have the right as humans to use animals for our entertainment.

Of course as someone who shares their house with a cat we have plenty of entertainment of the feline kind. Only yesterday Hubbie was looking out of the kitchen window and said "who is that at the end of the garden ?" He meant the tabby cat who is a newcomer to our garden, but I thought he meant the fox that was tiptoeing his way towards the cat. We scrambled to get outdoor shoes on to chase off the fox and I quipped that if I had a red coat and a horse we wouldn't have this problem. In the early days of our courtship me and Hubbie took part in a debate about fox hunting where we took opposite points of view. It's not the first time I've had that discussion and I still cannot fathom how anyone can see fox hunting as a fun day out rather than a brutal 'sport.' I don't see the appeal of chasing a fox using a pack of dogs and surely being drunk in charge of a horse is just irresponsible ?

I have the same problem with zoos, so not taking my son to see the animals is something I will have to explain to him when he is older. In the same way I'm sure he will want to know why Mummy doesn't eat meat. I stopped eating meat in my teens mostly as I read an interview with Madonna where she said that vegetarians are thinner and paler (yes at the age of 13 I cared what she said !) but also as I was horrified by how animals were kept and cared for in order to be eaten. Battery farming especially made me very distressed so seeing the free range hens that live a few doors away makes my heart sing every morning.

About 15 years later I went through an experimental phase with meat. I had been struggling with IBS for a few years and took advice to get some tests to see if it was the food I was eating. The testing was pretty dubious and I was told I was 'intolerant' to wheat, caffeine, peppers, onions, cabbage, red wine, etc. The usual rubbish that you get when you go for a non medical or 'natural' explanation is to cut out wheat, dairy and sugar, ie. all the nice foods. As a veggie I pretty much lived on pasta and potatoes so to be told that my staple foods were off the menu came as something of a shock and left me with few options (or so I thought). I started to eat some chicken then slowly reintroduced other foods that I hadn't eaten for over a decade. To be honest I found meat really uninteresting and dull. It didn't inspire creativity and frankly I'd have preferred to just be able to eat toast. A few years ago I decided again that I prefer not to eat meat and as it is so much more normal now than it was when I first became veggie and the choices are better.
I still vacillate on the decision about whether or not to eat fish and it is one that vexes me as I am always  on the brink of giving it up. I do really enjoy fish though and despite my high minded ideals there has to be space for enjoyment in life doesn't there ?  Speaking of which I did try being a vegan at university (didn't we all ?) and was exhausted, spotty and pale as well as very hungry all the time. I mean who can live without a piece of cake and a cup of tea (no soy or rice milk just doesn't cut it I'm afraid). I admire those who can eat well on a limited diet, but frankly my body was built on chocolate, chips and cheese. Oh, and the occasional piece of buttery toast.

On the way to visit my family today we saw a parade of churchgoers walking alongside the road we were driving on. Some were carrying crosses and Hubbie pointed out to our boy that this was taking place. It reminded me that for some people Easter is about a lot more than chocolate eggs and Bond movies on the telly. For my family it is pretty much about chocolate, eating food and hanging out for the long weekend. In particular for me it's catching up with as many Come Dine With Me episodes as possible and telling myself that I'm not going to ruin my diet and pig out (which is not helped when Hubbie has given me a chocolate Percy Pig !!)

As it's the 29th of February this is our once every 4 years leap day - a bonus day if you will. So what can we do on the 'extra' day to make the most of it ? Well, here's what I've been doing:

Practising yoga - which I should do every day anyway and just never get round to. It's good for me and I enjoy it so why I don't do it is a mystery.

Mulling over some stuff in the hope of letting it go. Heavy stuff about how I'm treated by others and what I've done over the years to deserve it. It's weighing on my mind so I want to let it go.

Admiring the teeny tiny daffodils in the back garden which I only spotted yesterday. I also spotted the ginger cat from two doors down sitting on our path watching the squirrels at the end of the garden and completely missing the squirrel that scurried barely a few feet behind him - dontcha just love comedy animals ? While I was typing this I was trying to ignore Neo miaowing at me and he bit my foot - ouch !

Auditing the furniture we have and where it can go in the house. At this moment we have 3 mug trees, a lot of lamps (not all working) 2 kettles, 2 toasters, a lot of shelving units and a pile of wood that used to be bookshelves in my old flat. I aspire to the minimal living I see in other people's houses where I suspect they have a garage and loft full of crap and nothing on show. My life is on display on bookshelves, window sills and pretty much every spare scrap of space.

Apart from this I've had many cups of tea, taken the boy out to one of his playgroups today and flattened some boxes in the garage.

I like having an extra day, but I think we should get one during the weekend. Maybe an extra Saturday. I could do a lot with an extra Saturday.

When I was growing up we didn't get to see a lot of my family as they lived in India. Visiting them was an extravagance that we couldn't really afford so it was not often that I got to see my Grandmother or my aunts and uncles. We visited when I was 11 and I remember being really surprised that they all had photos of me and my siblings on display. It hadn't occured to me that people who lived thousands of miles away would have a school photo of me on the shelf. Any news was passed on by letter or telephone calls conducted at high volume in the front room - a running joke in any Indian household is a father shouting "Hello, calling from London."

We have far more options now so if my mother wants to see her beloved grandson we either fire up Skype or use facetime on the iphone. She can enjoy watching him eat his dinner or running away from me and his Daddy as we insist it's time for bed. The pure joy on my parents' faces as they watch their grandson do the most mundane things is truly inspiring. Of course we think he is fabulous, funny, handsome, clever and many other things. He is our son so it's almost arrogant to pay him compliments ourselves, but when our parents do it's adorable.

