What's in a name?

It's been a bumper crop this year, when I try to shove so much as one more raspberry inside the freezer, it simply shudders and swings the door back out at me. Not that I'm complaining mind, it's just that it feels such a criminal waste to allow the over spill to rot. It doesn't help when the kids stubbornly refuse to scoff their allotted fifty a day. I've taken to resorting to disguise -

"C'mon, drink up your non-peach smoothie then, love."

"Mu-um, I've already got the trots.."

"Nothing wrong with a good clear out, you know, sign of a healthy system!"

(Ungrateful urchins.)

Yeah, I sense the mutiny a-brewing. There isn't even any takers for my Peach Cobbler these days. But not so quick to admit defeat, I thought, "Alright, how about turning some into jam?"

After all, if it works with apricots, why not for peaches? Being no body's fool, I know to use slightly under ripe fruit. Hey-ho, it sounded a piece of cake! Er, well it would have been, 'cept have you ever tried stoning a sack of under ripe peaches? It bloomin' well hurts, so it does. I gave up after the first five.

But I'm clever, me, I found a way around it, just tossed them in whole. There! The cooking process could take care of it, they'd mulch up in their own good time, wouldn't they?

Truth be told, it took a while longer than I'd reckoned. Adding some lemon juice (for extra pectin), I left it to bubble more. One hour later, it still wouldn't pass the set test. Perhaps another glug of lemon? Into the pot it went.

Well it's true, everything does eventually come to those who wait. Though I admit to being slightly surprised it turned out dark brown, there was no denying it was clotting now. Crumbs, once sieved, it still kinda' even looked okay(ish) to me .

I could hardly wait to try it out on the kids. Spreading a slice of toast, I went off to hunt down the youngest. Ever the people pleaser, she reluctantly agreed to take a timid bite.

"So? What do you think?"

She took a baleful look up at my hopefully nodding face, and sighed.

"Marmite??"

Close enough. Not missing a beat, I nod, "Got it in one!"

Hell, so long as it's eaten, who cares? Anyways, I feel a peach chutney day coming on for tomorrow, wish me luck..!

The angels Who Touch Us

One of my four children here has special needs, but can you tell which one?

Matt is the little monkey swinging in the background, Abby and Beccy are painting with Sam. It was a beautiful day at the Chelsea playground, a very special place where I could go with my family to relax and to enjoy. No judgmental stares, no disapproval, no pressures for Sam to blend in and to be "normal".

(Strange thing is, he always "behaved" himself when we were there, with love and acceptance a given, he felt no threat or fear once inside those grounds.)

All my children enjoyed this place, but for me? I truly believe it salvaged the little that was left of my sanity.

Most every Saturday, and almost every summer break, I turfed up with our bundle of nappies (three of my children here were still nappy bound!) and five packed lunches to camp out and to chill.

Back then their daddy worked round the clock, it was his way of coping. It didn't always stay that way, he just took a little time to set his head on straight. We all got through as best we could, just like the many other families I met down there. We all had had a bomb explode on our lives, it took a while to clear the wreckage away, realise the future still held promise.

And it did. Oh my, it did.

It wasn't long before my "normie" kids began dragging their playmates along there too. It is open to all family members of disabled children, as well as to their friends. Their motto is "The more the merrier". Safely gated off, and with a high ratio of staff, it provides a desperately needed sanctuary for both the parents of, and to the children of special needs.

It's a truly magical place, run on only a wing and a prayer, funded solely by fund raising and private donation, it is constantly under threat of closure, subsisting hand to mouth (which it has done for well over thirty years now). Without the dedication of the parents and their supporters there, it would have long since have been thrown to the wind.

Even little Abby played her part - oh Lord, did it rain that day! The helpers at the Chelsea Playground were only the first link in a long, long chain of back up and support that's been there for us.

Sam has grown, developed and matured far beyond my brightest hopes were for him back then. So many people have had a hand in that; good, giving, caring folk - those who were able to see the boy behind the disability, and who have strived to help this fine young lad emerge.

Next term he starts a "Life Skills" course at college, which upon completion I have every confidence he will find a job-placement from. I can't believe those four cherubs of mine are now all teenagers. It blows my mind!

My son celebrates his 16th birthday today in Ireland, watching the bike racing with his beloved daddy. They have such a special bond between them now, it's precious and deep, so obvious for anyone to see.

