Fraping...

Warning: moaning about Facebook again.

This, unless you have cleverer, wittier friends in your news feed, is the MOST boring, obvious and unfunny part of FB.

Ok, so I'm ranting about Facebook. "Well just get off it" I hear you shout. I can't. It has me by the balls in so my ways, its not even funny... but please come on, are we not over logging into someone's account and writing the most "obviously not them" updates?

Even its name bugs me - anything that includes the word 'rape' should not be associated with humour? They just don't go together, onFB or anywhere else.

Some of the worst offenders...

Lad(s) logs into friend's account and updates status as "I'm gay" / "I'm finally coming out of the closet." / "I play with barbie dolls... " *yawn*

Husband/boyfriend loggs onto partner's account and writes "My hubby./boyf is the best in the world" (Well half of my newsfeed appears with this, written by the girlfriend, so what's new?)

Now this would be funny...

Husband logs into wife's account and writes "My husband definitely deserves a blow job tonight'

Lad(s) log into freind's account and writes "Do you know what I've always thought __________ (name of twattish friend) is a complete and utter nob!

Lad(s) log onto to mate's account and write on the wall of girl they have had 2 dates with "I know this is really early days, but I think I'm in love with you." or..."It's been 2 dates, when am I going to get laid?"

Am I missing something. Is it just my sense of humour, or lack of it?

Please share any Fraping updates that you hate or... Ones which are actually funny!

Eight years on...

It's time for the Rugby World Cup again. I think I have only ever watched one Rugby match from start to finish. This just happened to be the world cup final; the one we won. Apparently I chose a good match. Unfortunately, it didn't spark much further interest.

Back then...

We woke groggy, minging and still a pit pissed from the night before. I have no idea where we had been, but it was a Saturday or Sunday and it was a rare event if mornings (or afternoons) didn't start this way. From the bed, using a coat hanger as a remote control, The FH turned on the TV. The match build up was on. We filled the time by him teaching me the basics, me asking which one Jonny Wilkinsoin was  (he had just starred in an advert with David Beckham) and generally nursing our hangovers with small talk, painkillers and badly buttered toast.

His small flat smelt of stale beer and cigarettes, the walk from the bedroom to the kitchen was an obstacle course of Stella bottles and overflowing ashtrays. The only thing separating us from debauchery of the night before was a few hours’ sleep, a cup of tea and piece of toast. We were undressed, unwashed and unconcerned. He returned from the kitchen, swearing as he stood on a upturned bottle top,  a bottle of lager in each hand and a cigarette dripping from his bottom lip. "Well… How often are we in a world cup final?" he asked, climbing back into bed.
"Exactly" I said taking a bottle from him.

We won, which meant our behaviour was acceptable, we got showered, dressed and became semi-respectable. Hungry, we scavenged the freezer and found a packet of Birds Eye Chicken Pies, which we cooked and ate before we headed out to pub for warm up drinks before the footy kicked off. 'Boro were playing Liverpool at home. I have no idea what the score was, or where we went afterwards, but I know we went to the match and I'm pretty sure it was messy.

Now...

The FH swaps his weekend lie in to ensure his "get up" coincides with when  England are playing. I lie in bed, trying to find my missing hours of sleep. Usually I'm trying to block out the screams, wails and shouts from the children downstairs. However, this morning this is mainly what I hear

Fearless: (I imagine is pointing at the TV) Gargees?  (Loosely translated as "please may I watch In the Night Garden?'
The Future Husband: No. Rugby.
Fearless:  Gargees!
The FH: Rugby.
Fearless GARGEES!
The FH: RUGBY.

... and this continues for what feels like many hours (as Rugby matches often do).

 Later on that day, The FH turns to me and says "My Pint and Pie never arrived."
"Pardon?" I reply perplexed.
"I signed up for a promotion with O2, they said they'd deliver me a pie and a pint before every England game."
"Right." I nod and turn back to the laptop.
"Not that I'd have them that early in the morning" he adds "That would be a bit grim."
"Yeah disgusting.” I agree, as we catch each other's eyes and smirk.

Oh life - how I love how you change us!

This is what September brings...

Another Goodbye 

Moneybags (my brother) came back from Australia, with his Future Wife, for a flying a visit. It was a wonderful week, just having him part of everyday life again, but it ended all too quickly and we found ourselves, stood on the front step, once more, holding back the tears.