It's always interesting to meet other peoples' families. I recall visiting my friend Nicola as a child and being very excited that we were having lunch at someone else's house (my parents did not go in for socialising with other people much). Nic was baffled that we hadn't eaten meatloaf before and I was mystified that this was such a big deal. It was around this time that I also went to the birthday party of a schoolfriend called Amber who (sharp intake of breath) has her own double bed. It was also when I learned that everyone else's family seems more interesting than your own.

The main difference for me has always been in the approach to food that my family has compared with any other I've ever seen. As soon as you walk through the door my Mother proffers food and will not stop until you accept and are stuffed. On one occasion I warned her in advance that we'd be eating lunch before we came so not to cook for us. I reminded her in a phone call before we arrived and again when we got to the house. She left it at least half an hour before she asked if we were hungry yet and persisted the entire time we were there until finally we did indeed eat something if only to stop her worrying.

My in-laws have a more relaxed approach to eating (which is why they are slim and my family are not) and I remember being struck by the difference the first time I met them. I wasn't offered a cup of tea until the designated tea time and (unlike my family) the table was not heaving with cake, biscuits and and assortment of other treats. Of course as soon as we pull up on the drive now they put the kettle on - I have them trained.

Early on in our courtship Hubbie was cooking something and I asked what he'd done with the remainder of the stock cube he'd used. When he told me he'd thrown it out I launched into a diatribe about how in his middle class household it was probably fine to waste food, but I'd never heard of such flagrant wastefulness in my life. I've since realised that mother-in-law finds no joy in cooking and is legendary for her jellies that don't set, overcooked everything and on any given day we are told 'well of course we don't have dessert normally…' despite father-in-law having a thing with the bun lady in Hythe. (Please don't ask !)

I mentioned to Hubbie the other night - while shouting at Heston Blumenthal cooking chips - that my Mum used to make the best home made chips ever. He told me he grew up eating oven chips - what kind of child neglect is that I ask you ? If you can't have real chips as a kid what else is there in life ?

Today marks the end of my first month as a full time Mummy. The plan was that I'd take my boy to visit my parents and he'd have a lovely day. Instead it was chaotic, delayed and unfortunately he was also poorly and needed an unscheduled change of clothes and a wash at my Mum's house. By the time we got home I was convinced that I'd failed so spectacularly as a parent that it would be a blessing on the poor child for me to go back to work and let a professional look after him instead.

As therapy I've decided to reflect on the month I've had and share the things I've actually learned:

1. Hubbie feeding the boy before he goes to work and giving me a half hour in bed is what makes it possible for me to function without turning into a hideous Mummy Monster - without him I'm just a screeching, panic-stricken mass.

2. Taking my boy out to activities every day makes him happy and encourages me to talk to other adults. It's not like he can't play at home, but being in different play settings helps him try new skills and shows me how much he has learned.

3. It is very, very upsetting when other children hit my son, or take toys from him. I judge their parents for this and even though it probably isn't their fault I hold it against them.

4. Having a cup of tea at a playgroup is a treat. At home I make tea, put it down while I fold the washing and then remember the (by now cold) cup half an hour later.

5. My boy is a master at the art of distraction. If he has knocked over a table, while I am turning it back the right way he is off through the now open kitchen gate to get to the washing machine dial which he is forbidden from touching. This skill will prove invaluable later in life, I'm sure.

6. Always have a small make up bag with lipgloss and eyeliner in it. The number of times I've gone out with inappropriate footwear on is more than made up for by being able to put on a bit of glam before stepping out of the car / off the train.

7. Never leave the house without at least a piece of fruit. The number of times I've been delayed for some reason or other and had to deal with a grumpy infant (or even grumpier me) it's been solved by sharing an apple or banana in the car or waiting room - works every time.

8. I am not cut out to be a Mumpreneur (and don't get me started on how much I hate that word). Arts and crafts are hobbies not a job. Sometimes I bake, sew, knit, make cards, arrange flowers from the garden or even grow stuff in pots. I don't, however, have sufficient skill or interest to do it over and over for a living.

9. A bit of quiet time does none of us any harm. There are times in the day when the boy is playing quietly in the back room (yes it does happen, he does stop being a whirlygig at times) and the cat is napping in his basket and I stop and look at them both and start making a cuppa. I switch off the radio and the television and just look out of the window for a few minutes. Then it all starts again.

10. Make time to do something for yourself. Whether it's 20 minutes in the morning to do some Zumba, 15 minutes to have a shower and wash my hair (during his morning sleep) or an hour to drool over Alex O'Louglin in Hawaii Five-O (during his afternoon sleep) I have to do something I want to do every day. If I don't exercise I am properly loopy (and not a little grouchy).

So that's my top ten things that I've learned about being a Mummy to one very busy, funny, cheeky boy. I could have added that getting a child into a highchair / car seat / walker when he doesn't want to is a feat of superhuman strength with very little reward. I could have added that the meal is over when he decides to drop food or his water cup onto the floor followed by "Oh dear." I could have added that the minutes between me taking the boy upstairs and Hubbie arriving home to take over the bedtime routine are always punctuated by tears, throwing of toys and tantrums (which my son finds highly amusing to watch).

Instead I'll add that however hard a day at home with my son might be I remember how magical it felt when we found out we were having our much longed for baby. How I prayed every day for him to be born safe and happy. Most of all I remember how many of my friends would love to be able to stay at home and care for their children. Leering at Alex O'Loughlin is just a bonus :o)