Our family has travelled such a long way since our first wobbly steps at The Chelsea Playground. It opened a path to so much more for us, and was nothing short of a lifeline for me back then. I've met many Angels in human form, Penny Smith who ran this place was only the first in a long, long line of them. She held me when I cried, listened when I yelled, and had the wisdom to never offer platitudes. She held her tongue, never thrust advice, and was simply there - completely.

And now, just look at where we are! So much water under the bridge, so far we have come.

(Happy birthday my Sweet Sam, you can have no idea of how proud I am of you.)

Summer Gifts (A Simile of Life)

Mother Nature can play this island a merry tune, and she can be quite heartless when she tries. However, these past few weeks her mood swings have lifted, and she has seen fit to favour us with her dazzling smile, granting the welcome kiss of summer to our shore. My two eldest arrive hastily back from school to pack up their swim suits and towels, I mean, after all, who can resist the allure of an impromptu beach party or BBQ?

It is amazing when the sun waves her wand.

The greenhouse and the garden are burgeoning with produce, It's necessary to harvest the cherries, peas, tomatoes and lettuce daily now. Those peas never make it to the stove - we try, we really do, but they are simply too good to deny being eaten as shelled, raw, sweet and fresh.

I am delighted with the cherry crop this year, it seems since transplanting it to the greenhouse, it's us, as opposed to the birds, who get to it first. Our little pear tree is still in it's infancy, but I have hopes it still may bear fruit before the summer is out.

It's too early for the raspberries and blackberries yet, but the redcurrants will soon be ready to turn into sauce.

And, despite all four children picking a bowl at breakfast each morn, we can't keep up with the strawberries - I must turn some over to jam this coming week.

Our corn is also growing nicely, it will only be a few weeks 'til we can (weather permitting) toss them on to our own BBQ soon.

But try as I might, I find the only thing the gooseberries are good for is to mix them in with either rhubarb or apples, or maybe some other berry or two, to bake them up in to a pie or tart. I don't suppose any of you out there might have any other (polite) suggestions as to what else I might do with them?

The peaches, one of my favourite fruits, are almost always eaten fresh from the tree.

We also have several varieties of apple trees, some good for eating, some only for cooking - they shall ripen soon - the yield is always far too heavy to consume by ourselves, and much as we try we never quite mange to give away the surplus. I try to keep up by making sauce and jam with part of the over spill.

We are blessed with two varieties of plum, but because they only bear fruit bi-annually this works out quite well (I am happy to report both types are equally as succulent and delicious). Exceedingly versatile, they can be eaten fresh, turned into jam or chutney, or even served baked with a blend of other fruits to turn out whatever current recipe is the order of the day.

Our crop of new potatoes are the sweetest yet this year - there is nothing so tasty as plucking them fresh from the earth to drop straight in the pot. All needed is a knob of butter for instant heaven!

I keep threatening to turn the grapes to wine, perhaps this year I might get around to it - we'll see. They are edible enough, but seeded, and so therefore less popular with the children. Supermarkets have a lot to answer for (it took me years to convince my brood apples don't necessarily need to be perfectly round for eating).

We now have cauliflower, broccoli, cabbage and asparagus shooting up, not to mention all the wonderful lush herbs by the bay leaf tree, that are ripe for the picking. It's my herb garden that gives me the most pleasure, I love the scents and the flavours they bring. Come the winter, I move them in their pots to the conservatory, ensuring a year round supply.

Even down by the glen, the salmon and trout are happily jumping in the river (though I prefer to leave the lone grey heron to harvest those) Were we threatened by famine, and were I less squeamish, our glen is now rampant in grouse and pheasant for the taking, not to mention all those rabbits that come out to dance at dusk (it's a joy to watch them).

This scene underfoot here will soon transform from it's present green to a bright orange carpet of display. Thousands of wildflowers (of which the actual name of escapes me for the moment) will light up the glen and fill the wood in their resplendent colour.

Most of the bluebells have given up their blossoms now, but the glen is often alight with whatever the changing season brings; come the Winter there will be snowdrops just about everywhere, and ample red berries will grace the holly, armloads of which will deck out our house come Christmastime.

(There are also endless collections of mushrooms and toadstools down here, but as I can't tell a poisonous from a magic (of which I am told there are many), to an edible one, I leave it to the wiser trespasser to hunt out which is what.)

But it is right now, right here at the height of summer, when the grounds preen at their glorious best, and our flower beds, bushes and trees are all dressed in their finest splendour, when the birds are singing long and loud to the background hum of those gorging, gathering bumble bees, yes it is here, right in this moment that for me all is (be it ever so briefly) so perfectly right and good in my world.