"It's just nine months this time"  he reassured us. "Then I'm back for good"

"Oh that's nothing" I teased, rubbing my bump, "Just a pregnancy then - that flies by."

I held it together till the car's engine erupted into the street, then turned by back on the scene and let the tears roll out.

A new homophone

We were driving in the car, me and the boys, and happened to pass a factory...

Little O: What’s that building Mamma?

Me: A factory.

Little O:  That's not a fattree

Me: Yes it is, it's a Fact - tory.

Little O:  No, a fattree is a tree, like in the wood, which has a big round tummy, bigger than mine or... (looking at the bump)  yours. That's a fat- tree.

A 'Who's Who?' page on my blog.

I forget, a lot, that it is not just me and my family who read this... Therefore, I take for granted that everyone understands the blog pseudonyms. And with new followers (a warm welcome, by the way), who missed earlier introductory posts, I understand how 'Fearless' may be mistaken for a dog and 'The FH' as some mystical god, so I thought this may help with any confusion, or maybe not. It's gushing with compliments, to keep them all on my side - all true though. It can be found in the top right hand corner.

Another bollock of day

During this day, I often felt like I was reliving Michael Douglas' emotions in Falling Down, but as I now put it into print, it doesn't seem at all that bad and I am suddenly aware of what a drama queen I am. Hormones must have been raging on this day.

The day started with a tooth ache, which whenever things started to go wrong throbbed and ached a little bit more. Then, I spent too long in  the shower as I was pleading with my tooth to stop hurting, when I came downstairs I discovered Fearless had removed over half my laptop keys and had squeezed as many as he could  into his mouth. FEARLESS!

Any spare moment I had in the following, torturous nine hours were spent either a) looking for microscopically small clips on the floor or b) at the laptop with tweezers in one hand, the other acting as a guard between the keys and Fearless, whilst my one armed pair of glasses continuously slipped down my nose and I frustratingly jerked my head to hold them in place.. This was tedious, stressful, mostly fruitless and generally resulting in me screaming child-friendly expletives at the lap top and making deep throated growls at the Fearless.

The tooth ache continued to gnaw at my nerves and I attempted the first school run of the year, by foot. Fearless screamed all the way there, baby no.3 jiggled and wriggled against my bladder, and Little O cried all the way home because he was tired and thirsty. It was joy.

The final hours before The FH returned home included: the underwire pinging out of my favourite bra and carving its name into my left breast, Fearless smashing a glass, me dropping a plate, a neatly folded pile of laundry been thrown around the house, a bin bag splitting open  as I tried to carry it outside and, finally, discovering too late I had stood in  a piece of regurgitated banana and a soggy pool of Coco Pops.

Consequently, the Ctrl and Shift buttons still remain empty, their skeletal holes forever reminding of that bollock of a day.

The Return of Strictly

Yay for glitter balls and over-the-hill celebrities dropping two dress sizes! When will their celebrity intake list include part time bloggers too? I am a woman of extremes - I either watch excellent TV (e.g. Luther) or terrible (e.g. 90210) there is no middle ground. I'll let you decide which one Strictly enters, then I'm pleasing you all. It has been a whole year since there has been anything to watch on a Saturday Night - and now, as a little blessing from ITV and the BBC I have Strictly and X Factor to count me down through the last 3 months of pregnancy - oh it's going to fly!

A new school year

Little O starts reception. *Gulp*. He's ready. I'm ready. But it isstill is such a massive step and the end of such a wonderful time. However,  I am determined to have some quality time with Fearless, if the bump will allow; it's ever-growing presence seems to have other ideas.  Elsewhere, The FH is still sulking that the holidays are over.

Another embarrassing moment

Sunday is swimming day. As a family we half a 45 minute swim before Little O's lesson, Then O patiently drips dry on the edge of the pool, waiting for his lesson to start. We make a dash for the changing rooms so we can watch him and 9 other 4 year olds, drift around the pool, crashing into one another for half an hour. I take my time getting changed with Fearless whilst The FH makes a swift transformation, superhero style, to watch Little O start his lesson.

