Monthly Archives: July 2005

Just about ready for the off

Leaving behind a hot, tired Ms Miff (and friends) to house sit. We’ve had last minute phone calls to and fro from the Mum of little Miff’s friend (kindly being lent to us for the duration) and established that he’s not packed anything that could be considered ‘dangerous’ – e.g. nail clippers, plus pondered the thorny problem of whether a saxaphone mouthpiece should go in hold or hand luggage! On our part, the great packing marathon reached the balloon debate stage this morning as Mr M and I tried desperately to decide which books to take and which to leave. True, this will not be our usual, quiet, peaceful stay in country or coast, but a holiday without reading matter would be unthinkable. So it was a question of ‘If little Miff can take Jeremy Paxman and my book of short stories, we’ll have to chose between Stella Rimington and Tom Sharpe’s ‘Wilt.’ Wilt won. I need some cheering up atm. Have we got room for my oil pastels, watercolours, and all those summer clothes I’ve not had the chance to wear in oh so sunny UK for years now? And more ‘worthy’ tomes: Are two Margaret Silfs and a Joyce Rupp too ‘navel-gazing?’ I try and justify at least two on the grounds that I’m reviewing them for someone. If I bring two volumes on meditation am I REALLY going to use them, or fall into the usual danger of reading about prayer rather than actually praying. Maybe ‘Women at the well. A feminist perspective on spritual direction’ is a tad too heavy going for a ten hour flight? Oh the agonies of choice!

Meantime, Ms Miff phones BF (currently disporting himself in sunny Cornwall) to learn that on top of last week’s sunburn, he’s managed to burn his mouth by drinking whatever that drink’s called that you set alight!?? I reflect that in a perverse way, this may be a blessing in disguise; in that feeling the way he must do, he’s hardly likely to be tempted to ‘stray.’ (Horrible, aren’t I? ;)).

More serious is t’other friend who’s travelling with her to Cuba, as we return – who’s just managed to lose their passport. Given my experiences with offspring’s one last year, they’ll need to get a move on and be prepared to travel the length and breadth of the British Isles to sort this one out. It’d be such a shame if the whole thing fell through. They’ve been looking forward to the trip for ages.

But joking aside, we’re (albeit subconsciously) pinning a lot on our break. For all sorts of reasons which I’ve not even been able to write about in my ‘personal’ journal, this last month or so has been if not ‘hell,’ but near to it, as all the strained circs we’ve been living under these last couple of years have combined to nearly push us over the edge.

Anyway, that’s enough navel gazing for now. Wish us luck as you wave us goodbye, and I’ll let you know how we get on with hurricane Emily (or is it ‘Frank?’).

Just about ready for the off

Leaving behind a hot, tired Ms Miff (and friends) to house sit. We’ve had last minute phone calls to and fro from the Mum of little Miff’s friend (kindly being lent to us for the duration) and established that he’s not packed anything that could be considered ‘dangerous’ – e.g. nail clippers, plus pondered the thorny problem of whether a saxaphone mouthpiece should go in hold or hand luggage! On our part, the great packing marathon reached the balloon debate stage this morning as Mr M and I tried desperately to decide which books to take and which to leave. True, this will not be our usual, quiet, peaceful stay in country or coast, but a holiday without reading matter would be unthinkable. So it was a question of ‘If little Miff can take Jeremy Paxman and my book of short stories, we’ll have to chose between Stella Rimington and Tom Sharpe’s ‘Wilt.’ Wilt won. I need some cheering up atm. Have we got room for my oil pastels, watercolours, and all those summer clothes I’ve not had the chance to wear in oh so sunny UK for years now? And more ‘worthy’ tomes: Are two Margaret Silfs and a Joyce Rupp too ‘navel-gazing?’ I try and justify at least two on the grounds that I’m reviewing them for someone. If I bring two volumes on meditation am I REALLY going to use them, or fall into the usual danger of reading about prayer rather than actually praying. Maybe ‘Women at the well. A feminist perspective on spritual direction’ is a tad too heavy going for a ten hour flight? Oh the agonies of choice!

Meantime, Ms Miff phones BF (currently disporting himself in sunny Cornwall) to learn that on top of last week’s sunburn, he’s managed to burn his mouth by drinking whatever that drink’s called that you set alight!?? I reflect that in a perverse way, this may be a blessing in disguise; in that feeling the way he must do, he’s hardly likely to be tempted to ‘stray.’ (Horrible, aren’t I? ;)).

More serious is t’other friend who’s travelling with her to Cuba, as we return – who’s just managed to lose their passport. Given my experiences with offspring’s one last year, they’ll need to get a move on and be prepared to travel the length and breadth of the British Isles to sort this one out. It’d be such a shame if the whole thing fell through. They’ve been looking forward to the trip for ages.

But joking aside, we’re (albeit subconsciously) pinning a lot on our break. For all sorts of reasons which I’ve not even been able to write about in my ‘personal’ journal, this last month or so has been if not ‘hell,’ but near to it, as all the strained circs we’ve been living under these last couple of years have combined to nearly push us over the edge.

Anyway, that’s enough navel gazing for now. Wish us luck as you wave us goodbye, and I’ll let you know how we get on with hurricane Emily (or is it ‘Frank?’).

Running out of tape

as Live8 runs overtime. Mr M’s raked through the cupboard for something recordable overable and plumped on Woodstock. A tenuous link there, I reckon. Much of this is for Ms Miff’s benefit. She and BF finally got into the Hyde Park concert at around 3.30 this afternoon, after many anxious phone calls home and accompanying raking through the BBC and Live8 sites by Mum and Dad trying to glean hints on how to beat the queues. In the event, they went away to have some lunch, and on returning, lo and behold, the queue had vanished! We’re sort of proud, in a funny sort of way. And to think that back at Live Aid, Ms Miff wasn’t even a twinkle in her father’s eye!

It’ll be the end to an exhausting few days for her. Starting off with extended 18th birthday celebrations for the BF (and if you wondered if he was meant to be somewhere more exotic than Hyde Park by now, his South American jaunt has been cancelled, or rather, parents have put their foot (or feet ) down.) These included a family meal out, a general end of A Levels ‘do’ with friends, and now this. With luck we may rendez-vous briefly tomorrow morning on my way out to church before she collapses in a little heap, to sleep it all off in preparation for the start of her summer job at Monsoon the next day. How do they summon up the energy to keep going? I feel very old and creaky all of a sudden.