Those coming days when the north wind howls and the icy storms twist deep down to the bone, it's this moment I shall unbottle, recall the sun, the rich, earthy smell of our spent summer crops, and find soothing comfort in the promise that everything has it's recurrent season. Much as I may mourn the passing of the hot, long summer days, by nature of it's cycle, winter too, however harsh, draws to a close.

Good times, bad times - none last forever.

Regardless of how far ahead she may be hiding, isn't it wonderful to know there always lies Summer, just waiting in the wings?

Shedding toenails, blisters and Beer

Apologies folks, feel free to avert your eyes, 'tis not a sight for the squeamish.

Of course, the toenails will soon drop off, they always do. Uck. Why, what possible reason can anyone have to engage in such a feat of masochism? Every year I ask this, every year I have yet to receive a satisfactory reply.

I awoke to receive the shock of my life yesterday morning, there appeared to be a naked man masturbating at the foot of my bed. There he was, a pot of Vaseline in one hand, his tackle in the other. He claimed it wasn't what it seemed (yeah, tell that one to the judge, eh?). Apparently, he was merely following advice and greasing up his man-boobs, thighs and nether regions in a hopeful attempt to prevent any severe chafing during the mammoth walk ahead.

He didn't do too badly on the Annual Parish Walk, over forty miles in just over nine hours. Of course, he's a wimp compared to those few nutters who actually complete the full 85 mile circuit. 85 MILES, CONTINUOUSLY. All mostly uphill, over mountain, and on hard unrelenting, concrete paving.

You think that's mad? One crazy woman completed the course twice last year (though I hear tell she took to hallucinating by the end of it). Our island is known for it's quirky events, but this one simply takes the biscuit. Mind you, for all that, it is highly organised, with each competitor registered, micro-chipped, and well monitored. Believe it or not, hundreds of these hopefuls turn out on the day.

Residents line the route armed with banana's and bottled water, thrusting them onto those deemed the most likely to drop. (Alan was the grateful recipient of nine bananas, three Mars bars and several packets of nuts.) Local radio, and even the BBC tag along to document the progress.

As I drove my eldest daughter to a rounders match, we were unexpectedly made late, getting caught up in the traffic as flocks and flocks of police-escorted walkers were crossed over the road. After five minutes, the leading five cars were allowed to pass through, leaving us to endure the whole process all over again. Searching vainly, I scanned for Alan's face in the crowd, hoping to throw out a snarl.

I don't pretend to understand it myself, but I did at least take some pity (my heart is not entirely made of stone) - finally scraping hubby up from the pavement, I eventually drove him back home for a hot soak in the bath. Later, clutching a hard earned beer, he proudly, blow by blow, relayed all his finest moments of glory to me (over the climax of my favourite TV programme).

Bless, eh?

Now it's the morning after, and Father's Day. A lucky roll, if you ask me. He is limping about and milking it to the hilt.. it would appear a family walk is strictly off the menu.

After a Bucks Fizz breakfast over the grand present opening, he has happily managed to snuggle himself back up in bed again, and is doubtlessly snoozing the sleep of the just as I type.

Let's hope when he wakes, (this time) he finds the decent courtesy to remove his shed toenails from our bed.

(Shudder.)

Pills and Pantie Raids

I was gone half an hour. What is it about cartridge pens he finds so irresistible? The blue paw-prints led me to here.

Little wonder he looks so peaceful, he's also had a mad "tear-out-the-crotch-of-the-panties" frolic (which at the time of taking this I had yet to discover). He molested virtually every pair of knickers/shorts our family owns, my favourite bra is now "peep-hole".

Strewn shreds lay scattered across his poo patch like as in the morning after an outdoor free-for-all, take-one-get-ten-free, crazed street orgy (I would, um, imagine).

Bob T. Bear Esq. would have been proud.

I blame Matt. He interrupted me for a lift mid-way through my sorting the undie and sock basket out. No hound is to be trusted before his beach-run.

Talking of Matt, the other morning he pointed out it might be about time I stopped standing over him at breakfast 'til he swallows his vitamin pills.

(Me, arms folded) "You lot are not to be trusted, they end up in the bin."

(Matt "The Almost, But Not Quite Yet Adult", rolling eyes ) "Mum, I am eighteen in a few months!"

(Me, smugly) "Aye, and a fine strapping specimen too you are, thanks to all the supplements I've been feeding you."