Normally, I stick to a strict routine, quick shower, game of hide and seek amongst the lockers (Fearless when stood upright, fits perfectly inside the family sized lockers), then he has a drink and snack wearing  hooded towel in the secure play pen whilst I get dressed, finally,  I get him dressed. Simple. However, today the changing room was empty, so I decided I would enjoy the freedom of space, I thought I would use the communal changing space and let Fearless roam free, exploring the cubicles, playing in the mirror, rolling around the soggy floor etc. Whilst I was, just fastening my bra, I noticed Fearless, had made it through the first set of exit doors. "Surely the second set is too heavy for him" I thought, grabbing my towel and heading that way, just in case. When I got there, the hooded crusader had already gone. I dashed through the doors, only in underwear and a towel, which was wrapped around me barely meeting due to bump and suddenly realised I was exposed to various, fully dressed, members of the public and Fearless, looking like a little gnome, his hooded towel open to reveal all his delights, had already made it to the extremely busy canteen. I just had time to think "fuck it!" and put by best foot forward when I heard the reassuring voice of The FH behind me. “I've got him Fran, you just get back in there” .I still don't know if I was pleased or mortified that he had found me there.

Back inside, Fearless was passed through the door by a giggling FH, as I carried him to the play pen, the look of mischief still glittered in his beautiful eyes, I told him in my teacher voice: "Next week we will NOT be deviating from the routine."

Long discussions, with no resolution, about baby names

So, naming a third boy. That's hard. The first was quite easy, we thought we had picked something original, and like most things, it becomes trendy and now is in the top 20 boys name for 2012. Originality score: Zero. So, with the second, determined to be original, we only considered names that were ridiculous - and when he was born did not name him till hours later - a name that is very original, so original some people question whether it is a name and ask if we made it up,  "There is a sportsman and a semi-famous antique specialist called it" I reply defensively.

So this time if feels like with have already discounted every other boy's name at least twice. Finding a third one we agree on feels like a bigger task than picking the winning lottery numbers.

His list: Leon, Cameron, Ralph (girl's remember Forever, Judy Blume)

My list: Hugo, Roddy, Jude,

You can see why we're getting nowhere. Any suggestions will be greatly received, but we've probably already vetoed them, but you know it's worth a shot.

The Jack Duckworth look... Still!

 The one armed glasses mention earlier, were stood on two weeks back by The FH. The consistently unreliable Specsavers mean I have resulted in sellotape to keep my glasses on my face. By this I mean sellotaping the arm to my frame, not sellotaping the glasses to my face. That would be ridiculous. It's a great look; I think it adds to my charm. Especially, as in public, I take great care to cover said sellotape with hair and then when talking to someone I barely know, like a shopkeeper, nursery teacher, parent of tutee, the arm drops, glasses fall from face and the whole sellotape debacle is publically revealed. *sighs loudly*

An auntie's promise.

I've become an auntie; it really is quite special, so much more than I realised.

I always thought I would be an auntie before a Mum. I was terrible with relationships (...before I fell in love.) I never expected to be the first of us to have children.

So I was left waiting, for the auntie status. But when my nephew’s due date got close I worried I might be complacent about this new role, having two boys of my own and another arrival looming. But, alas, I was wrong. I'm uncontrollably smitten. I didn't know you could feel this amount of love for a child that is not your own.

I'm not sure if it's his tiny charm, (all 6lb of it) or my new role as an auntie, but this new relationship has bowled me over.

So my adorable nephew Titch (your blog name may change in time), this is my promise to you...

1. You will always be welcome to come and play with your cousins and I promise when you do I will never smother with you baby wipes or perform the "spit rub".

2. I will be honest about your girlfriends; I have no daughters, therefore I can be objective.

3. I will never burden you with bags of hand-me-down clothes. I'm saving those for number 3.

4. I will search high and low (through Google) to get the best Christmas presents.

5. I will be available, any hour, to give fashion advice. I am an expert on inappropriate school uniform.

6. I will always help you with your English homework and can guarantee it will be the best in the class.

7. I have terrible taste in Music, but if you ever want to go watch Girl's Aloud (or the equivalent in 15 years time) - I'm free!

8. I'll dedicate a one of my books to you (you may have a long wait, I have promised this to a few others too and they are all very much a pipe dream).

9. I will unashamedly play any computer game until I can annihilate you on it - bring it on!

10. If you are ever stuck in a blizzard, after nightclubbing, in the middle of the night with your cousins - I'll come and get you, not tell you to look for a B&B. (take note Mum and Dad!)

But there is one thing I can not promise... I will never be able to keep a secret from your Mother. We're just not built that way. If you have one, then I advise you steer clear of me - may I suggest you go visit one of your uncles.


Meanwhile, amongst all this love I've found time to put some new blogs on Smile Sweetly and Nod.

