My husband has gone off to that there London for a concert and left me holding the baby. Well, of course I shouldn't have to be actually holding him, he should be asleep in his lovely (expensive) travel cot, made up with freshly laundered beautiful soft mother-in-law blankets. In fact no day-time nap followed by In The Night Garden and a super quick swish in the bath saw him snoring away by an almost unheard of 7.15 pm. My lovely, though exuberant, seven year old neice's tantrum almost an hour ago put paid to that though. Once comforted, of course he wouldn't go back into the travel cot, and I've had to come to bed and lie next to him to prevent the house being screamed down. I'm not overly bothered by my early night, I had time to grab the laptop, and the outlaws didn't want to watch the X Factor (thank goodness for Sky+ at home). I am gutted to have missed dessert though, MIL was doling out Ben & Jerry's as the first 'come and get me' screams echoed down the stairs. At home I'd have brought the pot and a spoon to bed and I'd be eating it now.
It's probably best to gloss over our seaside adventure on Friday. The company was great, the weather less so. Rain would have been a blessing. I wouldn't have felt quite so obliged to sit on the sand (facing away from the wind, which we only realised after much rubbing of eyes) in the wet. As it was we wolfed down the World's Coldest Picnic and made a couple of perfunctory sandcastles before racing inside to the cafe for a hot tea. The sky was grey, the children wore hats and scarves and dog walkers in wellies scuttled past looking incredulously at our bravery and/or stupidity. I did chuckle at a sign on the pier though, which almost made the frozen fingers worth it!