Still, even I could see he had a point. I've reluctantly taken to only forcing these horse-sized pills down the throats of his younger, hence weaker, siblings of a morn.

So you can imagine my surprise then, when what did I only stray across today, laid out by his sink?

Teehe, yup, only three bottles of the self same vitamins he so steadfastly "refuses" to take.

Teenagers, awwwww - don't ya' just luv 'em?

Well sorry, but I can't stay gassing on here all day long, I have a serious pants shop to attend to.

The Replacement Crew

"But, you always come over for T.T. week.."

"Sorry hon, no can do. Some of the lads have lost their jobs this year. Still, the Missus' and me are coming over for the Grand Prix in August, aren't we?

(Whining) "Seven years on the trot you and the lads have come - it just won't be the same."

(For those of you who know me, you'll be aware my best mate's big bruv' always turfs up annually with a bunch of his biker mates to bunk down in the "shed". And for those of you who don't know me, rest assured the shed is not as bad as it sounds, it's fully kitted out with bunk beds, electricity, Sky TV, and a fully operational kitchen.

It's virtually written in stone - they ALWAYS come over for the super bike races.)

"Hey, that reminds me, I have a mate who is coming over with a bunch of his buddies, is it okay if I tell them to look you up? He's heard about all the wheelies by your drive, and he was wondering if you would mind if they camped out up there for a race or two? They'll be on their best behaviour.."

"Nah, s'pose not." (Still pouting.) Yeah, well okay, I guess so - but just make sure they give me a bit of warning first, okay?"

And so it was that I found seven different bikers perched out on my doorstep yesterday. They arrived just before the roads closed around 9am, and due to several delays, they were shut in with us until the early evening. It was a beautiful sun-shining day, they had brought along their own food and beverages, and just as Andy had promised, they also turned out to be on their bestest of best behaviour. Better still, each and every one of them had arrived riding their very own impressive bikes - even Andy's mate's girlfriend, the drop dead gorgeous Tiffany, came riding on her own.

As it turns out, she is not only beautiful on the outside, that girl has a heart of gold! When she learned Andy and his friends have NEVER taken their bikes along (being as how they much prefer to drink and to spectate than to ride machinery on the week they come over), she very graciously offered to lend me her "lid" today, so's I could ride pillion with none other than with one of their own, the venerable "Racy Rodger". He and his friends escorted me over the mountain route this morning.

(Which, oopsie, has no speed limit).

OH MY GOD!!


EeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeK!!!!!!!!

I have never wrapped my thighs so tightly around a man in my life. He took it easy on me (only'cos it was windy mind) and reluctantly slowed to 120mph.

Oh, look out for those hair pin bends - yikes!! (I squeezed my arms around him hard enough to puncture a lung.)

It's a tad scary being glued to the seat of a rocket.

I haven't had so much fun in months (even tho' it bruised certain delicate parts of my anatomy). What a way to see the island.. ach, it's been well worth it, 'tis but (if you pardon the pun) a small price to pay, walking about bandy-legged for the next day or so.

Ah, don't panic, I'm only messing about in my drive here.. I'm not insured nor safe enough to be let loose on my own on the road (yet). Yup, you heard me, nodding. If Tiffany can do it, why can't I? I just LOVE biking - I want one!! She's advised me to start small, get a Scooter first, then work up to my biker licence. Hell, it makes sense to me. Think of all the places I can access without having to first park up the Tardis!

So Andy, me mate (assuming you are reading this) you'd best beware my old friend, this here younger, prettier crew you sent along may well go and usurp you in future years, take heed! (Ha, you think I jest?) Seven bloomin' years I've been waiting for you to take me over that mountain - less than two days it took for your replacements to get there. Best buck up or watch your back, I'm serving notice!

I can't wait to tell hubby about the Scooter..um, oh yeah, he's in the Middle East right now - hmmn, ah well maybe I should just up and surprise him, eh? What do you think? (Giggle).

Time Out

It's half term over here, and the sun is up. Don't you just love water-gun's? (Evil grin.)

Aw, c'mon - all work and no play is no fun for anyone, is it? Yeah, yeah, yeah, I've got my head down, I'm grafting away (honest). But when Abby wanted us to ambush Bec, well.. who was I to resist?

I have to say though, our little Ms. Abby was proper mortified to find this one also turned on her.. teehee. (I've stashed it somewhere safe now, for fear of revenge attacks..)

Okay, enough of this frivolity, it's back to the grind-stone for me.

Sigh.