Back on my high horse!

I was listening to Simon Armitage (poet/writer) on the radio yesterday, when he bowled me over by saying "Most of us a born with language as a free gift". I love language; speaking, reading, writing,..

But there are things people say which result in me physically cringing before your eyes.

On my little blog, I vow I will never utter the following phrases.

1. 'Curling one out'

2. 'Jog on'

3. 'You al'right chick?'

4. 'On a proper downer'

5. 'Chillaxing'

6. 'Nearly split his difference'

7. 'Rubbing tummies'

8.  'Lady garden'

9. 'Proper buzzin'

10. 'Coffin dodger'

Please feel free to add your own to the list. Language is a gift, after all!

"Attack of the Midges" Part 2

Part 2: They're He-re!

Part 1 found here

So there we were, The FH and I, camping. Sat outside our little blue tent, talking about what a good team we were and how well we put the tent up.
"Yeah we didn't need to do a practice run like it suggested" he said
"Actually when I was reading the instructions, it said we only needed to do that so we would be prepared to put up, and dismantle, the tent in "adverse conditions", I think we're safe in North Yorkshire in August” I chuckled.

When Little O woke, stiff and confused, I took him off to the play area.  Our tent was pitched nearest to the woodland and the whole site was on a hill, with the campsite shop at the top and us, the play area and a few other pitches sat on the bottom rung.  It took us minutes to get to the play area. I sat in the background, whilst O mingled with the campsite riff raff "Ya got any brothers like?" a boy, claiming to be three, but who was head and shoulders bigger than O, asked him.
"I have a brother, who is asleep in the car, and another brother in my Mummy's tummy who makes her tired and slow"
That was pretty much the end of that conversation.

 Meanwhile, lots of little flies were using my forehead as target practice. The adventure play area was nestled in amongst the woods and it seemed to be midge paradise. I sat it out as long as I could, but started to get the uncomfortable itch that midges create. "Come on Little O we've got to go" I said removing the flies from eye sockets as if were mascara goop.

"There are loads of midges over at the play area." I said to The FH as we returned to find him swatting the air around his head.
"There are lots here too" he said, slapping his arm and then his leg.
"Ooh dear. I'm sure they'll calm down in a bit."

Next thing I know, I’ve lost all self-control and I’m fleeing from the inside of tent. “Look in there; it’s infested!”
"Fuck me - where'd they come from?" The FH panted, running from the tent and then diving into the car, he emerged with a canister of... Dettol.
"It''s all we've got" he explained to my puzzled face. "I'm going in"

Five minutes late, he emerged, coughing, spluttering and swatting his shaven head, whilst zipping the tent firmly closed.
"Gone?" I asked.
"Well I don’t think they liked it. They are even dead or very clean. Shit! Now I'm getting bitten to death out here!.
"I'm OK" I said, as I watched him swat the air with one hand and slap his ankle with the other.
"Really?" he asked taking in how tightly I had tied my hoody around my face and how I had put a pair of leggings on under my dress. "Because they are really getting on my nerves" he continued through gritted teeth and swatting hands "and to be honest, I’m already wondering if I can stay"
"Oh come on” I scoffed “You get midges on most campsites." While I said this I was trying my damnedest not to show that I felt like I had ants crawling on every part of my body
"What about the kids?" he asked.
I looked across at Little O and Fearless, who had been playing catch, only pausing occasionally to pull at their ears and scratch their heads.
"I think they're handling it better than us" I said. Then suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to itch and peel all my clothes off I spied the washing up bowl full of dirty dishes. Craving the protection of stone walls and a sealed door, I made a run for them "I'm just going to do the washing up" I said over my shoulder, picking up the pace.
"Not so fast" The FH butted in, grabbing a child under each arm and following me, who in turn, was followed by a dark cloud of flies who had picked up his scent.

"Quick shut the door" he said as we all clambered in on top of each other. "Is it shut tight?"
"Yes it's shut"
We stood there, panting, scratching and sighing. "Ooh it's nice in here" I said.
"Great, shall we stay in the utility room all night?" he asked, sarcasm dripping from his lips.
"So what do you suggest we do?  Pack up and go home because of midges? - We'll never hear the end of it." I was sure the threat of humiliation would help him to man up.

We washed the dishes. Little O helped dry and Fearless destroyed the utility room waste bin. We made a plan. The FH was to go to the campsite shop and ask the campsite manager for some advice and then buy whatever products he had on offer. We would then have something to eat and head back to the coast for the evening. Then, on returning to the campsite we would hope for either the wind to have picked up, or the temperature to have dropped, and the vicious midges to have retreated back to their stagnant bog of breeding.

He paused before opening the door "Ready?" he asked.
And then when I pushed him out said "Will you be ok?"
"It's only some tiny little flies" I replied arrogantly.

When he got back from the shop he found the three of us locked inside the car watching Toy Story on the portable DVD players.

"Shut the door! Shut the door!" I screamed when he climbed him. "Oh you've let some in" I sighed.
"Just some little flies eh?"
"They're not flies, they're devil spawn"
"I don't like them flies" Little O piped up from the back seat, trying to swat the ones on the car ceiling with his wooden sword. "I'm gonna kill them with my sword"
"Well I got this..." The FH brandished a can of fly spray.
"Is that it?"
"He said he had some really good stuff, but it was 7 quid a tube and when I asked him if it could be used on pregnant women or children under 5 he just shrugged."

So there we were, the four of us, camping, locked in-side our own car, with a can of fly spray as a weapon.

I looked around, fellow campers were sat outside their tents, the student campers were having a game of footy, and children, with exposed flesh, we're playing a board game on the grass. "Is it just me, or do we seem to be the only people who are bothered by them?"
"I know I was thinking that" said The FH scanning the campsite. "And you know, up at the shop, I didn't notice them at all"
"Right let's stick to the original plan. The kids can stay in here, I'll make their dinner. We can grab a sandwich on our way out. You spray. "
We fastened our hoodies around our foreheads in synchronization, The FH grabbed the fly spray and together, we ran from the car towards the tent.

There were more.

The FH disappeared inside the tent. I grabbed a tin of ravioli, some bread and cheese and started cooking. I was crouched over the stove, hands swatting around my face, trying to spot if any of the little blighters had opted for a dip in the orange goop. It was one of those moments, as a parent, where you think "you know what, if they eat a midge, it won't kill them".  As The FH emerged from the tent, for the second time, coughing, spluttering and slapping his arms and legs, dinner was ready to be served. I decided to head further up the hill to eat; blanket under arm, a plate of gourmet delight (tinned ravioli and cheese sandwiches)  in each hand and two little hungry boys at my heals.

I found a spot, put the blanket on the grass and sat them down. I tried to spoon-feed Fearless, but he was having none of it and insisted on grabbing the ravioli squares by hand. I ran back to the tent for some kitchen roll and returned, breathless, and... SCREAMED!  The FH came running over and where once our second, blonde-haired, angelic faced child had been was now an orange faced child with a head full of black flies. He was crying and slapping is orange gooped hands around is face in irritation. Meanwhile, his elder brother was sat on the floor, swatting the air above his head crying "They're 'fusing me. They won't let me eat my dinner."

I grabbed Fearless and a towel and ran to the wash room.  The FH put Little O in the car, with his remaining plate of ravioli, telling him “Don't worry if you make a mess, your grandparents will understand".

When  I returned with a clean, towel robed, still screaming, Fearless, I asked The FH to look at his face. He looked like he had chicken pox, his sun kissed skin was covered in red spots where the little suckers had had a field day.
"Get him in the car. Let's get this tent down. We're going."

So operation dismantle began. The well-oiled team sprang into action. He dived into the tent, whilst I stood outside waiting for instructions. He returned with all the sleeping bags and their sleeves and asked me to put them away. He then disappeared back inside the tent. Next the air beds came flying out the door. I guessed I was in charge of deflating them as well. So I sat on the floor, rolling sleeping bags and using my underestimated  brute force to manipulate them into their sleeves. All the time, the mist of midges surrounding me seemed to be increasing. The FH came out "Are you alright?"
"There in my eyes. MY EYES!” as I spoke, to distressed to cry, I spat soggy midges from my mouth.
"It’s horrible, fucking horrible" he said, dancing around the tent, pulling pegs from the ground as if they were blades of grass.

I pulled the last draw string on the sleeping bag and sighed. Right. Air beds. I had the slight problem of trying to use the car pump to deflate them without letting any of the little bastards into the car. But I managed to create just enough of an opening in the window and sat deflating the beds, whilst standing as a force to be reckoned with in front of the window gap. My children were in there. The midges would have to eat their way through me first.

The car air pump does a very good job of deflating, but there is only one way to get the last bit of air out - squash it out! This entailed me folding the air beds into a square shape and lying on top of them.  I was aware of how ridiculous I looked. I had my hood tied like a Inuit,  I was sporting a 5 month pregnancy bump that rivaled most 7 month pregnancy bumps and I was lying face down, doing the caterpillar (or worm if you prefer)  on top of a deflating air bed. I looked up to see The FH, creased in laughter as he dismantled the tent, also sporting the Inuit look. I was pulling midges from my eye sockets, my nose, my ears and my mouth. I heard laughter behind me and look to see the students are happily kicking a ball to one another, can of beer in hand. "What is wrong with you?" I scream in their direction "Who are you? Deet Robots!"

They didn’t respond. Deet robots rarely do.

Airbeds - done! The FH threw them into the boot, along with the rest of our stuff. There was no time for placing equipment and sensible packing. Open the boot, throw them in and slam it shut!

The final task was to get the tent and all its fiddly components in the tent bag and zip up the bag. This was a two man job...

So there we were, The FH and I, dressed like Inuits, in August, lay on top of a tent bag, trying to zip the fucker up! A cloud of flies were hovering around our heads, every other second one, with a sharp set of gnashers, dived in to take a bite at our exposed cheeks and hands.

"This is like horror movie" The FH said, between grunts. Then surveying the campsite "But we're the only ones in it."
"What’s going on? How can they not be bothered?" I gasped
"It must be some sort of initiation. You know 'cos we're new" he laughed.
"Oh yeah. They'll all be laughing at us. Look at the newbies, running away from the midges" I started giggling, we were on the verge of hysteria. "Yeah - take your midget windbreak with you, you amateurs."
“Seriously though” he asked “What have they done - bathed in Deet for a week before they got here?"
The zip wouldn't budge; the hook was caught on the inner tent. If we pulled it, either way, it was going to rip and our little blue tent would be ruined. We looked around the campsite, which was carrying on as normal; no swatting, no panic, no discomfort.
"This place is weird. Something's not right. Fuck the tent." he said picking it up and chucking in in the boot "We're not staying here another second"

We got in the car, fastened our seat belts, and looked round at the boys, contently watching their DVD, their faces dotted with red spots. The FH started the engine.
"Well I guess we can tick off dismantling a tent in adverse weather conditions" I said as I closed my eyes, tipped my head back and sighed with relief. Slowly, I opened my eyes and saw the black mist that was clinging to the car ceiling.
"Don't. Look. Up “I whispered.
He did.
"Arrgggh" he screamed "And put his foot down so we roared out of the campsite. "We're gonna take them back to Saltburn. It'll be Midges 2- The Revenge"

Rumour has it, that a week later, they claim to still hear our screams, and see our arms swatting the car roof, as we raced off down the country lane.

'Attack of the Midges" - Coming to a Cinema Near You!

Part 1: Before THEY Came!

We went camping!

We picked a site, 40 minutes away, on the North Yorkshire Moors. We raided my parent's loft for camping equipment. We packed the car (my parent's car, as this time we had swapped).We set off!

We arrived. Found a pitch. Pitched (in under 30 minutes). Blew up the airbeds (well, the air pump did). Retrieved Fearless from a muddy puddle he was lay face down. Put Fearless down for his afternoon nap. Watched the sun emerge from the drizzly skies. And sat down with a cup of tea. "Well that was all a bit too easy, wasn't it?" I said to The FH whilst trying to peel off the smug grin someone had plastered across my face.

 

Growing up we camped ALL the time. As both parents were Teachers, we would spend the six week holidays making our way down to the South West of France, trailer in tow, spending as long as we could there, exploring pine cone forests, discovering  markets that would shame London and  taking the locals on at boules. Then we would head back to Calais; bronzed children, exhausted parents and a trailer tent jammed with barrels of red wine.

But in my adult years I swapped ferries for planes, spontaneity for package, camping stoves for all inclusive buffets and lakes for pools. Safe to say, on arrival, I felt out touch. It seemed camping had moved forward and left me behind; laundry rooms, electric hook ups, family wash rooms (more impressive than our recently fitted bathroom) were all sure signs that “Glamping” was present.

We'd camped once, as a couple, in the early days, before kids, with a tent named "titch" so small we thought it had been nicked when we came back from the pub, but soon realised, as we stumbled closer, we had parked the car in front of it. But that had merely been a pub crawl in The Lakes disguised as a walking holiday. And to be honest the camping part is a bit of a blur. Nothing like this. This time we had two children under 4, a baby bump and no booze - we were hardcore.

I found myself suffering Tent Envy "Look at that one FH! That's got a living room and a canopy!"

"Our tent is fine" he'd reply.

"Ooh look at their camping stove, it's got a grill and FOUR hobs!

"Our stove is fine" he's reply.

Eventually, I stopped commenting and just silently tent watched. I discovered wind breaks were the new camping accessory. Fortunately, my parent's windbreak had randomly been left in their car, so I got it out and asked The FH to put up, I didn't want us to look amateur. Unfortunately the camping windbreak is double the height of the beach windbreak, so it probably had the opposite effect, as experienced campers scoffed inside their tents at our midget accessory “Newbies”.

Little O and I were itching to explore the campsite; him wanting to go to the play area, me the campsite shop. Returning, itchy feet  satisfied, we all headed to the local pub for dinner, where everything was accompanied with homemade chips -yum. Full bellied and heavy eyed we  returned to the little blue tent, a lot later than anticipated, and settled the kids down for the night. Our little tent has two bedroom compartments. the plan was to take a child each. I was settled in one bedroom, but then decided that the other bedroom looked roomier (even though they are exactly the same inner tents) and the airbed was clearly pumped up further, so asked to swap, The FH sulkily obliged - the things you can get away with whilst you're pregnant!

And the night went well - no midnight toilet visits needed, no waking children, air bed still full in the morning and the tent still dry. it was a little bit windy, well quite a lot actually. In fact, so windy, that when little O woke at 5.30 (no black out blinds in tents) and had to go for a piddle, The FH followed us out inquiring if Hurricane George had passed through here during the night and said he just wanted to check if my parent's car had blown away. We came to the conclusion the windbreak (which was still flapping) may have enhanced the sound effects - maybe camping ones are quieter.

Still, all in all, the first night was a success. Now it was time for breakfast. Breakfast? What were we planning to have for breakfast? As I eyed a food stash, it slowly dawned on me that we may have overlooked that one. We had no grill, one small camping stove, a loaf of bread, no butter, and an array of tinned produce… We hadn't quite covered breakfast. As the campsite shop didn't open till 8.30 and we were all wide awake by 6.00 am, The FH roared off in the car to find the nearest garage. He returned half an hour later, the garage was only 5 minutes down the road, but he had to sit outside for 20 minutes waiting for it to open! Alas, he had cereal and bacon!

We soon discovered the necessity of a windbreak as The FH had to wrap himself and the camping stove up in it to keep the flame alight, but 10 minutes later, there we were sat outside our little blue tent, eating bacon sandwiches, attired in hoodies and pyjamas, hair flapping like flags in the wind.

The morning was very pleasant. I even got chatting to fellow campers, as I ran after Fearless, retreieving him from their tent. We made camping small talk; "Ooh yes it's a lovely campsite" They'd say.

"Umm. Very clean" I'd reply, handing them back their saucepan Fearless had ran off with.

"How'd do like your spot?" they'd enquire.

"Great yeah, lovely view of the woodland."

"Not bothered by the midges then?" they'd ask as Fearless emerged from their tent with a wooden spoon.

"Hadn't noticed them" I'd say walking away, Fearless restrained in arms, spoon discarded on the grass.

"Funny that" The FH said later, when I retold the conversation. "The landlord said that last night. Something about the wind keeping the midges down"

But we thought no more about it as we were having a lovely time watching the kids dive in and out of rock pools in a lovely bay on the north Yorkshire Coast. Actually, we were letting are children entertain most of the beach as they dashed around us naked, rolling/bombing/shrieking/belly-flopping in and out of the pockets of sea water. The wind had died down, the sun pushed out a few more degrees and found ourselves sunbathing and craving ice-cream! We ate out for lunch, promising each other we would be eating tomato soup and cheese sandwiches on site for tea. We did have a budget after all.

We returned to the campsite, both children snoring in the car, we left them there, car doors open (because you can do that camping) and had a cup of te Al fresco, enjoying the sunshine,  whilst  I reminisced about my childhood camping adventures and The FH listened politely. "Well hasn't this been lovely" I said after a pause and a sigh, but secretly slightly disappointed there had been no drama "Don't think it'll make an interesting blog post though..."

TO BE CONTINUED...